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)
“Big enough for two dragons. In human form, anyway,” he explained as he shrugged out of his dress shirt and draped it over the back of a chair.
“Sir.” Entering the room was a man wearing one of the castle uniforms, this one in deep forest green, like the door. He was clean-shaven, with excellent posture, and bowed gracefully before Weston. “Do you require anything, Beta?”
“Send for dinner, if you would, Niles.” Weston paused, looking at me. “Wine?”
“Yes, please,” I answered demurely, smiling at Niles. “Thank you.”
“Of course, madam.” He bowed at me before retreating back into the hall, and I nearly laughed at the absurdity.
“If only my mom could see me now. She would think this was all an amazing treat, like my own little fairytale with an appropriately tragic ending. She had a dark sense of humor.”
“Speaking of . . .” Weston entered the bedchamber. When he returned a moment later, he held in his hand a bound book with a lock on the front cover. “I got you another journal. I thought maybe you’d want to start fresh.” He held up a little key with a heart-shaped metal handle. “It locks. To deter the snoops.”
My breath hitched as I reached for it. The only gifts I’d been given since my mom passed had been from Granny, and I knew I’d never forget how dirty all those now felt. She’d manipulated me, using false pretenses to buy my happiness, my compliance.
This was . . . nothing like that. I could see it in the open way Weston looked at me as he handed it over. I could feel the warmth in the bond. There were no strings attached. No expectations. He was trying to do something kind. The little lock was a nice touch, emphasizing his apology while giving me an outlet, a fresh start.
It was endearing, touching, lovely, and, honestly, a little overwhelming. It was what I’d thought Granny’s gifts had meant, though the bond proved his motivation was true. This gift held no illusions.
“Granny never said she was sorry,” I murmured, feeling the soft cover before running my finger over the intricately decorated metal clasp. “She waited long enough after a punishment for the sting to go away, then she’d get me a present. The last one was that red cloak. She waited two months after I was punished for veering too close to the perimeter. It had seemed out of the blue, but after reading my journals and realizing her pattern, I know it wasn’t.”
“I hope you don’t think this is me trying to gloss over the part I played in your journals—”
“No,” I interrupted, laying a hand on his chest. “No, I don’t.”
“I thought maybe you’d want a fresh journal so that you could write down your thoughts and feelings, or even just memories of your mother, in a journal that hadn’t been sifted through by others.”
I smiled up at him, taking in his handsome face, his expressive gaze, as warm emotions rolled through me. “I know. It occurred to me Granny never apologized only because you have, many times. For many things. I was just thinking about how different it feels to get a gift from you than it did from her. Thank you. This is really thoughtful.” I hugged the book against my chest. “I love it.”
“I’ll have your other journals returned to you tomorrow.” He pushed down his slacks, and my gaze caught on the hard bulge between his legs and those powerful thighs. “The notes you were making . . .” He paused to turn and drape the pants over his shirt, and I caught sight of the scars crisscrossing his large back.
I reached out to trace one, as entranced as ever by his magnificent body, his perfect physique, but the need to understand his past pain and learn his tortured experiences tugged at me.
“A whip mark, right?” I asked softly.
He stilled against my touch. “Yes.”
I ran my thumb across a small circle at the bottom of his back. “And this?”
“I’m not sure. A knife, maybe. Or a hot poker. I can’t remember what it was. I just remember it went in deep and crippled me for weeks. I didn’t mind it, though, because that meant they couldn’t use me for their parties, their sexual desires. I spent my convalescence splayed on my stomach on the stone floor, torn between wishing for death and thinking of ways to burn the whole place to the ground.”
I traced another line, thinking of what that must have been like. I’d been lied to and punished, but I’d had a bed and my own home. Sometimes it had gotten so bad that I’d wished for death, but ultimately, I had thought I could leave. Maybe that had been an illusion, but I hadn’t actually been behind bars. I hadn’t been in a little cell. The glaring difference between his past horrors and mine was that at least I’d had the impression of freedom. I’d had a lot of shit thrown at me in a very small span of time, but it was nothing like what he’d endured. I needed to remember to be thankful for that—thankful I was out of it now, thankful I could try to make things right.