Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Not even a thank you, I muse to Zohr. Figures.
His whirling eyes regard me. Do you regret your decision?
In another year or so if he resurfaces, maybe. Right now? No. I shake my head and stare down at my gun in disgust. I talk a big game, but when it comes to doing the deed, I guess I’m not as bloodthirsty or ruthless as I’d like Claudia and Sasha to think.
That is not a bad thing, my fires. He pulls me close against him and presses me against his chest.
Yeah, well, it kind of fucks up our plan to come and take out the bad guy when I end up having a massive change of heart, doesn’t it? I lean in against his warmth, closing my eyes. I feel both good and bad about my decision. I’m glad I didn’t kill Old Jerry in cold blood. I just worry I won’t be able to do the deed when it comes to Azar, either…and that fucker really needs killing.
Do you want to return to the others? Talk strategy and see what we decide? He strokes the hair back from my face with his claws. I am pleased with whatever choice you make.
What if it’s the wrong one?
Never wrong in my eyes. My mate is as fierce as she is beautiful, and that has not changed.
I sigh. “I just don’t know—”
A bell tinkles in the air.
I freeze, my blood going cold. I know what that bell is. Azar’s in the dining room, waiting to be served. Or…just waiting for us.
I pull away from Zohr. Our eyes meet, and he nods. Time to do this.
There’s a dry knot in my throat as I grip my gun and head out of Old Jerry’s room and back into the main lobby of the hotel. I know this place. I know the kitchens like the back of my hand, thanks to the many hours I spent sweating in there to fix Azar his fucking pancakes three times a day. I’m a little worried, though. He has to know that we’re here.
He does. He would be able to smell us.
I suck in a breath. No time to waste, then. He knows where we are. We know he’s got no men left to hide behind. “Let’s get this done,” I whisper to my dragon.
Zohr nods. Stay behind me.
I sputter. “I’m the one with the gun, chacho!”
Yes, but you are my mate. He steps in front of me, one arm aimed to ensure that I remain behind him. And he will not harm me. He wants me to fly to the Rift, remember?
“Doesn’t make me feel better to think about that,” I mutter. I try not to think about how he took over Zohr’s mind while he slept, either. I don’t want to have to put a bullet into my dragon. The thought’s devastating.
He will never turn me against you, Zohr says fiercely, his thoughts intense. He took my mind while I slept because my guard was down. I am aware of his tricks and will not fall for them this day, I promise.
I trust him and I know he makes sense. I’m just so terrified of Azar stealing away my fragile happiness. Of ruining it and leaving me alone. I can’t go back to being solitary, not after knowing what it’s like to be loved by my dragon. My Zohr. I love you, I send to him fiercely. Please be safe with this.
He sends me thoughts so full of love and affection that my throat aches. My sweet fires.
I clench my hands around my gun. “All right, let’s get this taken care of so we can have a make-out party to celebrate our victory when we get home.”
Zohr rumbles with amusement at the thought. Only you could make me laugh when I am about to rip out the throat of the enemy, my Emma.
That’s me, always bringing laughter to a gunfight. But I follow behind my Zohr, because he’s not going in there without me. We cross through the lobby and down the hall into the enormous dining room.
Azar’s waiting for us.
39
EMMA
It’s no surprise to me that we open the doors and see the lean, creepy Salorian sitting at the lone dinner table set up in the dining room. He glances up at us as we enter, one hand near his bell. With the other hand, he flicks one of the pages of the magazine. It’s so quiet I can hear the clock tick.
“Where is my dinner, Emma?” His voice is mild, unconcerned.
I’m shocked. In fact, I’m so shocked I’m speechless. His dinner? He’s crazier than ever. I grip my gun tightly, resisting the urge to freak out and just spray the bastard with bullets. I know I should just run in, shoot the asshole, and get on with my life, but something in me wants to confront him. To get answers. To make him understand what he’s doing is so wrong. “I’m not here to make you dinner, you son of a bitch.”