Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“It was Professor Plum, with the wrench, in the lounge,” Ana casually announces to the other player.
Dad’s brown-skinned forehead crinkles in confusion. “How in the f-”
“She cheats,” my Fated Mate bluntly informs, hand struggling to hold my shaking one steady.
“Excuse you. It’s called creative winning.”
“Well, that explains the unlikely probability of her beating me four rounds in the two hours,” he lightly laughs rather than scolds.
“Hey, I grew up with six brothers. You do what you gotta do sometimes.”
“I grew up with two brothers and several cousins. I can confirm that statement,” the being beside me concurs on a chuckle before introducing himself. “I’m Ptur Draak, Mr. Pennington-”
“Otis.”
“Otis.” He offers him a friendly grin. “I’m your daughter’s Fated Mate, and the one who summoned you here to our family estate.”
His eyebrows launch upward in surprise; however, it’s me who airily croaks up at him, “You did?”
Yes, Pint-Size. Now, stop gawking at me and welcome him to our home. I know you’ve missed him. I can fucking feel it. That shit is coming out much stronger than your Primal Thirst which is the only reason I don’t yank you into the nearby coat closet to fuck you until breakfast.
Snapping all of my attention to the man I haven’t seen in far too long, I enthusiastically squeak, “Dad!”
“Twiggy!” He warmly shouts as he scrambles to his feet to rush over to me. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”
“Twiggy?” P inquires, mirth impossible not to notice. “You get pissy at me for calling you Pint-Size, but your dad calls you Twiggy?”
Glaring at him is cut short due to the large hug I’m provided in the middle of the living room. “I was so worried when the young man who calls himself A.D. showed up to bring me here that something had happened to you. I was mentally cross-checking worst-case scenarios with most probable scenarios to arrive at the highest likely conclusion of injury for women your age in this particular city.”
“Morbid,” Ana playfully taunts.
“I’m okay, Dad.” I don’t fight the instinct to embrace him in return. Squeeze his flimsy figure a little too tight. “Really. I swear, most of the blood on me isn’t mine.”
“What?!” The statement has him pealing himself away to examine my filthy frame. “Why is there any blood on you?! Were you in a car wreck? Was there an attempted mugging? Or stabbing? Were you mauled by a bear while escorting orphaned school aged children as part of a community service project for good press with DL & Co.?”
“That would be bad press for my company, Mr. Pennington.”
“It would be good press pre Night of the Living Bear,” Ana teasingly points out.
Unfortunately for me, there’s no opportunity to add anything to their light-spirited banter.
“She has blood on her because she’s a champion, like her mother,” Mom announces with gravitas, summoning Dad’s attention her direction. “Blood worn is the sign of victory.”
All of sudden, his full lips tremble in shock, entire body not far behind it.
Silence aggressively stretches from wall to wall not being broken by anyone for several moments.
Not even Ana when she awkwardly fumbles out of the room, stubbing a toe during the exit.
Gene eventually arrives with a glass of Leprechaun’s Breath for P, yet in one slick set of movements, I back track, swipe it, and toss the liquid down my throat, not bothering to enjoy anything about it other than the soothing burn it leaves behind. Placing it back on his tray, I tap the top to indicate I need another, and P murmurs under his breath to make that two doubles.
“I am tired of waiting to be greeted, half,” my mother warmly grouses, massive arms folding across her enormous chest. “I understand far too many sun and moon rises have passed since our last encounter, but surely, you can still recall patience is not something I have in high quantities.”
Dad releases a teary laugh and darts over to embrace her next. His pencil thin arms don’t seem as though they’ll wrap around her; however, it doesn’t stop him from trying. Or her from letting him try. She simply hugs him in return, much differently than she did me. Closed fists and crossed arms trap him to her and a familiar emotion I saw on P’s expression I now see on hers.
Relief.
Gene suddenly offers us two new glasses but before I can toss back a second one, P’s large palm covers it. “Slower, Pint-Size.” His hold on my beverage harshens. “Drinking faster will not soothe the pain sooner.”
I feel like he may be wrong there.
Very.
My significant other’s firm expression as well as grip remains until I quietly concede. “Understood.”
The instant it’s released into my possession, Gene strolls over to my parents who are oscillating between hugs and kisses and bigger hugs to offer Mom her requested refreshment. She takes the drink while P tips his chin for me to have a seat on the dark curved couch directly in front of him.