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)
I do my best to stay off his radar as much as possible. I’m not hot or sexy by most standards, but I’m young and I’ve got tits and all my teeth, and that’s enough for most guys. I know that if Azar demands that I show up in his bed, I’m going to have to go or end up with a bullet in my head, so I make it a point to not draw attention to myself. I make his food every meal and always send it out with one of the other old ladies who would love nothing more than the boss’s attention. I don’t socialize at night and I keep to my room. I manage to stay unnoticed for an entire week before the hammer comes down.
Boyd approaches me after dinner one night. It’s one of my better meals, I like to think. There’s only so much you can do with Beanie Weenie and canned corn. Tonight we had fresh deer, and I grilled it up perfectly and sliced it thin, then spiced the heck out of everything. Managed to put it out before Azar rang that stupid, annoying little bell too many times.
“You’re doing good, sis,” Boyd tells me happily, as if he’s invested in my success. “Azar wants to say hello to you.”
I pause, a flare of alarm going up. “That’s not necessary—”
“I know it ain’t, but come on.” He locks an arm around my shoulders and leads me out of the kitchen into the dining room that I make it a point to never go into.
I’m not entirely surprised to see that the room is cleared out of most of the furniture. It’s stacked in corners, and the tables are pushed away except for one large one in the center of the room. Chairs have been neatly set on all sides, and a white linen tablecloth covers the tabletop. It looks fancy, right down to the vase of fake flowers as the centerpiece. A man sits there alone, his back to us. Even inside, he’s wearing a hat and swaths of clothing, including what looks like a duster jacket.
“This here’s my sister,” Boyd says, pushing me forward. “She’s thrilled to be with us.”
I stumble toward the table and take a few more brave steps forward, determined to look as unaffected as possible despite the fear lodged in my throat. I don’t know this guy. He might be like every other bandit out there who just wants to rape and steal and murder. If so, I know what to expect.
But then he turns and glances over at me, and I freeze in place.
This guy isn’t albino.
He’s a dragon.
I know what a dragon looks like when he assumes human form. I’ve seen it before. When they’re human, they have this strange sort of scale pattern on their skin and strangely thick hair that’s the same color as the skin. That’s fine and all, and I guess it could pass for human if you haven’t met another dragon before, but it’s the eyes that give it away. Azar’s eyes are as pale as the rest of him, with only his black pupils providing any sort of pigmentation. It makes him look like he’s got small, beady pupils and adds to the creepy factor.
His nostrils flare slightly as Boyd pushes me forward, his hand on my back.
“Emma’s just shy,” Boyd explains. “Fuckin’ say hi, Emma.”
“Hi,” I manage, trying not to stare. That nostril-flare thing? I know I’ve seen that before. Sasha’s boyfriend would do that every time I came close. Dragons are sensitive to scent, and I’m coated in rose perfume to disguise mine.
Azar tilts his head, studying me. He looks over at Boyd, pointedly.
“I’ll just be outside,” my brother says, and then I’m alone with Azar. Shit.
The dragon gestures at one of the chairs at the table, inviting me to sit with him. Crap. I guess I can’t turn him down. I pull the chair out and sit on the edge of the seat, trying to look confident and bored. Probably failing miserably, too.
“Do I make you nervous?” he asks, and there’s a hint of an accent in his voice. I’m also surprised at how fluid his English is. Sasha’s dragon didn’t speak much at all, and when he did, it was broken and guttural. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s not a dragon. Maybe I’m just crazy.
I force myself to shrug. “I’m a woman alone. I’m always nervous.”
“Your brother is here.”
I shrug again.
He chuckles, and the sound is so smooth and urbane that I doubt myself again. Looks-wise, he could be a dragon. Personality-wise…I don’t know. “You are clever not to trust. Do not worry, though. I have told my men that they cannot touch you without my permission.”
“What about my permission?” I ask, irritation breaking through my fear.