Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I close my eyes. I’m still tired. Always tired. Maybe I can get some rest.
I need a purpose here, eventually. Obeying my bear of a husband or whatever it is he demands is hardly enough. I roll my eyes to no one.
When the door opens, Rafail stands in the doorway, glaring at me. “Fine,” he growls. “You can come to breakfast, but you’d better behave yourself.”
If by behaving myself, he thinks I need to keep my mouth shut, then I believe there are a few things my new husband needs to learn about me.
"Did somebody out there remind you to be human again? The full moon’s gone, and you can put away your werewolf?” I jerk my chin into the air.
His response is a low growl I feel in my bones. “Watch it. I came to bring you a present, and I’ll take it back if you sass me.”
Even when I’m mad at him, I love the sound of his voice. That's when I realize he has a pair of crutches with him. Whoever he saw in the hallway had these for me. My heart soars.
“You're sure you're alright with giving me some mobility? Thought you'd have me depending on you for life. Thought you'd be my crutch."
He smirks at me, and my belly swoops. I swallow hard, pretending he doesn’t have this hold on me. “No, baby," he says, leaning close to put his mouth to my ear. "I'm your husband. And when you realize what that means, you’ll see it’s all I need to be."
I forget his domineering tone as he unties me and helps me to my feet, then hands me the pair of crutches. I'm clumsy at first, and it's awkward with them under my arms, but I quickly make my way to the door. Yes. I can move, and faster than wobbling and feeling like I'm going to tumble over.
"Also, don’t forget you said I can talk to the doctor.”
“Yes,” he says distractedly but doesn't offer any details. “How are you going to manage the stairs?" he asks with another frown, holding back.
He holds the door wide open, and my heart soars. I was so tired when I first came to this room that I barely paid attention to the details of his home. Now I’m struck with its beauty—high, vaulted ceilings, marble floors, and large windows that flood the space with light.
“This home is gorgeous,” I breathe, looking around like a kid in a candy shop.
He gets a sheepish smile and puts his hands in his pockets. “Thank you. They call it The Cottage.”
I snort. “The Cottage? I love how Russians have a dry sense of humor. This place isn’t quaint or small but enormous. At least it looks that way.”
I make my way toward the top of the stairs. He reaches for me and then holds himself back as if reminding himself to let me go.
“I’ve made sure it was safe and secure. My sisters are the ones who keep it… homey.”
I breathe and soak in every detail. Beyond the large windows are stone walls and intricately carved iron gates, lush gardens outside with greens and blooming flowers. The sprawling mansion seems to balance old-world elegance with modern charm.
“You alright?”
“I’ve got it.” I put both crutches in one hand and hop one step at a time. My husband stands just in front of me, clearly using all his self-control not to help. Resisting the urge doesn’t come naturally to him. I can tell by the tension in his jaw and shoulders he's not too crazy about this plan, but it's working. He grits his teeth, standing just in front of me and takes a step forward just before I do.
"Are you standing there so that if I fall, you'll catch me?" I ask, huffing and puffing and sweating from the exertion.
He shrugs, his eyes meeting mine only briefly before he takes another step back. "Yeah, baby. That's a husband's job."
Something like pleasure weaves its way across my chest, and I swallow a lump in my throat. So damn emotional on these meds. I want to get off them soon.
"What did you give me for pain meds?"
He lists off a bunch of names, things I've never heard of before.
"I want something over the counter. Please," I tack on as an afterthought. "Something tamer."
Step. Hop. Brace.
"They won't work as well,” he mutters, still frowning.
"I know, but that’s a risk I'm willing to take."
I don't want another dream like the one I had last night. Something tells me it may have been the pain meds.
Finally, we reach the bottom of the stairs. “I can’t believe I was a runner, and I can hardly handle a flight of stairs without being winded.” It’s frustrating as hell. I place the crutches back under my arms and glide my way next to him.