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)
"O-of course, my lord," the cook stammers, confused.
I turn and slam out of the kitchens, practically racing across the compound with quick, long strides. My thoughts whirl with worry over Melina. She has plenty of staff—I have seen to it. Why is she allowing them to work her relentlessly? She should be supervising only. She should be running things and passing off the work to her subordinates. And now I am hearing that she's fragile?
I want to scream with rage. Instead, I turn and glare at the cook and his bouncing cart full of soup containers. "Hurry up."
"Coming, my lord," he calls frantically, and the cart gets noisier as he drags it down the dirt road.
It's late, the moonlit sky clear overhead and cold. Smoke from the clustered homes is thick in the air, along with unwashed bodies. The Rift pulses overhead, a faint, sickly green visible even at night, and the rooftops crawl with insect life. A bug lands on my sleeve, big as a crow, and I pluck it off and toss it over my shoulder without breaking stride. Up ahead, I'm not surprised to see the lights still on in the clinic, the glass doors showing movement inside. The guards nod at me as I approach.
I ignore them, heading inside and scanning the occupants for my mate. Her scent is here, along with the repulsive scents of sickness and death. There's a male at the back of the room, wearing a red armband over his militia uniform sleeve, a symbol that he works for the clinic, but I don't see my mate. The curtains are up in several parts of the room now, and I stride forward, determined to rip them all from the walls if necessary. "Melina?"
A woman steps out from behind one of the curtains, a bucket of something foul in her arms. It takes me a moment to realize that this disheveled, wan creature is my glorious mate.
As the humans say, what the fuck?
Melina has lost weight since she was last at my side. Even with layers of clothing on, she is far too thin. Her cheekbones are prominent, her face no longer full and healthy. She looks tired, too, and her beautiful hair that she is so proud of and takes such loving care of is tied back in a simple, scraggly tail. Her basic, bland clothes are stained and wrinkled, and her shoulders are slumped. Most worrying of all, her eyes look dull.
I do not like this.
I straighten to my full height, giving her an imperious look. "What is the meaning of this?"
Melina looks around, her expression puzzled. "Meaning of…what?"
"I can tell just by looking at you that you're working too hard." I sweep toward her, my robes dragging around my legs. I get to her side and touch her chin, her skin warm and dry under my hand. I tilt her face up, studying it, and she makes a half-hearted attempt to break free from my grasp. "There are circles under your eyes."
She bats at my hand. "That's probably because I'm tired."
"Where is the staff that I have sent? The ones that are supposed to be helping you?" I lower my hand and smoothly rest one on her back instead, gently nudging her toward her office.
"They are helping me," Melina says, her voice weary. "It's just that half of them are sick and so everyone's having to pick up the slack."
"Sick? Sick with what?"
"The flu. It's a seasonal thing. This year seems to be worse than most." She shakes her head. "It'll die down. We just have to make it through the busy time. Give it a few more weeks."
In a few more weeks, she'll be so frail that she would lose a fight with a child. I let her make her excuses, though, guiding her toward her office. The beds in the clinic are full, and Daniels has mentioned that to me, but I thought it was simply from the locals continuing to eat the bugs despite the constant warnings we give them. Another type of sickness? I don't like this. It seems like this world was made to take advantage of my poor mate's generosity.
Well, no longer. I mean to put a stop to it.
The moment we're inside her office, I steer her toward the pathetic cot that is supposed to be her bed. There is a pillow, but the only blanket is the one she's wearing, and it is frigid inside. "Where is your bedding?"
"We needed more for the patients," she says, sitting down on the edge of the cot bonelessly, as if she doesn't have the strength to function. "So I gave them mine."
"Foolishness," I snap. "I will have more brought." I kneel at her feet and take one of her shoes off. It's a grubby sneaker, with the laces that always confound me. I'd rather rip them away, but I know Melina doesn't like that, so I carefully pick at the knot tying it. "Are you hungry? My servant brought food. Hot food."