Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I look up at the alpha wolf as we walk. He’s achingly handsome–more handsome in real life than the man in my dreams. His square jaw is lightly dusted with stubble. His sandy hair falls across his forehead in a way that softens the troubled storm behind his blue eyes.
“Noah.” Thunder rumbles outside, like nature is punctuating this moment.
He nods.
“You’re a Blackthroat.”
He shakes his head and pulls out a chair for me.
Okay. We’re playing Twenty Questions.
I sink into it and look at the place setting on the simple wooden table. Filled water glasses. Two placemats. Two plates. Cloth napkins with forks and steak knives resting on them. It seems like a consideration that a kidnapper wouldn’t take. I mean, he’s presenting me with a weapon.
But he told me not to run, so I’m definitely a prisoner. Rain descends in a sudden burst, pelting the roof and windows.
I glance at one of the windows, and he follows my gaze then flicks his brows.
“Are you kidnapping me?”
He doesn’t answer, and for a moment, I think he’s stonewalling until I realize his back is turned to me as he picks up the skillet. I wait for him to fork a large steak and drop it in the center of my plate and try again. “Am I your prisoner?”
Golden light rolls over his irises again, and I feel the prickle of danger. “For now.” He forks a steak onto his plate and serves us each a portion of broccoli drizzled with fresh lemon and salted butter, judging by the scent.
For now.
What in the hell does that mean?
He slides into the chair opposite me. “What do you want with me? Are you selling me to the Blackthroats?”
A frown creases between his brows. “No.” He taps his index and middle finger down on his thumb around his fork in what must be the sign for no. The syllable is decisive, and his distaste with my question is clear. He cuts into his steak.
I don’t smell a lie. I cut into mine and take a bite. I’m ravenous. I gulp down two more bites, hardly chewing before I notice Noah glowering at me.
“You were starving.”
Is it me, or does he seem angry about this?
I swallow down a hunk of meat and draw myself up straighter. I don’t want him thinking I’m weak. Especially not if I’m his prisoner. “Fasting aids in the Sight.”
He studies me without comment. I don’t think he buys it. He reaches across and cuts a corner of my meat into small squares, as if I were a child. “Smaller bites. I don’t want you choking.”
I glare at the smaller bites and then decide I’m too hungry to quibble. I stab one and swallow it down. “What do you want with me?” I repeat.
He shrugs. “It’s not you I want. But fate delivered you to me, and I know better than to argue with fate.”
Fate delivered me to him? A shock of surprise ripples through me as my mind quickly catalogs the events.
Grandmothers, is it true?
Maybe he’s right. Maybe fate was at work in sending me straight into his arms. I still don’t know how I got out of my locked and guarded cell, nor how I found my way to the tunnel entry. The visions were coming too fast for me to interpret, and then suddenly I was out, and Noah was there waiting for me.
Noah continues to stare at me as he eats, as if he’s listening intently, not with his ears but with his other senses. His aura is powerful, a serene but intense blue that radiates from him. I can almost taste his alpha magic.
“You’ve been in my dreams,” he says.
I choke on my steak. He lunges forward like he’s somehow going to save me from asphyxiating. When I hold up my hand, he slowly sinks back into his chair, gaze still intent on my face.
I pound on my sternum with my fist and swallow, then pick up my glass and guzzle down half the water. “You saw my dreams?” I rasp out, my eyes still watering from choking.
That golden sheen rolls over his irises again. It sends a shiver down my spine. He’s so beautiful it makes my chest ache.
“You saw my dreams.” He points at me, then uses a flat hand on his chest. I enjoy seeing him talk with his hands. Something in me yearns to see him sign. The way his hands move is beautiful.
A hint of a smile plays around his lips, and I realize he might be teasing me. The sight of it sends butterflies fluttering through me. He has beautiful dark blue eyes. Kind eyes.
He feels familiar, even though we’re total strangers. I know he was the man who helped me in the elevator. I keep imagining it, wishing I'd been able to see him or had been more aware to understand what was happening.