Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
The screen fades back to the pack logo. For a long moment, nobody says anything, until Hannah breathes, “Wow. You really are a queen.”
I don’t flatter myself that she’s talking about the content of the video. “It kinda just hit me, too,” I admit.
Clare taps a finger against her lips in thought. “I wouldn’t have included the word apostates,” she muses. “You could be construed as a religious fanatic.”
“Noted.” I’m grateful for the critique. “I’ll be careful to walk that back.”
“Only if you can do so without making things worse,” she warns.
Maybe Clare should be my advisor.
Hannah’s phone beeps. She answers it and her eyes dart to me. “Thank you,” is all she says before hanging up. She gives me a tight smile. “He’s awake.”
I don’t know why I bolt from the bed as fast as I do. Something in me screams that it’s imperative for me to see him, to speak to him, just in case he suddenly dies or goes into a coma or something.
My security crew practically has to jog to keep up with me, I’m walking so fast. I’m glad I followed Hannah’s advice and got dressed, because my robe would have been flapping the whole time. The guards part as I barge into the sitting room and toward the safe room. I don’t even have to slow down for them to get out of my way.
But when I hit the threshold of his room, I freeze.
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe for him to be sitting up, bright-eyed and sarcastic. They said he was awake; did he fall back to sleep? He hasn’t changed position from when I saw him last.
Our link crackles weakly, though, and compels me to his side, where I sit in the chair pulled up to his bedside. That’s where I sat for hours watching him, hoping he wouldn’t die and leave me to run the pack on my own. Now, I’m more concerned about Nathan my mate, not Nathan my business partner.
He peels one eye open, then squeezes it shut. His voice is a thick whisper. “You’re okay.”
A tear rolls down his temple, into his hair. It’s enough to break me down completely. I take his hand and carefully lift it, holding it against my cheek. “I’m okay.”
“I saw…” He takes a long pause, wincing when he breathes in. “There was blood on you.”
“It wasn’t mine,” I promise. “Not even a scratch.”
“I tried to get to you.” His eyes are red and watery as they fix on mine. “It happened too quick.”
“I know.” I can’t help my glance at his bandaged abdomen. “Do you remember anything? Do you remember who did that?” I tuck his hand back at his side.
He shakes his head, a small, careful movement. “I’m not sure what happened. I was surrounded by thralls, and suddenly they were dragging me over the dais, toward the back hall. But nothing else, until I woke up.”
I wonder if his memories will recover. I hope not; he doesn’t need to remember screaming in agony as his intestines were being kept in his body by a thrall’s bare hands.
“They won’t tell me much about the injury, but that I’ve been injured,” he chuckles bleakly. “Did you see it?”
“It’s bad,” is all I can say.
“Oh, I can tell,” he replies with a bitter chuckle, then grimaces. “I was looking for specifics.”
Will telling him traumatize him or something? I hesitate, until he softly commands, “Bailey. Tell me.”
I take a deep breath and decide to start top down. “They think you have a brain injury. You’re awake and talking, so I guess that’s a good sign?” He makes a thoughtful noise as he listens. “You have seven stitches on your forehead and thirteen down your left cheek. It was basically slashed open.”
He groans and I can’t tell if it’s from pain or vanity. “Is it going to look horrible?”
“It’s probably going to look better than your gut,” I say.
“I don’t have a gut!”
Relief washes over me. He’s with it enough to be obsessed with his looks. He’ll be fine.
“You almost didn’t have guts. They were on the outside of you,” I tell him. “Worry about that.”
“It’s occupying quite a bit of my thought, actually,” he says. “Perhaps you could convince them to give me more pain medication? Can’t they cast a spell or something?”
“I’ll ask your doctor,” I say. But before they give him anything that might knock him out, he needs to know that I’ve been running things while he’s been unconscious. “Listen… without you, I didn’t know what to do. So, I did the best I could to lead the pack.”
“I know you did.” He chuckles weakly. “I’m always right.”
“Why don’t you wait until you’re back in the big chair and you’ve seen what I’ve been up to before you start believing in me,” I joke.