Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Ambrielle nodded again.
Master wasn’t altogether certain he should trust her when she was being so perfectly obliging. He didn’t think it was in her nature, but he had no choice. He knocked on the door, angling his large frame so Ink could cover whoever answered the door easily as well as block Ambrielle completely from sight.
A tall, shapely woman opened the door instantly, as if she’d been waiting. Her face was swollen and red from crying. She had dark hair, and quite a bit of it had escaped the simple ponytail, so it hung in sad ringlets around the sides of her face. Her chocolate eyes lit up the moment she saw who was there. “Master. You came.” There was relief in her voice.
Ambrie’s fist twisted in his jacket right at the patch embroidered into it. She chose the exact same spot she had before—the skulls at the root of the tree. He felt the sudden tension in her when Tyra flung herself into Master’s arms.
Shit. This was not good. His woman was making it very clear it was not good. He was the one who had laid down the rules to her on other men being around her. He sure as hell wouldn’t like her flinging herself into another man’s arms, or having some man just walk up to her and hug her. He awkwardly patted Tyra.
“I need you to meet my wife, Tyra,” he said, before he could think it through. “I brought her with me because, hell, it’s our wedding night.”
Very gently, he put Tyra an arm’s length from him and reached behind him to capture Ambrie’s wrist. “My wife, Ambrielle. Everyone calls her Ambrie. This is Tyra, baby.”
“Your wedding night?” Tyra was horrified. “We called you out on your wedding night? Oh my God, Master, Ambrie, I’m so sorry. This gets worse by the moment.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears.
“Don’t you dare cry, Tyra.” Master turned very stern. “Where’s Reese? And Sandree? Is she doing all right?”
“Yes, I asked Callie to keep her for the night.”
“Callie and Braun live in the next cabin over, Ambrielle,” Master explained. “Nice couple. They have a child around the same age as Sandree, a boy, right? Jarod.”
Tyra wiped at the tears on her face, nodding. “Yes, he’s such a sweet boy, like his mother.” She straightened her shoulders as Ink came into the cabin before she could close the door. “I really am sorry about disturbing you on your wedding night.”
It was Ambrie who waved the apology away. “We thrive on adventure, don’t we, honey?” she asked, slipping her hand into his back pocket. “No worries at all. I love what you’ve done with your home. It’s really quite beautiful. Our house is very rustic. I can see Master all over it and didn’t think there was much room for me, but I can see how you’ve woven feminine touches into the wood.”
The enthusiasm sounded genuine, and looking down at her face, Master was certain it was. “Tyra, is Reese in the sitting room?”
She nodded. “He’s waiting for you. There’s a fresh pot of coffee. If you don’t mind, Reese asked me to stay out here.”
“I would prefer that. You can get to know my wife.”
Ambrie’s brows came together in a quick frown. She looked up at Master with a small shake of her head, her fingers once more bunching in his jacket. “I thought I’d be staying with you, Kir.”
Once again, his given name was spoken in a whisper of sound. There was that plea in her eyes that got to him when nothing got to him. He was stone. Sheer fuckin’ stone, and yet she could tear his heart out already with just that look she had in those strange-colored eyes. She looked . . . lost. Scared.
He wrapped one arm around her, nearly swallowing her as he brought her close to him. “I’m not going anywhere, princess. Just into the other room.”
Her fingers curled into the front of his jacket this time. She went up on her toes, and her lips touched his jaw as she spoke in a whisper against his skin, so the words went deep. Sank into bone. “I can’t lose you too. Not one more person who belongs to me. I just can’t.”
His knees nearly gave out—nearly dropped him right to the floor in front of her. He was looking right down into those violet eyes, lashes spiky with unshed tears, and he knew she wasn’t playing him. He had far too much experience to be taken in by a show. This was raw. Stark. All too real. His princess had placed all her eggs in one basket. That basket was her sanity. She was looking to Kir “Master” Vasiliev to save her. To keep her together. He was hers. And by all that was holy, she was his. He knew it wouldn’t last forever. His little princess was going to wake up one morning whole again, not needing him anymore, but for now he was going to take what he could and give her every single thing she deserved, if he could figure out how.