Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Of course I look tired. I'm exhausted. Always. But I pin a smile to my face, because I suspect Rachel doesn't really want to hear about my troubles. "I'm managing, but thank you for asking."
She heads out and I see her to the door of the clinic and then head back to my office to get a second sweater, as I can't seem to get warm. As I pull it over my head, I think about Azar and what Rachel said.
I hate that I still love him. I hate that I still think about him constantly. That I miss him. That I'm as hungry for his touch as I am for his sharp tongue. I've never felt so lonely as I have in the last few months, so utterly without hope. He hasn't given me any indication that he misses me, either. He hasn't come after me or checked up on me. It was like the moment I left his bed, we were in two separate cities.
That hurts me as much as the lying. If he loves me the way he says he does, how can he just completely walk away from our relationship? If he knows he's done wrong, why doesn't he fight to prove to me that he's fixing things? Why doesn't he fight to keep me?
With a sigh, I wrap my new sweater tighter around myself and go back to work.
Chapter
Thirty-Two
AZAR
After another exceedingly long day of fort minutiae, I have a throbbing headache and bone-deep exhaustion. One can be remedied by a nap, but the exhaustion will remain at my side until the Rift is closed, I suspect. There is too much to do, too many things that need my hand in them, and no one to help me. Not that it matters, since I don't sleep well without Melina at my side. As I head toward my quarters, I realize I've forgotten to eat. It's not that I'm hungry. I've lost my appetite for a lot of human things without Melina at my side.
Not much matters without Melina. I haven't read anything in weeks. I can't concentrate enough to finish a book, because there's no smiling mate waiting at the end of the day to ask me what I thought. I have no one I can share ideas with. No one to talk to, no one to discuss my worries with. Everything feels empty without her, but if this is what makes her happiest, I shall strive to make the best of it.
I know I have to keep my strength up, however, so I turn and head for the kitchens. I'll grab a bite there, enough to tide me over until tomorrow, and then head to bed. Rubbing my brow, I cross the compound, silently filtering the babble of infants so I can hear the voices of others around me. Daniels is somewhere nearby with his female, the thick scent of their recent mating heavy in the air. I pick up the scents and voices of dozens of females—my panty program females. We have had no more matings since I released the drakoni from my hold on them, and I've stopped sending out the females to try and lure more dragons in. I still feed and house them, though, because they are dependent on me. They help out, doing laundry for the militia, assisting with food distribution, and a few are teaching children at the school I recently set up. There is even a library, which pleases me greatly. I am fascinated by how much knowledge the books hold, and I want all of the fort to flourish with this information. The more we all know, the stronger we will be.
As I turn down the hall toward the kitchens, someone is singing a small tune.
"Late-night run?" another asks as I put a hand on the door.
"To the clinic," replies another, and I catch the scent of soup. "More food for the sick, and a little extra for Melina herself. Poor lamb looks dreadful. She's running herself ragged—"
I fling the door open, wild eyed. "What about Melina?"
The two cooks stare at me with terror, one clutching the handle of a rolling wagon filled with containers of soup.
"What. About. Melina?" I ask again, my heart seizing in my chest. "Why is she a poor lamb?" I'm desperately craving any crumb of information about her. Does she wear my dresses? Does she ask about me? Does she sleep well at night without me in her bed, or does she struggle as much as I do? Has she laughed recently?
Has she laughed since she left me?
The cooks exchange a look. The one with the cart hesitates and then speaks. "I normally do the deliveries to the clinic and I've noticed she looks…frail, my lord. Very tired. That's all."
Frail?
Frail? Someone has let my beautiful mate work herself into frailty over the sick? Indignation and fury blaze inside me. "You," I say, pointing at the one with the wagon. "Accompany me to the clinic. Right now."