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)
The various columnists had often referred to the bear sense of humor, but she hadn’t expected to run headlong into it the instant she set foot in Moscow. Of course, an article by “Aunt Rita” had stated that while bears found great amusement in acting like “lumbering trunks of fur with a limited number of brain cells,” they were ruthlessly intelligent.
“Only a fool underestimates a bear” had been Aunt Rita’s final words on the subject.
Theo hadn’t needed the columnist’s advice on that point; she’d figured it out on her own. No pack or clan would’ve survived existing in—much less holding territory in—the same region as Kaleb Krychek if they were anything less than dangerous and smart.
Aunt Rita had also stated that “bears appreciate spine” and weren’t easy to offend—unless a verbal opponent targeted the vulnerable under their care. Theo had found herself compelled by the latter, unable to imagine a people so good-natured and even-tempered.
Psy might have aimed for peaceful minds with the emotionless regime of Silence, but all they’d achieved was a frigid control that wore on the psyche until people began to snap.
Murder rates hadn’t gone down under Silence. The crimes had just been concealed better. She knew that because her grandfather had never bothered to hide information around her; he’d thought it was fear of him that kept her mouth shut. Theo had allowed him to believe that. Far better that than he realize she did it for Pax.
Marshall Hyde had never understood her profound allegiance to Pax—and her brother’s equally visceral loyalty to her—which was why he’d never realized that he could use one twin to manipulate the other. A small mercy.
Today, she’d be interacting with a man as different from her grandfather as night from day.
She’d survived a Councilor. How hard could it be to deal with a bear?
Armed with her research, she had her guard up and her senses on alert when she exited through the doors that spilled her out into the public area. She’d ended up on the tail end of a group from a commercial flight and expected to spot Yakov Stepyrev well before he spotted her; Theo was hardly a woman who stood out. Her grandfather had taught her to never stand out for reasons of his own, and she’d taken those lessons into adulthood because they suited her.
Except the instant she walked through the automatic doors, she got a prickle on the back of her neck that told her she was being watched. She looked up . . . and met eyes of a stunning aqua green across a good ten meters of space.
He lounged against the white of the far wall, one booted foot kicked up against it and his arms folded. Faded blue jeans. Black T-shirt. His biceps were defined but not in the overt fashion of a man who’d made it a point to get those muscles—these were the muscles of a changeling used to the physical. His hair was thick and silky and the color of polished mahogany, his skin a shade closer to dark honey, his face put together in a way that had multiple women sending him smiles as they passed by.
Right now, however, Yakov Stepyrev, StoneWater bear and Theo’s partner for the duration of this task, was focused absolutely and totally on Theo.
* * *
* * *
YAKOV exhaled against the visceral punch to the gut that was Theodora Marshall.
The woman of his dreams was staring straight at him, her eyes an intense and electric storm blue and her features set in lines that told him nothing . . . yet there was a potent power to her, a sense of that storm contained. So much fucking emotion hidden beneath an outwardly calm surface.
Barely able to breathe, he tried to settle his racing heart.
Stupid ID photo. Lying ID photo. Probably taken by a cat.
How had anyone managed to snap such a flat image of a being who fucking radiated energy? Oh, it was kept under tight lock and key, much like with Silver . . . but no, Theodora Marshall wasn’t the same as Silver.
His alpha’s mate had never given off this impression of an explosion barely contained, the veneer on the surface the merest patina. Silver’s calm was internal, the reason why she could be the unflappable director of EmNet—and a senior member of a clan of bears who liked to misbehave.
Theodora Marshall, however . . . She was a powder keg.
A single trigger . . . and boom.
His bear stretched, ready for the boom. For everything. Because it was her.
The woman who’d been haunting him since he was sixteen.
Pushing away from the wall with what he hoped was a commendable show of lazy relaxation, he strode over to her. “Theodora Marshall.”
“Yakov Stepyrev.” Her voice held a slight huskiness, and she didn’t offer her hand.