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)
Because the wolves weren’t friendly when it came to Pax. It was more that they tolerated her brother because Memory was willing to work with him. In contrast, they were receptive and even kind to Theo—to the point that she’d exchanged conversation with the dominants who accompanied Memory.
Even then, face-to-face with a predator who was primed to attack if Pax even breathed wrong around Memory, she hadn’t come anywhere close to being overwhelmed. Yakov, in contrast, was the most laid-back changeling she’d ever met. There was no sense of tension to him. He drove with one hand on the wheel, his other placed against the window and the wind riffling hair that glinted with concealed threads of red under the afternoon sunlight.
No taut muscles, no hardness to his expression, that dimple that fascinated her a suggestion in his cheek even when he wasn’t smiling.
She should’ve felt at ease. Instead, the knot in her belly grew, her muscles so tight they were about to cramp. She was overloading in a way she only usually experienced during one of her episodes—but there was no cold prickle of blinding fury, her mind clear but for the fog created by her fascination with the bear beside her.
Swallowing hard, she pinned her eyes to the organizer screen and fell back on her oldest and most well-utilized focus technique. At seven years of age, tormented at being separated from her twin, she’d taken to creating his name in her mind using dots of mental light.
Pax created of tiny imaginary stars.
It was a child’s trick, a child’s need. She should’ve long ago moved to using her name, or any other random word, but this was what had worked when she’d needed it most, and her brain had become conditioned to it.
Inhaling quietly—only to be hit by the wildness of Yakov’s scent—she placed the first dot in the black backdrop created by her mind.
Two. Three. Dot after dot.
Too late, she realized she wasn’t writing out Pax’s name after all. She was drawing a bear!
Chapter 10
Human horticultural expert Danil Yaslav tells us that in his opinion, the topiaries are the work of a master landscaper and their apprentices. “Brilliant, absolutely brilliant,” he stated. “And such a lovely homage to the ursine inhabitants of our city.”
—Excerpt from “A Beary Big Surprise,” article in the Moskva Gazeta (18 June 2068)
YAKOV’S PASSENGER WAS dead silent, her head bent over her notes.
And while Yakov might be the quintessential bear, being social his default, that didn’t mean he couldn’t deal with quiet. He’d already gone over the documents on the Center that Silver had forwarded him, wondered if Theo had more.
He’d ask her later.
For now, however, he kept his attention on the road and his mind on the task ahead . . . only his bear still wasn’t in the mood to cooperate. The stubborn animal half of his nature had decided that dream vision aside, Theo Marshall was captivating in her own right.
Yakov growled at his own bear self inside his mind.
Things that fascinated him always got him into the worst possible trouble. Case in point: his teenage fascination with the den’s solar-power grid. Yes, he’d crashed the entire system. Even worse, he’d taken his twin into his disgrace. Pavel, of course, had stood stalwart next to him, but Yakov had not been impressed by himself.
His bear stretched inside him, acting like it was just a casual movement. Until it nudged him to take a discreet sniff of his passenger. Because quite contrary to popular belief, canines did not in fact have the best sense of smell in the world. That honor belonged to elephants, thank you very much, and the herds were quite proud of it. But bears? Bears had a keener sense of smell than even bloodhounds. Seven times keener, to be precise.
So he could tell that Theo Marshall wasn’t wearing perfume, and that the soap she’d used on her skin was a basic blend with such a faint undertone of vanilla that she likely hadn’t even scented it. Having warmed up against her skin since her shower, however, the scent was rich enough to have his bear taking appreciative breaths.
Her shampoo carried a similar scent; had to be the same brand.
Sniff!
Ignoring his bear’s demand—a bear that had no sense of boundaries—he played a game he and Pavel had done as children, seeing what they could figure out about a person from the tapestry of scents that clung to each and every individual in the world. The game was a popular one among cubs, one fostered by their parents.
Only later in life had he come to understand that the “game” was actually an important part of their education. Through it, they’d built up a database of countless scents. Not only that, they’d learned to interpret the intense amount of information they picked up simply by existing.