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)
The shadows thicken behind my guard, and then Nemeth coalesces into the open space behind him. His eyes are wild and frantic, his teeth bared and his wings tucked tight behind him in what I recognize as a warrior stance. His nostrils flare as he spots the Fellian male that has the front of my dress and he grabs him by the knot of horns at the back of his head and drags him backward. “You don’t get to touch her!”
Oh gods. Is Nemeth going to kill one of his own kind for mistreating me? “Wait! Nemeth, don’t!”
He stops.
To my vast relief, he stops. Nemeth stares at me for a long moment, as if not believing his eyes. He pushes the Fellian in front of my cell aside, and his gaze searches over my face. “Open this.”
The guard disappears in a flood of shadows and then returns a moment later with a key.
Nemeth doesn’t move. His eyes devour me and I know he’s making a mental note of every bruise, every scrape, and adding them to a mental list. His wings look brittle with tension, and even though he’s not fidgeting, I can feel the anger brimming through him. I reach out and touch his finger even as the guard fumbles with the keys to unlock my cell. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. You’re in a dungeon.” Nemeth’s gaze darkens with fury. “A Darkfell dungeon.”
“A misunderstanding,” I reassure him. My indignation fades in the light of Nemeth’s fury. I don’t want him endangering himself, and I don’t know how his people will take it if he kills one of his own…because I absolutely believe that Nemeth would have killed the guard in that moment. There was something dark and unpleasant in his eyes when he saw I was in danger.
And I’m a terrible person because I like it.
I keep smiling brightly at Nemeth as the guard fumbles with the keys again. It’s too narrow for him to teleport in—or he doesn’t trust the guard while doing so—and we have to wait as the other Fellian mumbles apologies and tries to find the correct key. When the door finally opens with a creak, Nemeth all but yanks me out of its depths and into his arms.
He wraps himself around me tightly, one hand in my hair and the other on my back, and he hugs me to his chest. I cling to him, breathing in his scent, listening to the sound of his rapid, angry heartbeat. Tears threaten my eyes but I blink them back. I’ll cry over this tomorrow. When we’re settled and safe, I’ll cry. Until then, they’ll have to wait. “I’m safe,” I whisper to him. “I knew you’d come for me.”
He steps backward and cups my face in his hands, his thumb stroking my cheek. “You are injured. Was it this guard?”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Misunderstandings are to be expected at times like this, and we can’t afford revenge. I’m just glad you’re here.” I clutch his arms, glad for his strength and his reassuring presence. “What happens now?”
“We are leaving,” he tells me in a low, furious voice.
We…are? But when he takes me by the hand and pulls me forward, away from the other cells, it seems that yes, we are in fact, leaving. “Where are we going, Nemeth?”
“Anywhere but here. I won’t let my mate be treated like this.” The bitter fury is still in his voice.
That worries me. We’ve run out of places to go, haven’t we? Lios is gone, a wasteland of mud and rain. There’s no food to be found there, just like in the tower. The Alabaster Citadel won’t have us. Isn’t Darkfell all that remains?
Before I can ask about his plan, the soldier that initially captured me—the unfamiliar Fellian—appears in a nearby alcove and immediately hops down onto the floor in front of us. Right after him, a second Fellian appears, this one tall and slender, but there’s something familiar about his face. He floats down next to the other and I get a good look at his clothing. Unlike the first Fellian, this one’s chest is covered with leather straps that braid and cross each other, holding an ornate chest plate over his heart. The designs on the chest plate look familiar, and I glance over at Nemeth.
“Brother,” he growls. “You look unwell.”
Brother?! This is the king? I stare at the taller, thinner Fellian. He has some resemblance to Nemeth, I realize upon a second look. It’s there in the set of the eyes and the stubborn jaw. This one, though, looks younger than my Nemeth. And he does look unwell, his gray skin a sickly pale shade.
“I’m recovering,” Nemeth’s brother says. “And I’m surprised to see you here. It’s true then. You left the tower? Abandoned your duty?”