Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
The white gossamer curtains blew in a light wind. Real wind from an open window.
Windows in the academy did not open. I only knew wind from the few hours each day I might be scheduled for patrols.
I had never felt it on my naked skin or known the refreshing touch it might offer.
Such a discovery would have thrilled me were it not for the man relaxing in a nearby chair, watching me over an open book. A journal with a leather cover made from sapphire-blue vorec hide.
He closed it slowly, as if trying not to startle the wild, nervous thing in his bed. “How are you feeling?”
Sheet to my breast, my dark hair spilling about where I sat, my eyes darted to every corner of the room, taking in potential weapons, creating an exit strategy should he approach.
“You must be very thirsty.”
Parched and untrusting down to my aching bones.
There was a large vessel of water on a side table, a single empty glass beside it.
When Cyderial moved to lay down the book so he might prepare a glass, my eyes narrowed, a low warning thrum leaving my chest.
The memory was somewhat foggy, but I knew exactly what the general had done to me. Pain of that magnitude, I would never forget. The fear that followed would haunt my dreams.
All those delirious hours of compelled pleasure….
He had done something to me, twisted my thinking to engage my compliance. Made me drunk on him to the point that I’d forgotten he was the man I hated most, leaving me in such a state I saw only a beautiful male who was stabbing at my slippery insides with a monstrous appendage that felt glorious.
I’d enthusiastically participated, touched him, licked at his skin—and the memory tore me up with shame.
Sitting in that chair, dressed in civilian clothing, clean, vigilant… nothing about him seemed different or shaken. He stared at me with that same unwavering attention, that same fixation—utterly calm.
Collected.
Where I was vibrating with anxiety, naked, feverish, and at every disadvantage.
I remained frozen in the middle of that grand bed, waiting to see if he might move two steps to the right and free up my direct line to the door.
He did not.
From a large crystal pitcher, clean water was poured, the sounds of it hitting the glass reminded me that I was, in fact, desperate for a drink. Raising the full cup, he held it out at arm’s length as he slowly approached.
Yes, I took it. Swiped it right out of his hand, no care if I spilled, so long as I might bring it to my lips and gulp it down. Watching his every breath over the rim as I swallowed.
Panting, my burning throat was somewhat refreshed, I calculated what the odds might be if I first took that pitcher, then ran.
“Give me the glass, and I will refill it.” Sounding so cool, so even, ever the unshakable leader, the general smiled.
Desperate as I was to hide away from his unblinking gaze, I was not unwilling to go without that water. “Give me the pitcher.”
Green eyes sparkling, he said, “One glass at a time.”
Fine.
I tossed the empty glass right at him, only for him to catch it in midair as if it were nothing. Then he refilled it and outstretched his arm once again.
More cautious in my retrieval, I took the glass slowly, stiff and ready to bolt. Once at my lips, every drop was swallowed. Handing it back, and then another full cup until my stomach was churning in warning that I’d better stop.
Head pounding from dehydration, feeling unnaturally weak, I finished the last gulp and sighed.
Taking the empty glass from my limp hand, he set it aside, saying, “Private transport brought us to our home two days ago.”
This home was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Walls of windows high enough above the city that no fog hit the glass. Muted colors without a trace of drab academy gray. His adoration of pretty things was just as much on display in this space as it had been in his office. Even fresh flowers bloomed in a glittering vessel on a low table between two comfortable-looking wingback chairs.
This room did not seem like it had been designed with a male in mind. It was very female. Prettier than anything I’d seen in my old magazines.
I hated to admit how much I loved it.
Sandpaper rough, my voice cracked. “I thought you lived at the academy.”
Giving me room, he settled back in his comfortable chair. “My apartment there will no longer be required.”
The implication wasn’t missed. He had slept on academy grounds, because I resided on academy grounds. Now, he had me in this new place, his stolen mate.
Pulling the sheet tighter around my frame despite a strange fever growing in my skin, I said, “I need to use the bathroom.”