Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“It’s kind of like…stoosh.” She lifts one hand and pushes it toward my face, close to my nose but not quite. “You know…just, stoosh. Atángana.”
I still do not understand.
She thinks for a moment, frowning. “Kind of like…‘I showed you.’”
Showed me what?
Laughter bubbles from her again. “It’s just bragging, all right? It’s me being a braggy jerk.” She grins over at me, all smiles and amusement.
I am filled with joy at her happiness and yearning at the same time. My Emma. I never knew someone who could make me smile so much. Who could make my heart burn with even more fire than I thought possible. Who could make my spirit feel light even when I have lost my wings and have been trapped in two-legged form for what feels like an eternity.
Her gaze goes back to her line and she points at her red and white ball. “When the bobber goes under, that means you’ve got a bite. You jerk on the line to make sure the hook catches in the fish’s mouth, and then you reel it in.”
So we are torturing another creature.
“He can’t feel anything.” Her thoughts are curious and a little worried, though. She wonders if they can feel something, and her soft heart aches a little.
You should let me change to battle-form, I tell her. It is much easier to catch meat that way.
She arches an eyebrow at me. “Nice try. You know the drill. Not until your stitches come out.”
I grunt acknowledgment, but I am not pleased. It is something we have argued over for the past week. I want to ignore the pain and let my wounds take care of themselves. I can protect her more when I am in battle-form. I can hunt for us. I can travel farther, longer.
She feels it would be wiser to let my back heal. She wants me to stay in my two-legged form and do small things around the apartment, such as lie on my back and nap all day long.
I am not fond of these plans. I have told her so many times and she has ignored my wishes. There is no point in arguing, however, because my Emma is as stubborn as she is independent.
It is quite infuriating at times.
I glance over at her, touching my mind to her own. It is something I do often, and I am unable to help myself. It is not only because I enjoy her thoughts, but because touching her mind reassures me that she is, in fact, real. That she is mine. That she is not a dream conjured out of the madness.
“You should let me bandage your back,” she tells me, glancing over at my shoulder. “Make sure everything stays covered and clean.”
My back is fine. Drakoni heal fast. Unlike humans. I send her a sour thought and a mental image of her bruises, which are just now fading to an ugly yellowish-purple.
She rolls her eyes at me, smiling. “You’re not going to be saying that when I have to pick splinters out of your ass later. Seriously, you should think about pants. I bet we could find some.”
Splinters? In my ass? Why?
“Because this dock is old and you’re sitting on it naked?” Her expression turns delicate as she looks over at my body. For all that she has been nursing me back to strength, my Emma is still shy about my body. She avoids touching me if she can help it, and she looks at my face more than anything. She distinctly avoids looking at my cock, as if gazing at it will make it harden and make me want to mate.
She is not entirely wrong in that matter.
My strength has come back slowly over the last several days, and as it has, it has become very clear to me that Emma still does not know what to make of our mating. She has not indicated that she wishes to mate again, even though she was the one that first climbed atop me. Nor has she tried to sleep next to me again. That is all right; I find her and climb into her nest every night, because I am determined. Most vexing of all, though, she insists I wear the coverings she calls “clothing” and drapes them all over her body.
I do not see the point in hiding things, especially when it is hot. I run one claw lightly over her forehead, catching a few beads of sweat. You would be much cooler if you took your coverings off.
“But I’m not going to,” she tells me, and then concentrates on her fishing pole as if it has suddenly moved.
I am fascinated by the shy thoughts I am getting from her. We have been mated for days and days now, and still she acts as if I have not buried my face between her thighs? Truly? I decide to push the matter further. Do you wish for me to cover my form because you find it unappealing? I am different from you, it is true. Even in two-legged form, I carry spikes on my forearms and my head. Perhaps she finds these unpleasant to look at.