Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
"What's that?" I whisper to him.
"Thermal scans. It shows me if there's any presence of another body here. See this?"
He points to the bottom right screen. I squint my eyes and peer closer.
"Stefan," he says. "Yes," he answers himself. "It's red, which indicates body temperature. So either," he continues methodically, "a cold-blooded creature has made its way onto my estate, someone has the wherewithal to block their body temp, or it's just a power outage. Let's go up to bed."
He extinguishes the candle and hands me another flashlight. "I'll put this next to Stefan. If this keeps up for much longer, the generator will start up.”
My exhaustion kicks in again. I want to sleep, but I feel strange—the adrenaline still coursing through me even as my eyes sag with discomfort and fatigue. I wonder what he thinks in moments like this. It seems so natural for him to slide into the role of protector, to be ready to defend me and my brother. Just like he defended his sisters before him.
"Zoya was always afraid of the dark," he says, and I can't tell in the darkness if he's smiling.
"Was she?"
"She was afraid of a lot of things," he says, resting his hand on the small of my back as we go up the flight of stairs. I don’t tell him that I think she still is.
In the bedroom, we head to the right, check on Stefan, and he slides the flashlight onto the bedside table. Stefan is still blissfully asleep, unaware of the power outage.
Good for him.
As we make our way to his bedroom—our bedroom?—the lights flicker back on. It's late at night, so we don't have many around here, but there are a few.
"Well, that didn't take long," I tell him. "Is that the generator?"
He shakes his head. "No, must've been the weather."
I'm glad the power is on because I would've missed an opportunity to ogle him and his tattoos and the hardened muscles of his body. I climb into bed and lift the thick comforter up to my chin. I watch him undress and get ready for bed himself. Then he climbs in beside me.
"Come here," he says in a soft whisper, and he lifts his arm.
I hesitantly move closer, slipping beneath it and resting my head against his chest. He wraps me in a secure embrace, his hold protective and comforting. I drape my hand across his abdomen, letting it settle on his chest, and I close my eyes. Little girl me is squealing.
"This feels nice," I whisper. I can't forget what he said earlier and what's happened, but I can enjoy this soft comfort while it lasts—knowing we're safe. Even knowing that if someone attempted to ambush, he would have it under control. I snuggle in, and he holds me tighter.
"I'm not going to be able to sleep like this," he says in a growl.
"Are you sensitive to other people's bodies? Movement? What?"
"No," he says, his voice low and rough. “But if you lie next to me, I’ll get hard as hell and want to pin you to this bed and make you mine all over again. And trust me, I will. Make no doubt about it. But right now, I need you to get some sleep.” His gaze darkens. “I told you I want to take care of that pretty pussy… let it rest before I wreck you again.”
I clear my throat. “If you were trying to turn me on, it worked."
"Woman," he says in a little growl, gently turning me over and spooning me from behind. The thick feel of his erection against my ass makes me smile. But when I close my eyes, sleep feels all too close. I tuck myself under the blanket, the pillow under my head. I've never slept in a bed so big, so comfortable, with sheets so luxurious. I take a peek at his hand, splayed across my belly, and notice a thick scar right alongside the tattoos.
"Where did you get that from?" I ask with a yawn, my eyes already fluttering closed.
"A fight."
When he doesn't offer more, I kind of playfully elbow him in the ribs. "Obviously. Which one?"
"Do you remember that time by the creek? When you were crying?"
My eyes open. I didn't expect him to admit that the scar had anything to do with me.
"Yes, I remember it vividly. Why?"
"They came after you again, but you didn't know because you were at school. I did though. I followed them. I watched. One day, one of them made a threat against you."
I swallow hard.
“I made sure that didn’t happen again.”
My heart beats faster. What does that mean? "Did you kill them?"
"Not that time."
He did that. He's admitting that he killed somebody. Oh my god.
"Get some sleep, Anya. You asked, I answered. Now the discussion is over. I want you to rest."