Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Lyrica’s throat tightened. She’d come here to save Maeve. Instead, Maeve might end up saving her. “I don’t know what I want,” she admitted quietly, wrapping her hands around the mug for warmth.
Maeve’s smile turned knowing. “Ah, sure, I’ve been there meself. Do ya love him?”
Lyrica didn’t bother pretending they weren’t talking about Vero. “I don’t know. I was drawn to him from the first time I met him. Every time I see him, the pull is stronger.” After one night with him, she couldn’t imagine being with anybody else. “It’s part of why I wanted to stay and work here. It wasn’t just about helping the kidnapped women or modernizing the nation.”
“Maybe,” Maeve said, her voice thoughtful, “ya stayed to get to know him. Sure, there’s nothin’ wrong with that.”
Lyrica hesitated. “I’ve never trusted anyone fully. It’s hard.” Though she felt right at home in the snowy wilderness, just like she had as a kid when lucky enough to stay with her grandfather. Vero made her feel that safe as well.
Maeve leaned forward, her tone firm. “It’s never too late to make a fresh start, so it isn’t.”
The distant hum of a snowmobile cut through their conversation. Lyrica froze, her pulse spiking.
Maeve winced. “I had a feeling Ralstad might ring Vero.”
Panic tightened Lyrica’s chest as she stood, looking wildly around the room.
“Ah, there’s nowhere to go,” Maeve pointed out, holding up her cast-iron pan. “Do ya want to borrow this?”
The door burst open, and Vero filled the space like a thunderstorm. His fury radiated from every inch of his broad frame, his face a hard mask of rage. “You came here without guards?” he said, his voice a gritty whisper that was more terrifying than a shout.
Lyrica’s knees threatened to give way, but she snapped her head up defiantly. “Yes. I have a gun, and I can drive a UTV just fine.”
He stared at her for so long she thought she might combust under the intensity of his gaze.
Maeve wisely kept silent.
“Get your coat,” Vero ordered. “We’ll take this discussion elsewhere.”
Lyrica wanted to run. She wanted to fight. Every emotion from the past week crashed into her, igniting her temper. She turned to Maeve, lifting her chin. “I need to borrow that pan.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Vero killed the snowmobile’s engine, the sharp silence of the snowy expanse slamming into him like a physical force. Lyrica sat stiffly behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her body vibrating with defiance. She hadn’t spoken a word since he’d dragged her out of Maeve’s place, but her anger simmered in every breath she took.
Good. He was pissed too.
Without a word, he swung off the snowmobile, gripping her waist and lifting her down before she could protest. She wobbled slightly on the icy ground, her lips pressing into a tight line as she cinched her coat tighter. Her fierce glare was adorable, but he’d appreciate that later. For now, if she thought her anger could match his, she was wrong.
“Inside,” he said, his voice low and commanding as he took her arm. They had mated, which meant there was no going back. Their courting and their sex had been consensual, and neither of them had thought mating a possibility. He’d had no fucking clue he was a demon. But now, it was done.
It wasn’t until he’d discovered she was out alone, with a serial killer stalking victims in his territory, that the reality of that truth nearly took him to his knees.
She was his.
“Let go of me, Vero,” she snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.
“Not happening,” he growled, tugging her toward the lodge. Snow crunched beneath their boots as he led her into the warmth of the main building, his grip firm despite her attempts to wrench free. He didn’t stop until they reached her office, slamming the door shut behind them and flipping the lock.
Her glare intensified as she ripped her arm free. “What is your problem?”
“My problem?” He stalked toward her, his broad frame dwarfing hers as he backed her against the desk. “You are my problem, Lyrica. You don’t listen. You put yourself in danger—alone—then act like I’m a human asshole for caring about your safety.”
“I can take care of myself,” she shot back, her voice shaking with fury.
“Really?” he asked, his tone cutting. “Because from what I’ve seen, you couldn’t care less if you’re hurt. Or worse.”
Her eyes widened, her breath hitching as his words struck home. But just as quickly, her chin jutted out in defiance. “I’m not one of your soldiers. You don’t get to order me around.”
“No,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You’re my mate. And that means I’ll damn well order you around if it keeps you alive.” Taking the virus to break the mating bond while both mates still lived was too dangerous, even if they both wanted that. Which he did not.