Total pages in book: 182
Estimated words: 171176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 856(@200wpm)___ 685(@250wpm)___ 571(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 171176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 856(@200wpm)___ 685(@250wpm)___ 571(@300wpm)
I knew the answer, though, and I knew deep down that she did, too.
“No,” I said firmly. “If you had been told a real account of what that coating did or heard about how dangerous it turned out to be, you would have stopped it. I know that without a doubt. I know it because I saw it when you woke up from nearly dying and tried it again. I know it because you are hellbent on fixing it. I know it because you may have done some questionable things in your life—which are much less questionable than many of mine, might I add—but you’ve always tried to help those less fortunate or those who were vulnerable. You are not the villain, Aurelia. Not in this story. Not yet.”
“Not yet?”
I grinned at her even though she was still staring at the ceiling in misery.
“No, love, not yet. Soon, though. The second you get over the heartache and grow into your personal power, you’re going to own your world, you’re going to tear that organization down, and I’m going to laugh with glee while you do it.”
She turned her head to look at me. “But . . . I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to hurt Granny. I want to ask her some questions, a whole lot of whys, and maybe I want to go my own way, but I don’t want to hurt her.”
“You don’t have to hurt her, love, but you do have to burn that harmful organization to the ground.”
She paused for a beat. “I know.”
I’d never been prouder of her.
Before I changed the topic to less doom-worthy things, she said in a small voice, “She said she’d come for me. She said she has people everywhere. I . . . I want to talk with her, and maybe I will want to go if she agrees to reconcile and change, but I don’t want to be forced into a life I don’t want to lead. But in my gut, I know that her first inclination will be to try to do just that.” More tears rolled down her cheeks.
The last lines of that letter had given me goosebumps. It was a threat if I’d ever read one.
“Don’t worry about that, my darling,” I said in all seriousness. “If you don’t want to go, she won’t be able to force you.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because the alpha will turn villain and burn her world to the ground if she tries.”
Chapter 2
Weston
“She’s fucked,” Hadriel reported as the sun was starting to set.
“Come again?” I stopped on the deck, my work for the voyage finished with very little that would need my attention in the days to come. It was the captain’s ship now. He called the shots. It would be a welcome reprieve.
Hadriel grinned. His face was still pale, but he looked in better spirits than usual. “I haven’t come yet today, actually. Was that an invita—” His grin faltered and he bent his head downward. “Sorry, habit.”
I knew well. The crew that had endured the curse of the dragon court were all very colorful. It was a standing royal order to give them a little slack. Very little, sometimes. Like now . . .
He cleared his throat and told me about the contents of the letter.
Rage simmered in my gut, and I looked away. That woman was scum and clearly had no conscience. Poor Aurelia. She was probably the only one who didn’t know.
Well, who hadn’t known was more accurate. She’d told Hadriel we’d cracked her world open and shown her what was inside. That was certainly true. Now she had to come to grips with the reality of the person she’d looked up to, the one she’d idolized and thought was family. It would be a hard reality to face.
“The good news is that I don’t think the situation is unsalvageable for you,” Hadriel finished. “I think she could use your company, actually. For the bond, if nothing else. She might be pissed for a while, but what’s new, right? You two have gotten through worse.”
“I’m headed that way now,” I said, not daring to hope. What a mess this whole thing with Aurelia had been—what a terrible start to a true mate bond.
She didn’t respond when I knocked lightly on the door. It wasn’t locked, though, so I slowly pushed into the darkening room.
She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Tear tracks cut lines down the sides of her cheeks, the slight sheen visible though no new tears fell. My stomach knotted from the pain she was in, that I had helped cause.
“Hey,” I said, closing the door behind me and flipping the lock.
She didn’t respond—not that I expected her to. It was time to eat crow.
“I’m sorry I kept that information from you,” I started, crossing to the open side of the bed and sitting down. “I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry your journey has taken this sharp left turn.”