Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
"I need you to think about your actions. You can't fly off the handle like that." Her breathing speeds up, her gaze growing hazy and unfocused. I kiss her lower leg reverently, wanting to strip her pants off of her and kiss her as she should be kissed—thoroughly, with great amounts of tongue, and between her thighs. "You're in charge, Azar. You have to be better. You can't hit people because it serves your purpose."
"But it was effective, was it not?" I ask, wondering if it's too soon for me to go for the waist of the jeans she wears, or if I need to keep coaxing her into letting me tongue her sweet cunt. "I know you don't like my methods—"
"I don't," she says sharply, and jerks her leg out of my grasp. The softness disappears from her eyes and she leans down and grabs my chin between her thumb and forefinger. "You still don't get it. Okay then, how would you like it if, say, one of the servants came up and slapped me across the face?"
I scowl. "They would never."
"But if they did?" She arches a brow at me.
"Then they would die for daring to touch my mate."
"Ah," she says in a light voice. "But it's all right, because it motivated the cook to make breakfast on time. Therefore it shouldn't be a problem by your thinking, right? As long as the results were good?"
I jerk away from her grip, frowning deeply as I gaze at my mate. It is a running joke amongst the militia that the barracks kitchens are never on time with their food. As Melina watches me with those patient, accusing eyes, I play out the scenario in my head. Of Daniels, approaching my mate and striking her. Of Melina falling to the ground at my feet like the female had. Of the terror on her face, the imprint of my hand on her cheek…
I am shocked at how angry just envisioning the scenario makes me. I would…I would…I would hate it. I would murder anyone that dared touch her. I don't care who it motivates. "Ah."
"You see?" She reaches down and grasps my hand, taking it in hers. She presses my palm to her cheek, and I flinch, imagining striking her like I did the female. "I don't know what the Salorians were like, but every woman out there is someone's sister, or someone's daughter. They have families. They have people that care for them, people that don't want to see them slapped or abused, just because they're unimportant. Everyone is important to someone." Melina presses a kiss to the palm of my hand. "Which is why you can't fly off the handle. You have to control your temper, and you have to pause and consider things when you're upset. Especially when you're upset."
"So what would you have me do?" I ask.
"Wake me up," Melina counters immediately, her tone angry. "If you're distressed about something, wake me up and talk to me about it. I don't care what time it is. I don't care if it's the middle of the day—come to the clinic and talk to me. And listen to me when I say you need to calm down. I can't help you choose the right path if you choose it without consulting me. Understand?"
I feel like a failure. It is a strange, hateful sensation, because I can tell I've disappointed my mate. There is doubt in her eyes when she looks at me, as if I might not be the man she wants in her bed. It makes me desperate. Worried. I cup her face in my hands and press my chest against her legs. "Melina…do you hate me?"
Her expression softens. "I should, shouldn't I?" She turns her cheek and presses a kiss to my palm again. "But I don't. Even though you don't have the same toolkit we do, you're trying. I love that you keep trying. That's why I'm back. You're acknowledging that you fucked up, and I need you to promise me you'll never do it again."
"Never," I say violently. "Never." The thought of someone touching Melina, of striking her the way I struck the female (whose face I cannot even recall) makes my gut go ice-cold. In her eyes, we are all equal.
That is the part I keep struggling with. In my world, in my home, we are not born equal. Not in the slightest. We are judged by our magic, by our bloodlines, by whether or not we are Salorian or drakoni. One human should not view themselves as better than another. They still do, but those that do are wrong.
Those that do earn Melina's hatred and distaste.
When she says I need to try harder, it is because I am thinking like a Salorian, not like a human. When my temper takes over, I lash out like a Salorian. I need to let that corrupted, human-thinking side of me take over. I need to embrace it. And I know where to start.