Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Here,” I say, more softly than I intend. I reach for her hand and help her into the seat. I know she’s more than capable, but I can’t help but want to protect her. What if she is telling the truth? What if she is innocent in all of this?
Unfortunately, I’m not the one with built-in lie detector senses.
I get a first aid kit from the flight attendant, who’s as unruffled with my request after an attack as he would be if I asked for a bottle of water. It’s not the first time my family suffered an attack trying to leave this country, and it won’t be the last.
I kneel in front of her and press folded gauze to her arm. The feel of her skin sends a jolt through me. Crimson quickly saturates the pad. I look more closely at the wound and press harder. She hisses in a breath but doesn’t move. She’s bleeding, in pain, but all I can think about is how close she is, how easy it would be to make her mine.
“Hurts like a motherfucker,” I mutter. “Doesn’t it?”
“Mmm,” she hums.
I signal to the flight attendant, an older gentleman with short gray hair and a trim frame. “Sir?”
“Give me a shot. Anything. Something hard and strong.” I hold another square of gauze to the wound while we wait for him.
It takes effort not to look into her eyes, but I feel them burning into me. Even now, with blood seeping through the makeshift bandage, Renata Carerra is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Her long, dark hair hangs down her shoulders in crazy waves, making her look like a half-wild woman. Her skin, sun-kissed and dark, contrasts sharply with the white gauze.
Her eyes, a deep blend of hazel and brown, are filled with a mixture of pain and determination. I’m not so sure that the pain is from her wound. When she was my prisoner back at The Cove, we spent day and night with each other. I feel as if I knew her, and now I question which Renata is the real one. The witty, self-deprecating, quirky woman who talks with her hands and sings when she showers? Or the sullen, guarded woman in front of me now?
Her full lips, usually curved into a smirk or smile and rarely anything in between, are now pressed into a thin line as she tries to control the pain. My God, even now, she’s stunning, and I’d be a liar if I said I was immune to her. No. Renata Carerra is a witch who cast her spell. A wave of her fingers and I’m helpless and must follow.
I swallow and focus on her injury—getting another piece of gauze and replacing the first one, saturated with her blood. “Let me look you over,” I murmur, pulling her closer. My eyes travel down the slender column of her neck, her bare collarbone. I want to kiss and lick my way down her body until I get to her perky, full breasts. I want to hold her body against me and show her she’s mine.
Her petite frame is deceptively delicate; I know there’s a strength and fire within her that rivals any man’s. I catch a glimpse of the scar on her right cheek, a reminder of the battles she’s faced and survived. A memo to me of who my enemies are and why they will die a slow and painful death. I swallow again. Her vulnerability, coupled with resilience, makes her more attractive to me than ever.
Every inch of her screams of raw, untamed beauty that pulls at me, no matter how hard I fight to resist her. The curve of her waist, the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathes through the pain—she’s magnetic, enchanting, and it’s fucking driving me mad.
I’ll kill Mikhail and Lev for putting me through this.
The flight attendant returns with a fistful of small glass bottles. I take the first one with a nod of thanks and hand it to her. “Drink.” Holding my gaze, she twists the top off, tips her head back, and downs it in one go. I stare at her throat as she swallows and finally comes up for air.
“Another.”
I take a second and hand it to her. She quickly downs it and finally sighs with contentment. Wordlessly, she gives me a nod to continue.
“Hold still,” I order, opening a bottle of antiseptic and pouring it over her wound. I swear to God, I feel it in my own nerves when she gasps and grits her teeth, but she stays still.
“Good girl. Just like that. We don’t want this to get infected. Any pain relievers in that kit?” I ask the attendant.
“Yes, sir.” He gives me a flimsy pack of pain relievers. I open it with my teeth and tap them into her hand. She chases them down with a third shot and finally drops her head back.