Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Are you related to her?”
I clear my throat. Our deal has been that we do nothing to draw attention to who we are—to hide in the shadows. This place is covered in humans. I should leave quietly—it would be safer. Fuck that. This is my mate.
“I’m her fiancé,” I lie easily. I can’t tell them I’m her husband. I hate lying in general when it comes to her.
“Then, I’ll give you these. We’ll take care of the car and have it towed to Joe’s Garage. You can deal with that later.” The guy drones on. I’ve tuned him out. I’m just holding her stuff, my heart hurting.
My mate’s belongings.
I’ve dreamed of finding her but never did my dreams did it go like this. I mumble something, then turn away while the officer is still talking. I go to my vehicle and quickly get in and start it. My hands wrap around the leather steering wheel, gripping it as I try to center my thoughts. I look over at her things that I’ve tossed into the passenger seat. Almost against my will, I reach out and run my finger against the black frames of her glasses. My gaze then shifts to the small purse. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I need to get to the hospital, but the need to know more about her fuels me. I open her purse and find a cellphone, old and unlike any I’ve seen. There’s no large screen. It’s tiny and flips open. There’s an inside pocket so I sweep my fingers through the compartment. That’s when I find her driver’s license.
Grace Miller.
Grace Miller.
I whisper her name in my mind, the words feeling alive. It’s as if they bloom and warm me, settling inside my heart.
My mate has a name and it’s beautiful.
With that, I shift the car into drive and head toward the hospital. I have a mate to help save and her heart to win over.
She was afraid of me, but I’ll prove to her that she can trust me, that she can…love me.
She will have to because I’m not letting her go.
7
GRACE
I wake up feeling like I’ve been run over by a herd of buffalo. Everything I have is stiff and sore. There’s also a ringing in my head, and I wince, but even with that I can still hear the buzzing and beeping noises of medical equipment around me.
I shift from staring at the equipment to my hand—which feels heavy. There’s an IV in my wrist and there’s a board under it that my hand is taped to. I continue looking around the room, immediately realizing I don’t have my glasses on. It feels odd. Things across the room appear blurry, and I just miss seeing things clearer.
The room is mostly dark and since my head is hurting, I’m thankful.
“You’re awake!”
Immediately, I turn to the other side of the room, toward the sound of the voice. Standing by the window is what can only be described as a beautiful man.
He’s closer so my eyes can focus better. He’s tall, muscular, yet lean. There’s not an ounce of fat on his entire body. He’s got jet black hair. It’s straight and neatly trimmed. There’s a bit of scruff along his jawline, as if he skipped a day shaving. Seriously, the man is devastatingly handsome. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a baby blue t-shirt and somehow that makes his eyes sparkle.
He doesn’t have scrubs or a lab coat on, so that rules out the chance that he’s a doctor. Something about him seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. I search my memory, but nothing seems to connect.
“I am,” I answer him, my voice scratchy and hoarse and sounds foreign to my own ears.
“I was getting worried,” he responds softly.
“You were?” I ask. His words warm me for some reason. I can’t really recall right now, but I don’t think anyone has worried about me in a long time. I can’t explain why I feel that way, I just do.
“Definitely,” he answers, his voice filled with emotion. I can hear it and it makes me feel funny.
“I…”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“I…” I stop because I try to search my memory and come up with blanks. “No,” I finally respond, mumbling because I’m confused. “I can’t remember,” I add, unnecessarily. Confusion and unease mingle in my voice.
“You were in an accident,” the man tells me.
“An accident?” I don’t understand why I can’t remember something like that.
“You were pulling out of a parking lot—”
“There were more people involved? Is everyone okay?” I gasp.
“No, you lost control pulling out and hit a light pole. There was just you.”
“I was?” It’s so weird hearing about something that happened to me from someone else. It’s frustrating. There’s so much I don’t understand.
So much I can’t remember.