Total pages in book: 172
Estimated words: 155984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
He kept his tone mild, as if he wasn’t laying down the law when he was, because he damn well wasn’t going to lose her. He doubted if the strawberry leopards had been wiped out just from poachers. He thought it more likely was from whatever caused them to hemorrhage when they had even a slight cut.
The moment he realized she could be like her mother—a hemophiliac—that it could be genetic, he had set in motion everything he could to aid her. His people were researching. Evangeline, Ashe, Ania. Drake’s people. Jake Bannaconni’s people. Sevastyan had already texted Jake Bannaconni’s doctor, a renowned shifter, asking his advice. He knew there were ways to help treat bleeding disorders. That fast he had an incredible team to make certain Flambé lived a long life—with him. It did make him grateful for the life he led. There were some positive things to it. The thought of losing her was already beyond his comprehension.
“How did your parents meet? Did your father ever tell you?”
Flambé pulled her legs up under her, curling into herself there on the window seat in the kitchen. She looked away from him, her fingers circling the water bottle. “Yes. I was curious of course. She was one of the females he rescued. He put her through culinary school. According to him, she loved to cook and was very good at it.”
“She had a reputation,” Sevastyan encouraged when she fell silent. “Evangeline told me she was a chef at Baume, the renowned French restaurant in downtown San Antonio. She would have had to be amazing to work there.”
Flambé sent him a brief smile and then turned back to look out the window. She looked so alone he wanted to gather her up in his arms. It took effort to stay in his chair and just observe her.
Shturm, pay close attention. She is guarding herself. Holding herself so close. He wanted the impression of his leopard as well. More than once he had been forced to interrogate prisoners and Shturm’s observations had been helpful. This was more important to his life—and his leopard’s—than anything else.
“Keep going, baby. Tell me about them.”
“He wanted children and he never found his mate. The species was nearly extinct. He said it stood to reason that his mate had already been killed. She was in her first cycle.”
She turned and looked at him again. Straight. Her eyes meeting his. Her eyes were nearly emerald. Was there hostility there? Some kind of accusation? Her lashes lowered and she turned her head before he could read her.
Shturm?
She doesn’t trust us. Either one of us.
He waited a heartbeat, turning his leopard’s assessment over and over in his mind, letting it process. “Your father told you that your mother was in her first life cycle but that he had another mate?”
“Yes.”
Short. Clipped. By all accounts, Flambé and her father had gotten along very well. They didn’t argue. They were good friends. The only thing she’d gone against her father on had been continuing with her rescuing of the leopard species going extinct. Other than that one thing, everyone, including Flambé, said she didn’t fight with her father. But then, Flambé didn’t argue with Sevastyan either.
“Did he talk to you about their life together?” He pushed her just a little bit when he knew she was reluctant to talk to him about her parents.
She took another drink of water and then swung her legs off the little bench seat to stand up, stretching. “He didn’t. I asked a couple of other people I knew, friends of hers, and they told me things. They weren’t exactly nice things. I want to go for a run.”
“That’s a good idea.” He stood up as well. “I think after this morning, we both need a little action.” He gathered the plates from the table.
Flambé instantly cleared the silverware and mugs. She began washing the dishes as he scraped the food she didn’t eat into the compost she’d set up for the plants.
“What did her friends tell you?”
She shrugged. “Nothing good. They’re both gone so I guess it doesn’t matter.”
He went hot inside. Red hot. Raging. It mattered. “He didn’t hit her—or you, did he?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
He could barely hear her and she was standing right beside him. Close. She smelled like cinnamon and Egyptian jasmine. At once he got that taste for her in his mouth. On his tongue. She set up a craving there was no denying. Franco Matherson was going to be a big problem sometime in the future as much as they both might want to think he was gone. There was no getting a woman like Flambé out of one’s mind.
Her parents. He needed to do some digging into what life had been like for her mother with her father. “When did you move out to that little studio? How old were you?”