Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
He strides to the fallen chair, where I’m still on my back and feebly trying to right myself, and plucks me out of its confines. He pulls me into the air, holding me by my shoulders tightly, but it doesn’t hurt. His wild gaze searches my face, over my body. “Did they touch you?” he demands again, and his wings shiver so violently it’s clear he’s about to lose control.
“Nemeth. I’m all right.” I search his face. “Are…are you?”
My Fellian groans. He crushes me against his chest, holding me tight. One hand cradles the back of my head and he shudders, clasping me to him. I’ve never been so enveloped by him, not even when he cocoons his wings around us. “Candra. My Candra.”
“I’m a little mad at you,” I tease weakly. “Here you are, killing those pieces of dragon shite before I had the chance. Unfair.”
He just clasps me tighter, his fingers digging into my hair, as if he can somehow twine his claws into my locks and hold me forever. “I’m here,” he says in a tight voice. “I’m here, and no one’s going to hurt you.”
His words break something inside me. I press my face against him, not caring that he’s covered in Saemon’s blood and I probably reek of vomit. “I thought you died. Oh Nemeth. I thought I’d lost you forever.” I choke on a sob. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“I never abandoned you. Never. Not once.” He slides a hand under my chin and tilts my head up. “You look unwell. Is it the child? Have you eaten?”
As if his reminder saps all the strength out of me, my head spins. I try to push the dizziness aside so I can gaze on his gorgeous face for all eternity, because I never want to look away. “I have one dose left,” I tell him. “Saving it. And no, I haven’t eaten. Nothing to eat.”
Nemeth shakes his head, cradling me against him again, and I find my face shoved into the crook of his neck. “I’m going to get these bodies out of here, and then I’m going to give you your potion, love. And then we’re going to eat.”
“You’re not listening,” I say, voice muffled against his neck. “There’s nothing to eat—”
“There’s always something to eat.”
I gasp. “You want to eat the dead humans?”
Nemeth snorts, giving me a funny look. “Of course not. We’re going to eat the horse they just killed.”
Oh. Well, that makes a lot more sense than my theory. Even so, my stomach roils uncomfortably at the thought. “I’m not sure I can.”
“I’ll make it into a stew,” he tells me, voice stern. “And you’ll eat.”
I…guess I’m eating horse. Because the look on Nemeth’s face tells me whatever argument I have, I won’t win.
Chapter
Sixty-Six
Ashort time later, I have my arm folded over and I’m leaning back in the chair by the fire. My head is spinning and I’m dizzy, but there’s a comforting edge to it because I know it’s from my potion, the very last dose I had. I don’t know what we’re going to do tomorrow, but I suppose that’s tomorrow’s problem. Nearby, Nemeth fusses with the small cook-pot over the fire. We found some spices in the kitchen, along with salt, and I have to admit that even though I’m not excited about eating horse, it smells utterly divine. My mouth waters constantly and I watch my mate with sleepy, blurry eyes.
He looks so good. I could stare at him all day and all night, just admiring the strong lines of his back. His kilt is water-stained and the leather distorted, the decorative straps no longer lying flat. They part across his backside, revealing the short stump of a tail that he’s so prudish over. His wings are folded up neat, the wing-points framing his head, and he just looks so familiar and cozy that I want to stay in this moment forever. Just me, drowsy with a hit of medication, and Nemeth fussing over a delicious-smelling meal and sneaking glances back at me while rain patters away on the roof.
“How did you find us?” I ask him when he dips a wooden spoon into the pot and tastes the stew. “Was it magic?”
Nemeth glances back at me. “I told you, Candra. I never lost you. I’ve been following this entire time.”
The words don’t make sense to me, no matter how many times I turn them over in my head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean you were following?”
“We were talking, remember? In the cottage?” He licks the spoon, then dips it into the pot once more, and then blows on the steaming contents to cool them. He holds it out to me, an offering, his other hand underneath. Reluctantly, I lean forward to eat and the meat is tough, but it’s delicious. My stomach cramps hard with hunger and I nod at him. He takes the spoon back and then stirs the pot once more. “Not too much longer. We’ll let it cook down a bit more, soften the meat.”