Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Nazra, his mate.
Those words smoothed over Isaiah’s hackles like warm syrup. They were so casually spoken—no bitterness or hurt had laced her tone. It had been a matter-of-fact remark. She didn’t view Zaire as hers in any sense.
Her head tilted. “You thought I’d, what, be all flattered and excited?”
“It would have been understandable if some part of you had felt hopeful that he’d walk away from her to pursue you.”
She frowned. “No part of me hopes that.”
“Yes, I’m getting that impression.”
“It’s not an impression. It’s a fact.” Quinley stared up at Isaiah, genuinely surprised at just how bugged he was by Zaire’s visit. Oh, she’d known he’d be pissed. Such a visit was bound to pluck at any possessive strings in Isaiah that had come to life after they branded each other. But she hadn’t expected him to get quite so wound up about it.
She also hadn’t thought he would worry that any part of her pined for Zaire. She’d been very clear that that wasn’t the case. He hadn’t seemed dubious at any point before now, so she’d assumed he’d taken her at her word.
Resolved that he’d have no doubts, she leaned forward and added, “Even if I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t want Zaire. I couldn’t accept him. Neither could my cat. Just as you couldn’t accept Lucinda now that she’s preg—” Quinley cut herself off at his flinch.
Her blood ran cold. Well, that explained why he doubted she’d fully let go of Zaire. He couldn’t imagine it was true because, despite his claims, he hadn’t been able to do the same with Lucinda. Ouch.
Logically speaking, it was understandable. But—stung at knowing that the male she’d claimed still hurt at being unable to have another woman—Quinley wasn’t feeling very understanding right then. Nor was her cat—a growl rumbled in the feline’s chest.
Quinley slowly pushed to her feet. “What I said was true, Isaiah. I can’t make you believe me. Maybe you will in time.” She began heading for the kitchen.
And a hand snapped around her wrist.
“Stop.” The order was low but firm, and there was a tender note in it that surprised her.
Grinding her teeth, she stayed still as Isaiah approached her left side and stepped fully into her space.
He placed his mouth near her ear. “You saw me flinch,” he began, his voice soft, “and you’re thinking I haven’t let her go. You’re wrong. I flinched because my cat dug his claws into me. He doesn’t like thinking of her pregnant—for him, it’s the ultimate betrayal.”
Oh.
Isaiah took her by the shoulder and gently turned her to face him. “Listen to me. It isn’t that I don’t believe you. I just wanted to be sure where your head is at.”
Quinley sighed, knowing she’d overreacted a little. The truth was that a lifetime of having to defend herself against false rumors meant she was too used to not being believed. When people who mattered to her doubted her word on something, it always hit harder than it needed to. Add that to her assumption of why he’d flinched and, yes, she’d clammed up.
“And yeah, what Zaire did is fucking with me a little,” Isaiah continued. “I don’t want him anywhere near you. My cat would like to slice his throat.”
Her brows knit in surprise. “I didn’t think your cat would be bothered.”
“Oh, he’s bothered. It’s part of why he reacted so badly when you brought up Lucinda’s present condition—he’s already agitated from Zaire’s behavior, and he wasn’t exactly calm before then thanks to the harpy eagle. Do you have the little shit’s cell phone number?”
“No. Why?”
An innocent shrug. “I’d like to talk to him.”
Her nape prickled at the far too casual note in his tone. “If you mean to warn him off, that’s not necessary. He won’t turn up again. There was no real point to him showing up today—I think it was just a spur of the moment thing driven by a realization that knocked him off-balance. He’ll regret it when his thoughts are clear.”
His eyes searched her face. “You seem sure of that.”
“He never wanted me, Isaiah. Never will. He made it very plain years ago.”
“How old were you at the time?”
“Sixteen.”
So young, thought Isaiah. To be sent away by your fated mate at any age would be difficult. But to be only a juvenile—someone who was in the vulnerable stage of still growing into their own skin and developing a sense of self—it had to have hit that much harder, cut that much deeper. “What happened exactly?”
“You sure you want to hear this story?”
He gently rested his hands on her upper arms. “I’m sure.”
She nibbled on her lower lip, hesitant.
He’d done damage here, he realized. She was now so worried he’d think she pined for Zaire on some level that she’d prefer not to speak of him. Isaiah didn’t want that. He needed for her to feel she could talk to him about anything.