Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
But. Hmm. It wasn’t satisfaction that flooded her. Her brows drew together. What was that? Regret? Had she liked being observed by Rathbone?
No, no, absolutely not. But maybe a little? Not that it mattered. She shook her head—the answer to both her problems smacked her, as if it had fallen from a top shelf in her mind. Neeka jumped up and down, excited. Of course! Nova, the Astra home world, harbored the mythical Hall of Secrets. From what she’d gathered by eavesdropping on the warlords, the solution to every problem floated there, ready to be plucked from thin air.
There would be lots and lots of guards. Probably boobytraps, too. No doubt the reason she’d sensed danger whenever she’d considered the elixir. But no matter. A girl did what a girl had to do.
One unbreakable bond, coming up.
8
As the morning sun rose, Rathbone shed his last patch of charred flesh. He’d spent the night recovering from his tangle with Neeka’s hearth. His mood was...not great. The oracle had detected him faster than Azar. Swift enough to catch Rathbone off guard. A world-rocking first, and something he should’ve anticipated.
She was a seer. Though he doubted she’d realized the truth. That he was the bear, and the bear was him. Why attempt to murder the male responsible for your “payday”?
Next time, he would be more discreet. And there would be a next time. She’d mumbled words in a language foreign to him, and he wished to know to whom she’d spoken. He hadn’t seen anyone, but the lack meant nothing. Astra could speak telepathically.
If she communicated with the warlords...with Azar...
Frothing with fury, Rathbone rose from bed, showered, and selected a pair of leathers but no shirt. Better to watch her every move.
He halfway expected the flighty beauty to barge into his bedroom before he finished buttoning the pants. That she didn’t, even though he paused repeatedly, only worsened his mood. Twelve hours remained on her twenty-four-hour clock. If she failed to find a bone and he must remove one of hers to prove a point, so be it. What he refused to do, no matter how much she provoked him? Allow her strange appeal to affect his body.
Lore was now his “one and only.” Something he craved more with every second that passed. They deserved a chance to become an indestructible unit. Would she appear today?
Eager to see her, he flashed to their throne room. The underground sanctuary was fortified in a thousand different ways, surrounded by enough traps to stop a hundred immortal armies at once. No one entered without his permission.
“Lore,” he called, stalking toward her throne. His combat boots thumped against the marble floor, creating an audible heartbeat. “Show yourself, my sweet.” A command as much as an entreaty.
This budding desire for Neeka would fade as soon as his wife appeared. He was certain of it.
The barest outline of Lore’s form developed near the royal dais. Fresh tears cascaded down her pale cheeks as she reached for him.
Chest tight, he raced closer. Too late. She vanished as he ascended the top of the platform. A curse exploded from him.
Would the addition of the next bone increase her strength, allowing her to stay for longer periods? There was only one way to find out.
Determined, Rathbone flashed to Neeka’s chosen bedroom. No oracle, yet her incredible scent lingered. He compressed his lips. Ignoring an internal cloudburst of heat, he tuned his ears to sounds arising throughout the palace. There. Muttering in the kitchen.
He appeared at the entrance and scanned. Spotting her, Rathbone blinked, thunderstruck. The oracle had piled her curls into a tower of elaborate braids. A beaded bustier barely covered her breasts. Matching underwear and transparent pantaloons displayed the rest of her luscious curves. The sheer half mask hanging from her nose to her chin hid nothing while accentuating everything. Crystals dangled over her forehead, mimicking bangs. Golden armbands circled each of her biceps.
He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. She faced his direction, but she hadn’t noticed him yet. Too busy kicking the refrigerator door closed while balancing multiple dishes in her arms and mumbling, “This is mine. All mine. I’ve earned every bite by breathing. Scarlet Fury said so. So Imma power up and get down to bees wax. Yes sir. That’s what I’m gonna do.”
Perhaps she’d spoken to herself yesterday?
To gain her attention, he flipped the kitchen light switch twice.
“Fried and dipped in sugar!” she shrieked as she dropped the dishes. Glass shattered, food spilling in every direction. Her gaze flipped up. Pressing a hand over her heart, she frowned. “Oh. Hello, Rathbone.”
Lust punched his midsection. Because she’d spoken his name with those red, red lips? A reaction he didn’t understand and refused to explore.
“What did you choose to eat?” A ridiculous question, but he didn’t snatch it back. The refrigerator produced whatever the opener wished. At his dinner table, she’d loaded her plate with every dish but had only consumed the vegetables.