Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 131137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 437(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 437(@300wpm)
“Claim me? Now there’s a fucking joke. I’d rather French kiss a goddamn barracuda than mate with you!”
Nick cursed in surprise as Shaya lifted one of the wooden breakfast stools and launched it at him. He barely ducked in time to dodge it. When he stood tall again, it was to see another stool coming at him. He caught that one, using it as a shield against the next stool. Then she was racing out of the room.
Before she could escape from the house, Nick dashed after her. But she didn’t open the front door. She reached behind the rack of coats in the hallway, pulled out a baseball bat, turned sharply, and swung it at his head. Motherfucker. He jumped backward, barely avoiding it. “Dammit, Shay!”
Where had his sweet mate gone? Having a bad temper was one thing, but the female in front of him was a merciless psycho. Proving that, she swung the bat again—this time at his abdomen. Although he jerked away, he only managed to dull the impact of her swing. It still connected hard with his abdomen, making him instinctively bend over as the breath whooshed out of him. That was when the bat came flying at his head again.
Pissed-fucking-off, Nick caught the bat and yanked it toward him. He’d expected Shaya to try to keep hold of it, expected that his move would have tugged her to him. It didn’t. She let go of the bat and made a dash for the living room—God knew what weapon she was hiding in there. Not wanting to find out, he flung the bat aside and dove at her.
When a hard body folded around Shaya and tackled her to the carpet, she growled a string of profanities. Unsheathing her claws, she twisted her body slightly and took a swipe at Nick’s face. The prick was fast—he dodged the move and then clamped his hand around her wrist, pinning it above her head. Most likely suspecting she would try the same move with her free hand—he would be right—he shackled her other wrist. Then he locked his teeth around her shoulder in a very dominant move. Not biting, not breaking skin or marking…just cautioning her, snatching her full attention. It worked; both she and her wolf froze.
Putting his mouth to her ear, Nick spoke quietly. “I know you’re pissed at me, and I don’t blame you, but we need to talk. I’m going to sit you on the sofa, and we’ll discuss this like adults. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Choose.” When she sank her teeth into his arm, he got his answer. Of course he could throw his dominant vibes at her and suppress her, but he would never do that to his mate. Not seeing any other option to calm her down, he used his free hand to put pressure on her baroreceptor in the carotid artery at the base of her neck where it met her shoulder. Pretty soon, she was limp beneath him.
As Shaya woke to find herself slumped across the sofa, she frowned in confusion. That frown deepened when she saw that Nick had moved her armchair so that he was now directly opposite her and watching her with shrewd eyes. It took only a split second to recall what had happened—he’d sent her into the land of the fairies when she wouldn’t talk with him. She was actually kind of surprised he hadn’t simply used his dominant vibes to suppress her. Huh.
Abruptly she sat upright. And that was when she realized something else. Her wrists were secured together in front of her with black fur-lined cuffs. She gaped at him. “Oh, you sick bastard.”
He winced. “I was hoping I wouldn’t need to use them…but I can’t say I don’t like the look of them on you. Notice that I didn’t pin them behind your back. I don’t want you uncomfortable. I just want us to be able to talk without you grabbing a bat and swinging it at my head.”
“Thanks for the small mercy,” she spat with heavy sarcasm.
Wearing a forlorn, hopeless expression that plucked at Nick’s heart, she dropped her head and her shoulders sagged. Then she was sniffling. Shit. Guilt prickled his skin. He did the only thing he could do. He rose from his seat and went to her. Shocking the shit out of him, she suddenly sprang to life; she stomped hard on his foot, used her wrists tied in front of her to deliver a mean blow to his jaw, and then kicked his kneecap hard, making him stagger backward. Before Nick could reach for her, she was up and heading for the kitchen.
Nick should have been pissed—not only had she played him by acting the sad, stoic victim accepting of her fate, she had run from him. Instead, he found himself smiling at her deviousness. He could respect deviousness.