Total pages in book: 200
Estimated words: 189930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 950(@200wpm)___ 760(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 950(@200wpm)___ 760(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
“Are you sure?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Look at me and tell me you’re not hurt.”
My eyes opened, and I looked at him. He was raised on one elbow, seemingly unaware of the snow falling around us. “I’m fine.”
“You winced. I saw you.”
I shook my head in disbelief. My gift was utterly useless since I was feeling too much to concentrate, so I couldn’t even…cheat. “That’s what I don’t understand. Unless I completely imagined the last couple of days.”
“No, you didn’t imagine anything.” His gaze roamed over my face as I blinked snow off my lashes. “Do you wish that this, right here, hadn’t happened?”
I could lie, but I didn’t. “No. Do…do you?”
“No, Poppy. I hate that you even have to ask that.” He looked away, jaw flexing. “When we first met, it was like…I don’t know. I was drawn to you. I could’ve taken you then, Poppy. I could’ve prevented a lot of what has happened, but I…I lost sight of a lot of things. Each time I was near you, I couldn’t help but feel as if I knew you. I think I know why it’s been like that.”
He said this like it was the answer to how we had gone from me stabbing him in the heart to tearing off each other’s clothes. I shivered in the cold, damp air as I shook my head again.
Being drawn to one another explained none of that.
“You’re cold.” Rolling to his feet in one smooth movement, he fastened his pants with the one lone button that remained and then extended his hand. “We need to get out of this weather.”
We did. Well, I did. He probably didn’t, considering he could be stabbed in the chest and be all right minutes later.
I placed my hand in his and stated what I felt he needed to be reminded of. “I tried to kill you.”
“I know.” He pulled me up onto my feet. “I can’t really blame you.”
I stared, dumbfounded as he swooped down, tugging up my breeches as he rose. “You don’t?”
“No. I lied to you. I betrayed you and played a role in the deaths of people you love,” he said, listing the reasons as if it were a shopping list. “I’m surprised that was the first time you tried.”
I continued to stare.
“And I doubt it will be the last time you try.” The corners of his lips turned down as he tried to secure the pants but discovered that the buttons were somewhere on the snowy ground. “Dammit,” he muttered, reaching for my shirt. It was torn straight down the middle. He gripped the sides and pulled them together as if that would repair the material. He cursed again, giving up. He reached up, pulling his other shirt off over his head. “Here.”
I stood there, wondering if I was suffering from blood loss or post-orgasmic bliss. Maybe a combination of both because I couldn’t believe this. “You’re…not mad?”
He lifted a brow as his gaze met mine. “Are you not still mad at me?”
I didn’t have to think about that. “Yes. I’m still angry.”
“And I’m still angry that you stabbed me in the chest.” He stepped toward me. “Lift your arms.”
I lifted my arms.
“You didn’t miss my heart, by the way. You got it pretty good,” he continued, pulling his shirt on over my head, tugging it down over my stiff arms. “That’s why it took a minute to catch up to you.”
“It took more than a minute.” My voice was muffled as my head got caught for a moment in his shirt before popping free.
One side of his lip kicked up as he tugged the other sleeve down. “It took a couple of minutes.”
I looked down at the shirt and saw the jagged tear on the front. It didn’t line up with my chest, but with my stomach. My gaze went to his bare chest. There was a wound, the skin pink and torn around it. Stomach churning, I gave a shake of my head. “Will it heal?”
“It will be fine in a few hours. Probably sooner.”
“Atlantian blood,” I whispered and swallowed thickly.
“My body will immediately start to repair itself from any non-fatal wounds,” he explained. “And I fed. That helped.”
I fed.
My hand fluttered to my throat, to the two tiny wounds that felt as if they’d already started to heal. A faint spike of pleasure pulsed through me. I jerked my hand away. “Will anything happen to me from…from you feeding?”
“No, Poppy. I didn’t take enough, and you didn’t take enough of mine earlier. You’ll probably be a little tired later, but that’s all.”
I went back to staring at his wound. “Does it hurt?”
“Barely,” he muttered.
I didn’t believe him. Placing my palm against his chest, a few inches from the wound, I tried to tap into my gift. I felt it stretching, so I opened up my senses. He became very still. The anguish I always felt was there, heightened and stronger than before, even though he’d gotten control of it at some point. It no longer overwhelmed him, but there was a different kind of pain underneath it. It was hot. Physical pain. The wound might heal, but it hurt, and it wasn’t minor.