Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Using his knees to nudge apart her thighs, he made sure she was ready for him. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he said, his muscles bunched and his eyes locked with her own as he began to nudge into her. “Such a pretty pussy you have, Theo.” Sweat broke out along his brow. “Bozhe, you’re tight.”
Her nails dug into his arms, her breathing hitched . . . but his Theo was stubborn as all hell, and he was the one who was shaking as he sank home. She wrapped her legs and her arms around him, silky strands of her hair caught between them.
“I love this.” A shocked little voice that made his bear strut.
Finding a fragment of control, he raised his head to look at her, and his heart, it ached at seeing the shocked pleasure, the vulnerable trust on her face. “Me, too. And we’re just starting.”
Theo traced his lips with her finger as she’d done once before that night. “Your smile feels like sunlight.”
Throat growing unexpectedly thick, he leaned in to take another kiss as slow and deep as the movement of his body in hers. He took care, such care. Because this was his Theo, and he’d cut off his right arm before he’d ever hurt her.
But later that night, after her sobs of pleasure and his shout as his back arched, he dreamed of blood. Theo’s blood. All over his hands. So slick. So much of it. Warm and fresh and unstoppable.
* * *
* * *
YAKOV was not in a good mood when he woke, that fucking dream gnawing at him. Nuzzling and cuddling with Theo did a little to temper his worry and fear, but he was forcing down toast past the fury in his throat when it struck him that the dream had changed last night.
This time, the blood had been all over his hands.
Halting with the toast halfway to his mouth, Theo still on the phone call with her brother that had come a minute earlier, he switched his brain into tactical mode. What had he done? Why had the dream altered? He’d been near Theo this time, no longer tied up. But not fast enough if she was still bleeding out.
When his phone rang, he almost didn’t answer, not wanting to lose his train of thought. Then he recognized the personalized ringtone. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he said with a grin.
“Too much charm for your own good, just like your deda,” his grandmother Quyen sniffed, but beneath that bubbled unrestrained joy. “Did you hear the good news?”
He felt his cheeks crease. “Think we can officially steal Arwen now?”
“Hush! Ena, she’ll rain down hell.” Open admiration in her tone. “I’ll invite her to tea again. Last time, she told me and Graciele about how she took over an evil man’s empire as a young woman and—oh, such sad news—he had a fatal accident soon afterward.”
That little tidbit didn’t surprise Yakov in the least. “Have you seen the new mates?” He could just imagine Pavel’s strut, Arwen’s beaming joy.
“Pah! You think your babushka doesn’t remember being young?” she scolded. “No disturbances until at least noon. That’s my rule. But I made the new mates a big breakfast and drove out with your deda to leave it by the door of Ena’s city house, then ran away and sent your brother a message telling him to open the door.” A small giggle. “The insulated breakfast basket was gone when I accidentally passed that way five minutes later.”
Yakov wished he could hold his tiny storm force of a grandmother. “We’re lucky to have you in our corner, Babulya.”
“Yes, you are. I didn’t get these gray hairs just sitting around. I’ve lived a life, cublet.”
Flexing his free hand, he found himself saying, “Babulya, what do you think it might mean if I dreamed I had blood on my hands?”
A long pause. “A dream or a dream like my papa used to dream?”
“It started like one of Denu’s dreams . . . but this part. It feels different.” Not as real. Even in the dream, he’d felt oddly disconnected from it. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Hmm.” His grandmother was quiet for a moment. “Your denu told me once that he had two kinds of visions—the first kind are the ones everyone knows about, but the second were more subtle. Holding meaning but not being an exact representation of what would be.”
Blood on my hands.
“My fault,” Yakov murmured, his gut leaden. “It means that what’s about to happen is going to be my fault.”
“Well? What are you going to do to fix it?” his babushka demanded.
Yakov’s panic flatlined. Because that was exactly what he needed to figure out. “I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too, my cheeky cublet. Give Theochka a hug for me.”
After hanging up, Yakov glanced over to where Theo stood by the window, phone to her ear. He could hear most of the conversation, though he wasn’t trying to listen in—just a side effect of his hearing. He’d have to tell her, so she could choose to wear an earpiece for privacy.