Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 140965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
She’d been raised in the dormitory with the other girls. They’d trained and been educated there. The only men they were around were guards, or supersoldiers, teams sent to kill them if they couldn’t do their jobs. Shylah had learned to be very good at her job, so good, Whitney sent her out of the compound. Then she hunted men to kill them. She certainly hadn’t been attracted to them. She spent more time with Whitney than any other man and if he was any example of what a man was, she wanted no part of that.
“Nothing, sweetheart. I just didn’t want you to be startled if certain parts of my anatomy rise to the occasion.” There was humor in his voice as he stretched out on his back, head in her lap, his body sprawled across the mattress.
Shylah closed her eyes and pushed her fingers into all that thick, wild hair. “Someone besides Whitney gave you amazing genetics.”
There were one or two heartbeats too long before he answered. “I suppose they did. I don’t remember them, so I wouldn’t know what they looked like or if I took after them.”
Shylah sighed. “I never met either of mine. Father or mother. I was abandoned, from what Whitney tells me, and someone took me to the orphanage where he found me. Were you turned over to an orphanage?”
“I was traded for money because my birth mother wanted drugs. I was four at the time, and I can tell you, my life from birth to four was no picnic. She sold me to a woman who wanted kids, but couldn’t have them, at least that was what she told me before she died. I didn’t care. I thought of her as my mother. She was amazing and sweet. The best.”
“What did she look like?” Shylah took her cue from him, speaking of the woman in the past tense.
“She was pretty, at least I thought so. Sweet face. Dark hair until it all fell out. She read to me all the time. Sometimes I think I dreamt her up, but then I remember the songs she sang. They were all learning songs. The alphabet, colors, numbers. She taught me to read. She listened to everything I said and taught me the importance of education.”
Shylah loved the sound of his voice. He didn’t say it, but there was love there. The woman he was telling her about was truly the one he regarded as his mother. Her fingers moved to his temples, stroked along the orbital sockets and back up to his temples, hoping to ease the headache pounding at his skull.
Until it all fell out. Had she gone through chemotherapy? Shylah didn’t ask. Instead, she waited, hoping he would volunteer the information. She had the feeling not too many people knew about the woman who had bought a child.
“What was her name?”
“Eliza. She was probably about forty, but I didn’t notice her age. I don’t recall a single time when she raised her voice to me. There was a lot of laughter. Storytelling.” For a moment his voice stumbled as if he’d choked on something. “I never let myself think about it, but there was love there. If I know anything about that emotion, Eliza taught it to me.”
His ridiculously long lashes lifted and those dark, navy blue eyes were staring at her, moving over her face as if memorizing every line. “She was kind and compassionate, like you are, Shylah. I’d forgotten that. I let her fade into the background, and she never should have been put there. It hurt to remember her too closely.”
Shylah could hardly bear to look into those eyes. Draden didn’t seem to allow himself to feel his emotions, but she could see them, stark and raw reflected in his gaze. Remembering Eliza did hurt him, but at the same time, he was allowing a flood of good memories in—and she had the feeling he needed those memories to balance out other things that had happened to him.
“She sounds lovely.”
He nodded, and his lashes swept down, preventing access to his deepest emotions. Shylah knew she sounded wistful. She’d read about mothers, seen television shows and movies that portrayed the matriarch who doted on her children.
“I never pictured myself with a family,” Draden said, reaching up, his hand covering hers, so that her fingers stilled, pressing into his temple. “But meeting you, I know what I missed. I think you’re very much like her.”
She tried not to feel the burst of pleasure his compliment gave her. She knew it was one of the highest he could pay her. He might not know that, but she did. Eliza might have been the only person he loved in the world.
“Thank you.” What else was there to say? His voice was softer, like he was drifting, not hurting so much and she renewed her efforts, massaging his scalp and then his temples. She enjoyed touching him, having his head in her lap.