Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
“Okay, let’s go,” Greyson says, and he and Riley move away from the truck.
Tyson reaches over and I recoil as he puts my seatbelt on me.
I stare out the windshield as we leave. I refuse to look at him.
45
Tyson
After a long drive back where the cab of the truck feels like it’s filled with hatred, I park and shut the truck off.
Riley and Grey have followed me here to the cabin.
I step out and Riley hands me Ivy’s keys.
Grey says, “So, the things she said about a witch…”
“I don’t care if a witch was involved. She’s still mine,” I tell him.
“Of course. We need more information, if possible. It might be connected to Mason’s behavior.”
“I give no fucks about Mason Quinn right now, Greyson,” I inform, getting in his face.
Grey raises his hands defensively. “We’ll talk later then. What about bringing her back home. We –”
“This is her home. Not some underground place in a city!”
“Arcana Falls, bro. Bring her there. Safer within those gates and the girls can come by and help. Your mom. Bailey. If they talk to her…”
“Not tonight.” I say. “Thanks for the help.”
“Good luck, cuz,” Riley slaps my arm and glances into the truck where Ivy sits with her arms folded across her chest.
We all look in that direction and she glares in our direction and then undoes her seatbelt, leans over and pushes the lock down on the driver’s door.
Fuck. Not this again.
“Don’t you dare, Ivy. Don’t fucking dare try to leave!” I order, rage clawing through my blood, electricity arcing at the base of my spine.
“Luck. Yeah, you’re gonna need it,” Grey says.
I jump over into the bed of the pickup realizing I made the mistake of leaving the keys in the truck again.
“Shit. You want some help?” Riley offers.
“Grab me the spare set of keys from on top of the fridge? You’re gonna have to either break down my door or climb in my bedroom window around the side.”
She hasn’t started the truck. That’s something at least.
Riley smiles. “Got yourself a little spitfire, man. I envy that.”
His eyes go funny and for a split second I see his longing. I don’t feel threatened. I know it’s not about Ivy, it’s about the mate he lost. He heads to the house. Grey follows.
I don’t want my Ivy to be a spitfire. I don’t want her to be angry. I want her to forgive me.
“Riley and Grey are getting the other keys. You should just open the door now, Ivy,” I say to the back of her head from my spot perched behind her in the bed of the truck.
She says nothing. She puts her forehead to my steering wheel and her shoulders tremble.
She’s crying. I hate it when she cries. Hate isn’t a strong enough word. I want to inflict pain on whatever it is making her cry, which means I want to rip myself apart. It’s torture straddling the line between avenging her and self-preservation.
Hopelessness claws through my body. My wolf wants to wail his anguish at the sky.
***
Riley and Grey have gone, and I have the spare keys in my hand.
I unlock the door and lift her out of the driver’s seat, snatching the second set of keys from the ignition and gathering up her bags that sit on the seat beside her.
She doesn’t struggle. She doesn’t do anything.
Her eyes close and her lip and chin quiver.
I carry her inside, dropping her bags to the floor, then stride to the bedroom, kick my boots off and climb into the bed pulling her closer to me, holding the back of her head to my chest, throwing a leg over her, trying to cocoon her. I purr to her. I purr loud. Her hands are balled into fists between her breasts and my chest. Her whole body is tense and then it loosens until she melts into me and weeps loudly into my chest. Very loudly. She’s crying so hard that it’s physically crushing my will. I feel my eyes moisten and I debate ending myself so that I can end the source of her pain.
“Ivy, please tell me how to fix this?” I plead. “I didn’t think. I just reacted. I can’t undo it. I don’t know what to do.”
She continues crying.
I purr some more, and she falls asleep against the wet spot on my shirt from her tears.
Her fists don’t loosen.
I don’t sleep. I simply, with all my might, try to absorb her pain, try to take it all away through sheer will. I want her to give it all to me so that I can feel it instead of her. I don’t want her to hurt anymore because of me. I’d take all the hurt instead if I could.
“I’m so sorry, my only,” I tell her.
46
Amelia Brennan
I pull into the gas station and turn my car off. A woman somewhere in her early thirties, I think, with clear blue eyes and great skin steps outside, eyes on me, filled with suspicion.