Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
His pale blue eyes grew serious. “I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again.”
“Me, neither.”
The kiss they shared now was gentle, reverent. A reminder that passion without love was just body parts, a sneeze that offered nothing more than a brief, biological relief.
“Here, I must be crushing you.”
He was, but she liked it and could have stayed right where they were for the rest of the night, him buried deep inside her, his body a living blanket. Except as he shifted off and straightened between her thighs, the real world came back.
“Let me make you something to eat,” she blurted.
She had no fucking clue where that came from, but she wanted to draw this out for as long as she could—partially because she always needed more time with him, but also because she had no fucking idea where to start or what to say to him. And as they both redressed—and she thanked God she always had an extra black work shirt in a drawer—she racked her mind for what she could do at Marco’s stove. It wasn’t until they were walking out into the corridor that she realized she could handle scrambled eggs.
Those gas burners were sure as shit going to wonder why the amateur night, but whatever.
As they emerged into the kitchen proper, Al wandered around, looking at the stainless steel counters and equipment, the professional ovens, the dishwashers.
“I’m not hungry, actually,” he said.
“Me, neither.”
Al turned toward her, and the seriousness in his face was a total contrast to the volcanic need that had distorted his handsome features into a mask of sexual drive. That passion was all gone now.
“What do you need, Denne. Just name it and it’s yours.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Don’t even try. Just tell me what I can do for you.”
Denne broke their eye contact and did some wandering of her own, heading over to the salad prep area. She thought about her vinaigrette ramekin stunt and wondered if that young woman was okay. She hoped that the son was, too. And the human mother. She wished them well, like you would people moving out of town.
Except she was the one who wasn’t going to be coming to Sal’s anymore.
Jesus, had she really decided that?
Yes, she had.
Marco would take care of the place, and no doubt hire one of his family members to be manager. And in another decade, her father could decide who else he wanted to turn things over to—or if it was safe for him to come back here and be the chef. A long-lost “cousin” of the iAm everybody had known fifty years ago.
“Talk to me,” Allhan prompted.
“I need to know something that you may not want to tell me.”
“Go ahead.”
She had spent all day long thinking about what had been on their charts and what everything meant.
And one of the conclusions she’d come to was disturbing.
Except she had to get real about everything, and the place where she was determined to begin was to nail down what she knew for certain about Al. Then she could focus on the rest of what the charts said, and disagreed upon.
“I need to know whether or not you ever killed anybody in your family.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Fucking hell, Allhan thought as Denne’s words landed like bricks on his head. She couldn’t have surprised him more if she’d picked up a frying pan off the stove and roundhoused him with the thing. And as he repeated what she’d said couple of times in his mind, like he was a bomb squadder looking for hidden detonators, he heard a weird noise in his ears, a buzzing that came and went with no particular pattern or volume.
After God only knew how long, he pulled his shit together and cleared his throat. “You mind if I ask why you want to know that?”
She started pacing again, going over to a pair of flap doors and staring out the circular windows. “It’s going to sound crazy. Just a heads-up”
Yeah, right. The female had no idea what his life had been like for the last six months.
“Try me.”
There was another long pause. Then he knew by the way she straightened her spine that he was going to get it all. Whatever “it” was.
“My mother is Queen Catra of the Shadows. I am the heir to the throne of the Territory of the s’Hisbe.”
Allhan blinked. Leaned forward on his hips. Tilted his head. “I’m sorry, say what?”
“It is my destiny to rule when my mother passes.” She made a sign over the center of her chest and then glanced up. “May that be far, far into the future.”
Holy… shit. And he’d had the gall to think in his old life he might have been a catch for her?
What an idiot he was.
“It is our custom to do charts of the night skies, to track stars and assess how they relate to the lives we lead and our destinies. This is our tradition, and it has been done for me twice. Right after my birth, but also after my transition ten years ago.” Her eyes traced his face. “That second chart suggested that I must be mated to one of my mother’s advisors and take the throne early to save my parents, and my people.”