Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
“Now, get dressed.” I shove the warm clothes I pulled from the salvage we stole. If Aurelia recognizes the items when she takes them from me, she doesn’t remark on it. It figures when I want her to ask questions and chew my ass out, she doesn’t.
“Where are we going?”
“You asked me to teach you to hunt. We’re going to hunt.”
“I thought I had to stay inside.”
“We won’t be gone long, and we’ll stay close to the cabin. It shouldn’t be a problem so long as you do as I say and don’t wander off.”
“So, like normal then?”
“Exactly.”
“Does this mean you’ll show me how that works?” She points to the crossbow sticking over my shoulder.
“Why? So you can use it on me?”
“Maybe. Wouldn’t you?”
“Be ready in ten or be left,” I tell her so that she gets going.
Aurelia sticks her nose in the air when she walks past me and takes her stubborn ass down to the basement instead of using my bathroom, knowing the slight will irk me.
When she returns with the coat that belongs to another man, I grab the sleeve before she can pull it on, and we play tug-of-war with it until I manage to wrestle it from her without hurting her. Aurelia talks shit while I add it to the pile of firewood, but instead of pissing me off, I feel myself fighting back a smile.
It’s never been my intention to break her past the point of repair—at least not since we decided she was one of us.
She falls silent when I return and hand her the winter coat Khalil grabbed from her luggage. It’s puffy and white with a fur-lined hood and has yet another designer label I don’t recognize, but it actually looks useful, unlike those boots she arrived in. She slips the coat on with a perplexed look on her face before tugging on the hat and gloves Seth gave her. I watch her hesitate a moment when she grabs the blue and purple striped scarf.
“Something wrong?”
“This was Cassie’s.”
I search my memory for the name. “Your assistant?”
Aurelia nods. “Wolves got her the first day. I tried to help her, but I…she died anyway. If it wasn’t for Tyler finding me when he did, I’d be dead too.”
And now I understand the hesitation. “Put it on,” I tell her.
“No.” She tries to step around me, but I grab the scarf and drape it around her neck. “Stop it, Thorin.”
“Torturing yourself won’t make you a hero,” I say as I wind it around her neck. “It just makes you obnoxious and repetitive.” Tugging on the tails, I yank her into me. “Take the fucking scarf and stay warm. Cassie would want you to have it.”
“She hated me.”
“And you hated her, I’m sure, but you still put yourself in grave danger to try to save her. Let Cassie help you now.”
She’s retrospective for a few moments before smirking a little cruelly. It perplexes me at first sight until she says, “It’s funny…you know who said the same thing.”
Fucking Tyler Westbrook.
“Let’s go,” I order before my jealousy puts us right back at square one.
As we start for the door, I pause to grab the compound bow and quiver I’d left on the couch. Aurelia’s brown eyes widen, but she stays still as I slip the empty quiver over her shoulder and hand her the vertical bow. At first, she holds it awkwardly with both hands like an offering, but when I cross my arms to wait her out, she rolls her eyes and holds it down by her side.
“Rule number one of weapon training…” Turning, I start for the cabin’s front door. As I pass the oval mirror on the entry wall, I catch sight of her arms raised as she aims the unloaded crossbow at my back with a narrowed gaze. “Never point it anything you’re not prepared to fucking kill, Aurelia.”
She lowers the bow.
AURELIA
Thorin has targets set up in a clearing not far from the cabin with an old campfire and a fallen log in the center, and I immediately recognize why he agreed to our ill-advised outing. Because the clearing is small, we’re still mostly shrouded by the forest’s canopy and unlikely to be spotted by a passing helicopter.
Tree slices, six inches thick and two feet in diameter, have been sprayed with red rings on the smooth face and a smaller black circle in the center for the bullseye. The targets are held on tripods made of sturdy-looking branches, and I count as many as twelve hidden among the trees. The closest is only fifty meters away, and the furthest is about three hundred meters.
I’m still gawking at the targets, feeling more than a little intimidated when Thorin distracts me from my thoughts by pointing out a hollow tree to my right.
“This is where Bruce used to live.”