Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
You didn’t buy expensive things that might have to be left behind if you had to take off on a moment’s notice. It was why I had four plates, two bowls, four glasses, and two coffee cups total. There was no point in having more.
Pushing aside the loneliness that suddenly rose in my chest as he continued looking around, like the walls didn’t matter—and maybe they didn’t—I focused back on what we had been talking about. “I fed you while you were asleep. I’m trying not to move you around, even though I’m pretty sure you need to have someone take a look at you. Do you think something’s broken?”
The Defender shifted his gaze back to me, the movement slow, almost too slow.
Fuck me then. “All right. Or you’ll be totally fine on your own. What do I know?” I trailed off with a side-eye.
He didn’t say a word.
A feeling of dread filled my throat, and my stomach went weird. Weren’t superior beings supposed to be wise and well-balanced? Nice? If not happy, at least at peace with themselves and the world? I’d always thought they would be likable. Kind. Maybe serious because of all that pressure on them to save the world. I thought they would be charismatic.
That they would be as cool as they looked when they were in the air above a structure, looking down at the world like Mufasa in The Lion King.
But so far, that wasn’t the vibe I was getting. That wasn’t the vibe I was getting at all.
Because my gut said this man wasn’t a ball of sunshine. I had a feeling he wasn’t even a night-light.
What he was, was seeming like a pain in the ass, if I was going to be totally honest, and that made me feel like a criminal for thinking that of someone in the Trinity.
I was going to have to think about this.
For now… “I’ll make you a sandwich, and if there’s something else you might want, you can let me know. The grocery store isn’t very big, and the selection isn’t that great, but I might be able to order anything else; it’ll just take a few days to arrive.” More like a week, but… I wasn’t even sure he’d be here that long. I wanted to ask if he was supposed to have some kind of crazy regeneration, but all I had to do was take in his expression and the question died in my mouth.
The less I asked, the better.
He was back to watching me like I had tied him to the chair and was holding him hostage.
I’d always thought The Primordial would have a queen-like disposition. She used intelligent words and concise sentences. She was the epitome of classy and dignified.
I highly doubted she grunted at people.
But this man….
Heading into the kitchen, I wondered for the twentieth time what in the hell I’d gotten myself into.
This whole situation was bad enough. I’d made promises—promises to people who mattered, to myself.
I couldn’t let all my sacrifices—all their sacrifices either—be in vain. I just had to keep my shit together until this being was out of my life. Even if I felt about two wrong moves away from having life blow up in my face.
I could worry about that later. In the meantime, I made his damn sandwich, which looked really good, and once I was done, I headed over with a turkey BLT with avocado. I set the plate on the coffee table still there in front of him and sat on the chair that hadn’t moved since he’d arrived either, planting my butt on it. Those dark, incredible eyes followed my movement.
I picked up the plate and held it up for him.
He stared.
God, I hoped his injury wasn’t worse than it seemed, I thought as I took the sandwich and held it to his mouth.
The man’s eyes bounced from the sandwich to my face and back, but he opened his mouth, showing off those strong, white teeth, and took a neat bite, chewing slowly, that intense gaze still steady on me.
Maybe he was feeling me out.
Or maybe he was in a bad wittle mood over what had happened to him.
I’d agreed to help, and I would. Stomachache or not. Worst mistake of my life or not.
After he’d quietly demolished the sandwich and drank another two glasses of water, he seemed to melt back into the wheelchair while it groaned under his weight. He let out one of those deep, rattling breaths that told me there was something very wrong, and I had no medical background.
As I set the plate on his thigh so I could stand up, my knees already stiff, The Defender’s voice rattled, all husky and irritated, “I want… to get out of this.”
“Out of the chair or your suit?” I asked him as I straightened, trying not to think of how unreal this conversation was.