Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 127461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Rogue ran up to the little female leopard nearly hidden by the grasses of the swamp. Head and shoulders emerging for a brief moment.
Gorya put both hands on either side of the female leopard’s muzzle. “Do me a favor, wild one, go home. Rogue and I prefer you to wait there for us.”
They stared into each other’s eyes, and the intimacy of that look broke something in Braum. She nuzzled Gorya’s throat and turned, disappearing into the swamp. At once, two of the security guards followed. Rogue turned back toward Braum. There was nothing left of that soft man. Nothing. He was all vicious killing machine. All vengeance and fury. All rage. And he was coming for Braum.
14
Gorya lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling fan as he contemplated his life and wondered what the fuck he was going to do now. A lifetime of discipline seemed to be heading right out the window. Watching his woman nearly get shredded by that weasel Krylov had taken ten years off his life, but Bog, how easily she had switched from her innocence to her warrior. It was a thing of beauty.
He had come home to her drenched in the blood of how many men? So many. He should feel remorse. He knew he should. There were stains on his soul. The foul coppery taste of blood would remain in his mouth for days to come. Rogue may have torn those bodies apart, but he had participated. Directed. Strategized. Been an integral part of the process. Rogue didn’t ever kill without his permission or cooperation.
What had Maya done? Had she condemned him for being a monster? He hadn’t just come back coated in blood. He had ordered the deaths of the others involved in the trafficking ring—and that included the corrupt wives. He’d expected her to look at him with fear and loathing. He wouldn’t have blamed her. He often looked at himself that way. There were times when he looked in the mirror and saw a dead man looking back. A ghost.
But Maya? His sweet, adorable Maya? She’d been up waiting for him. Her eyes clear and guileless. Gentle with compassion—for him. She didn’t speak; she simply held out her hand to him and led him into the primary bathroom. He was so damn tired he could barely stand up. The day had started long before dawn and gone on until far into the night before he was satisfied they’d rounded up all of Braum’s men and cleared out the traitors.
He had to rebuild the lair quickly with the few people he had left. They needed homes for the young children left without parents and hoped they could shape them into productive members of the lair. Fortunately, Meiling was able to read other leopards the way Maya could, and she’d found good families willing to take them in and provide loving homes. He would sort out more in the coming weeks and appoint others to help him, but all he had wanted to do was go home. At the same time, he had dreaded facing Maya.
How could she accept him after seeing the true monster in him? After seeing Rogue at his worst? They were vicious and cruel. Both of them. They had no problem with not only killing but also torturing. He had wanted to prolong Braum’s and Krylov’s deaths. After they had forced hundreds to suffer, they didn’t deserve to die quietly. How did that serve justice? But then, that made him every bit a monster, just as they were.
He went to her exhausted. Barely able to stand. Barely able to look her in the eyes, and yet she simply took his hand and led him to the primary bath without a word. This time it was her thumb rubbing along the back of his hand in a small caress. Feather-light, but he felt it like a small earthquake moving through his entire body.
Without hesitation, she stepped right into the shower with him. Reaching up, she tugged his shirt from his body. He had to help because he was so much taller than she was, but when she got it free, she retained possession of it, crumpled it into her hand and tossed it out of the shower onto the floor.
He had walked into the bedroom barefoot, unwilling to bring grime from the swamp into their home, so she simply dropped her hands to the closure of his trousers. They were specially made, no zipper, no buttons, just a thick Velcro fastener to quickly rip free to shed when he was forced to shift on the run. She peeled it away, her lashes veiling her eyes as she freed his cock and balls and swept the trousers down from his narrow hips. He stepped out of them, one hand on her shoulder as if he had to steady himself.