Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Another thought hits me. He didn’t bring me just anywhere. He brought me to his family’s home. The place where he thinks I’ll be safest.
Declan steps past me, shedding his leather jacket. The dark ink crawling up his arms shifts with the movement. He drops the jacket on a hook and the simple domesticity of it feels oddly intimate.
“Did you grow up here?” I ask.
He grunts in agreement, the sound barely more than a vibration in his chest.
I turn in a slow circle, taking in the cavernous entry hall. Old maps line the walls, dotted with tiny names of places I’ve never heard of. A portrait of a severe-looking man glowers down at me, his lips pursed so tight I almost expect him to leap out of the frame and scold me for not being worthy of visiting this place.
“Who are they?” I gesture toward the portraits, then squint at Declan. “Not seeing any resemblance yet.”
He snorts. “That’s my great-great-grandfather.” He nods to the one next to it. “His father was one of the founders of the town.”
“Let me guess, Baxters and Applewoods have also been here since the beginning?”
A grin spreads over his face. “You’re pretty and clever. Two for one.”
He thinks I’m pretty.
I fight the urge to squeal like a seventh grader and continue studying the line of portraits. A woman in a blue velvet gown with a soft expression catches my attention. Something about her eyes feels familiar. “And her?”
He drops his gaze. “My mother.”
“I knew it. You have her eyes.”
He nods without looking up.
His parents are dead, Emery! “Sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s okay.” He moves past me into a wide corridor, flicking on more lights. I’ll ask about the other portraits later.
Shadows retreat as I follow him, but the house still feels heavy and full of watchful eyes.
My boots squeak and click faintly against the polished wood floors. “So…iron. That’s what keeps us safe?”
“Yes.” His tone is clipped, but he stops walking and turns to face me.
“What about this?” I lift my wrist, the faint green circle glowing just enough to send awe and disbelief swirling in my stomach.
His gaze cuts to it like a knife, tattoos twitching against his skin. “You shouldn’t have touched me.”
“What’re you talking about? Touching you did this?” An awful thought occurs to me. “Oh my God. I touched you the whole way here. Do I have these marks all over my body now?” I wiggle out of my jacket and tug my sweater up, desperately searching my bared skin for signs of more green brands.
Low rumbling laughter stops me before I strip off my sweater.
I stop and glare at him. “Why are you laughing?”
“Emery.” He steps forward and takes my hand, lifting it until the green ring’s glowing between us. “You felt this when it branded your skin. You can still feel it, right?”
I nod quickly. “It burns.”
“Well, do you feel burning anywhere else on your body?”
My nipples could slice diamonds and the throb between my legs has only intensified since I got off the bike. I’m burning all over with the need to be skin on skin with him. But the searing on my wrist…I don’t feel that kind of burn anywhere else.
“No, but how do you know for sure?”
“Don’t take my word for it.” He raises his eyebrows, crosses his arms over his chest, and takes a step back. He runs his heated gaze over every inch of me. “By all means, keep stripping off clothes.”
Heat blasts my skin. I swallow hard and lift my chin. “You first.”
“I’m not the one worried about brandings.” He holds out his arms. “I know exactly where all of mine are.”
Someone branded him? They’re not tattoos. “Is that why they seem to move and shift?”
“You really can see that?” he asks.
I nod quickly.
His hands fist at his sides. For a moment I think he’s done, but then he exhales, rough and uneven. “The Rider knows you now. That’s all you need to understand tonight.” He turns and continues walking. “Are you hungry?”
“Not for food,” I grumble, hurrying to catch up to him. “Is there anything to eat?” I ask loud enough for him to actually hear me.
“Not a lot but I keep some basics here.”
By “basics” he means a few boxes of cereal and not much else. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen is massive. Dated, though. I sit at a round table to stay out of Declan’s way. He sets a family-sized box of cornflakes on the table. “It might be a little stale.” He hands me a bowl and spoon. “But the milk’s unopened and in date.”
“Thanks for checking.” I pour a generous helping of cereal into my bowl and give the milk a sniff before pouring it over my cornflakes.
Declan joins me a few seconds later and we crunch on our cereal together in easy silence. Still, I can’t help the thrill of being alone with him swirling in my chest.