Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
“It’s just a hat.”
She scoffed and smacked his hand away. “Do me a favor and keep your hands to yourself.” She paced toward the window and stilled.
He followed her stare. Buggies passed in the distance and children cloaked in Amish attire scampered, pushing kick scooters toward the schoolhouse. Dust kicked up from a field as an enormous horse-drawn wagon traveled south.
“I’m in hell.”
Her disturbing assessment concerned him. “This is different from what you know, I’m sure, but it’s no hell.”
She shot a thumb toward the window and sneered at him. “There are six Clydesdales pulling an Amish dude across a field like he’s in a beer commercial, but no beer. I’m trapped in an Amish apocalypse.”
“Are you thirsty?”
“No, I’m not thirsty, you moron! I want to leave.” She glanced back out the window and scoffed again. “Here’s to you, Miss Amish drug lord hostage,” she mumbled then sang the words, “Real American heroes...”
Her face dropped into her hands, a startling shift from her bravado. A whimper slipped through her fingers and the ever-present ache he felt to soothe her doubled.
“Why me?” she cried. “You could have chosen anyone.”
“I didn’t choose you, little one, God did.”
She rolled her bleary eyes and glared at him with palpable disdain. “Just stop.” Looking around the simple room she’d ransacked, she flung out her hands in frustration. “Look at me. I don’t belong here.”
“You’re my mate. You belong with me.”
“Oh, my God,” she moaned. “You have to chill with that.”
“I only speak the truth, pintura—”
“Delilah! My name is Delilah.”
“Delilah,” he corrected, wishing there was something he could offer her to make this passage easier on her. “What do you need that I can provide right now?”
“My freedom.”
“Something else.”
Her lips pursed. “A bathroom would be nice.”
That he could do. “Follow me.”
She followed him down the long hall to the water closet. Lighting the lantern hanging from the wall, he stepped back, proud to show off the basin and pump he’d built. The latrine allowed for modernized plumbing tucked within a discrete wooden chest.
She glanced at him questioningly. “You want me to pee in a box?”
“It’s not a box. It’s a toilet.”
“It’s medieval.”
He stepped into the water closet, and she immediately backed up, the small space hardly large enough for two individuals. With a huff, he lifted the square wooden lid exposing a round porcelain seat. “It is a toilet, sufficient to meet your needs.”
He pulled the chain demonstrating how the mechanism drained and flushed. Considering how primitive some Amish houses on the farm were, he’d imagined she’d be pleased he arranged such amenities for her arrival.
“Lovely. Get out.”
Her disappointment displeased him in unexpected ways, especially when he’d gone through such great pains to see to her comfort. “If your aim is to injure me with your withering disregard, you have succeeded.”
She gaped at him. “Are you kidding me? Hello? You brought me here against my will. I still haven’t figured out what you’ve done to me, but I know it’s bad and I’m starting to think it’s irreversible. If my words hurt you, tough shit. That’s all I got. You, on the other hand… You’re a monster.”
Again, she wounded him. At a loss, he backed out of the water closet and shut the door.
There was no cost for common courtesy, but apparently, it was the price he’d pay for taking her life, which she still didn’t realize he’d done. Then there was the gift of immortality. Would she see that differently as well?
The toilet flushed and she opened the door, appearing surprised to find him waiting for her. “Don’t you have other women to abduct or a field to plow?”
“Perhaps we could agree on a truce where we set aside the nasty commentary for an hour.”
“Not likely. If you wanted a more agreeable hostage, you should have kidnapped a submissive masochist or maybe someone into cottage core off-the-grid living. Now, if you don’t mind, I need a sink. I just peed in a box.”
Her brashness was unparalleled.
He led her to the kitchen and waited as she washed her hands. The sound of another person in his home after centuries of silence was an oddity in and of itself, but the reoccurring reminder that she was his mate was surreal and thrilling and crushing. The cosmic twist of her hatred pricked at his insecurities and he feared if he didn’t break down her dislike soon, her cruel disregard would build a callus around his heart.
He wanted to please her but had already failed. If only there were some sort of an olive branch or sign of goodwill he could offer her, something to make her feel safe and ensure that she trusted him. He realized now, nothing about Delilah would be as simple as he’d hoped.
After drying her hands, she turned and bowed her head. “What now, master?”