Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Such a shy man. I beam at him. “Today’s the day. You’re not going to back out on me, are you?”
“Never.” The look he gives me is full of intense longing, his shoulders immediately tensing. “Have you changed your mind?” I shake my head, and he relaxes again. “I have already baked the cakes for our ceremony. Do not touch them when you go downstairs. We must save them for the ceremony.” He turns a careful page in his book. “And I have readied your bath by the fire. All you have to do is add the warm water I’ve prepared. It’s still on the hearth.”
Oh, how thoughtful. I know a bath is a lot of work. I get to my feet, padding across the cold stone floor, and slide into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You are most kind.”
“I am determined,” he corrects, sliding one arm around my waist as he closes his book with his other hand. “I shall have you tied to me before the gods quickly, so you cannot change your mind. To that end, I am ridding us of any chance of delays.”
I chuckle. Who knew such intent could be so damned sexy? “If you’ve drawn a bath for me, I can’t possibly refuse. I’m sure that’s in the vows somewhere.”
Nemeth rubs a hand up and down my back, watching me. “No more nightmares?”
“None. I slept quite well after I got to put my feet on you.”
He grunts, his hand straying to my backside and rubbing. “You make it sound as if you don’t put your feet on me every night.”
I slide a little closer, my breasts loose under my sleep-chemise. With my hair tousled and the fact that I’m almost naked? I feel quite frisky this morning. The bath can wait. “You don’t mind.”
“I never said I did.” His voice lowers, grows husky as I lean in. “Go take your bath, Candra. Once the ceremony is completed, I’ll be rutting atop you for hours. Save it.”
Oh. Rutting. Such a delicious word. With a shiver, I slide off of his lap. “Let me see your wing first. If it looks bad, we’re not doing anything today.”
“I shall be the judge of that,” Nemeth tells me, but he stands upright and stretches to his full height, his wing gently flaring outward. He doesn’t stretch it all the way, just enough to let me examine the stitching.
It looks a little puffy and swollen, but it’s no longer bleeding and the color is good. Best of all, there are no red lines tracing outward from the wound. I don’t know anything about healing, but I remember Riza told me her husband died because he had a tiny wound that got infected, and the redness crept up his arm in straight lines as it infected his blood. He died two days later.
Thinking about that makes me a little panicky. I swipe at some of the salve on his wound and poke one of the stitches. “Painful?”
“When you poke it, yes,” he growls.
Fair enough. “But it doesn’t throb? No burning?” I touch the wound again, this time gentler, and it doesn’t feel hot, which is a good sign. “I need to put more salve on it.”
“It is fine, Candra. I promise you.” He sounds a little pissy, his wing flicking as if he wants to pull free from my grasp. “Quit stalling.”
How very rude. I huff indignantly, releasing his wing. “I am not stalling.”
“Aren’t you?”
Scowling up at him, I wipe my salve-smeared fingers on my sleep-chemise. “I’m not stalling,” I say again. “I do wish to get married. I just don’t want to spend a day frolicking in bed with you if your wing is hurting.”
“But our frolicking last night was fine…?” He arches a heavy eyebrow at me.
Damn this man. I’m not stalling…am I? “Excuse me for being worried about you,” I say in my most regal voice. “Gods forbid anyone should care if you’re hurt.”
I draw myself up as tall as I can and turn away. A moment later, he grabs my wrist and spins me around. He hauls me up against him, one big hand clenching my ass as he pulls me up against his chest, and kisses me, hard. His mouth is rough and possessive, but I like it. I like the scrape of his oversized fangs on my lip, and I love when his tongue strokes into my mouth as if he’s claiming me.
Then, he sets me down again and swats my backside as if I’m a naughty child. “Go bathe, or I really will think you’re stalling.”
Distracted, I toss my hair and try to exit the room as gracefully as possible, even though my knees are weak from that rough, wild kiss. I forget a lamp, because I’m too caught up in the pleasant throb of my lips and I have to return to retrieve one.