Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
My good-natured taunting is given on a crooked grin. “Oh, so you do know how to read people, you just hate being read.”
Ptur’s actions cease to shoot me a guilty glare.
“You are quite perceptive, Lady Pennington,” Gene proclaims, doing his best not to chortle. “It appears as though Fate has properly matched a pair yet again.”
“She absolutely has,” my dinner mate states with so much certainty that it momentarily renders me speechless.
Why do I feel the same way about someone I barely know?
Half.
Half of what!?
Soul.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Master Draak?” Gene politely offers, pulling my attention back upward. “Perhaps open the bottles of refreshment? Pour a glass? Prepare something for our currently caged guest?”
“That would actually be quite helpful,” Ptur retorts while removing a sealed container from the basket. “Does your mother have a favorite dish?”
“Um,” I begin wiggling out of my flats, to get more comfortable, “she used to really love chicken fried steak when I was a kid.” When their attention swings to me, I mindlessly add details, “Two thick cuts. Double breaded. Double fried. And white gravy for them as well as the lumpy—always lumpy—mashed potatoes.”
Gene gleefully exclaims, “It will be an honor to serve a Fated Mate’s parent. It is a task I haven’t done in far too many years.” He cuts a small glance over his shoulder. “Although, this will be the first time I have ever tended to one in a prisoner’s cell.”
Positioning my shoes in the space beside me is done in tandem with my responding. “Hopefully we’ll be changing that soon.”
“Hopefully,” Ptur echoes and removes the lid to the object. “That’ll be all for now, Gene. Thank you.”
We’re given a curt nod of dismissal that’s followed by him floating away.
Once it’s just the two of us again, I command, “Explain to me what a Fated Mate is and why on earth you two believe that person-”
“Being.”
“-is me.”
“Know it’s you,” Ptur corrects again, unpacking actions continuing.
“How?”
“The mark.”
My eyes cut down to the design that I now know for a fact I’m not hallucinating. “What does it mean?”
“That the Goddess of Fate—one of The Great Ones—has pre-tied my existence to yours. Shifters of every kind are mated this way. You are the only creature I’ll ever love. You are the only creature I can produce an offspring with. You are the only creature whose life I am figuratively as well as literally bound to. In other words, when you hurt, I ache. When you feel good, I feel fucking phenomenal. And when your life transitions to the beyond, so will mine.”
“You mean a literal ‘til death do us part?”
“Yes.” Ptur pulls out a thin wooden stick. “What would you like on your kabob?”
Confusion wastes no time appearing. “Pardon?”
He gestures his hand down to where the open containers are displaying various cube shaped foods. “Meat choices are to my left, vegetation to my right. You said you’d rather I not make your choices for you.” His eyes lift to meet mine. “This is me listening to your request.”
Grinning is mindlessly done. “I hope you listen this well in the office.”
“Doubtful.”
Post exchanging small snickers, I proclaim, “I will tell you what I want on my kabob after you finish explaining this shit to me. Like how Fate knows we’re supposedly perfect for each other?”
“I don’t know the answer to that.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“How could I possibly know?”
“How can you not know?”
“Do Sleepers have all the answers to life’s most seismic and profound questions?”
“What the fuck is a Sleeper?!”
“Someone who is not tethered to the magical realm. They live in The Fog, which is basically that annoying feeling you get when you’re really fucking tired and no matter how much caffeine you chug down, you just can’t seem to shake it.”
“Or like when you feel as though there is something in the corner of your eye, but no matter how much you rub and rub and rub you can’t quite get it out?”
“Precisely.”
“I fucking hate the feeling.”
“That’s basically what Sleepers endure every day, all day.”
“So, Sleepers are humans?”
“Humans. Houseflies. Hamsters—although, there are hamsters that are also shifters.”
Curiosity rather than disbelief deepens. “And how exactly do humans get to see all the shit that I’m somehow currently seeing?”
“See that’s the thing that doesn’t make any fucking sense to me.” Ptur wags the empty stick my direction. “Sleepers require a magical tether. Whether that means your Fate Mated to a shifter—who would then be your tie—or choose to bond with another magical creature—like a nymph—or you do some stupid shit like get mixed up with drugs, witches, or demons, varies, of course; however, there has to be something for a Sleeper to attach to in order to become an Awaker—an individual who is no longer blind to the supernatural or fantastical elements of existence. Also, we use that term for this form of our shifting. Most of us take this one on because it’s easier to do most things on both sides of The Fog.” Another point of the stick is given at the same time he asks, “Can I get you a hard candy? Maybe a peppermint or a butterscotch?”