Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
All for the unforgivable “sin” of being mine.
Suddenly, I hear a whoosh and I whirl, heart chugging, wand up and braced for a fight. Hell, I welcome one. Instead, I find Bram.
“She’s not here,” he informs me.
As I can plainly see. But I won’t rest until I find her…one way or the other. Once I have, I’ll let this crushing heartache take me. “When you spoke of the attack, you didn’t mention that.”
“You didn’t let me.”
Semantics. I have no time for them. “I must keep searching. I pray she escaped and sought refuge elsewhere.”
“It’s possible.”
But Bram doesn’t sound convinced. Despite the fact I’m not either, I stifle the urge to rage at him. It might make me feel better. Unfortunately, it won’t do a bloody thing to bring back Tabitha.
With a sigh, Bram claps me on the shoulder. “I know she’s expecting your youngling.”
“Yes,” I choke.
A son I’ll never get to meet or hold, never get to love or guide. Hell, I won’t even have the opportunity to look upon his face before I bury him.
The realization threatens to take me out at the knees.
She wasn’t very far along, three months at most. If any other woman ever conceived by me, I would know exactly when because I never spend more than one night with any of them. I never go back for seconds. I refuse all attachments. For Tabitha, I broke that cardinal rule. Repeatedly. I couldn’t stay away from her, no matter how much her parents hated me, no matter how much better her life would be if I steered clear.
Now I wish I hadn’t been so fucking selfish.
“Understandably, you’re concerned about the youngling,” Bram placates. “Since children are difficult for most witches to conceive, particularly those unmated, I—”
“Shut up.” Not for anything will I confess my feelings about Tabitha to Bram. Hell, I’ve never felt anything like her hold on my heart, so I barely understand myself.
“Or is this about Tabitha herself? If you loved her, why didn’t you Call to her? Take her as your mate?”
The wanker knows why. Everyone does. And I’d rather not have this discussion. Not here. Not now…when she’s missing. When she’s probably dead, and it’s all moot because I failed her in every way.
But I know Bram. He won’t shut his bloody yap until I answer.
“You’re well aware that my family was cursed centuries ago. We can’t sense our mates. The instinct was bred out of us generations ago,” I say, referring to the sixth sense that allows a wizard to taste a woman and know if she’s the fated mate magic intends for him.
Bram raises a golden brow, his blue eyes laser sharp. “That didn’t stop your twin. Ronan looks quite settled with Kari. For months he hasn’t so much as looked at another woman.”
Nearly two years, if Bram wants the honest truth. Oh, prior to mating with the pretty human Kari, Ronan bedded other women. Magic must be powered by a strong exchange of emotion, and sex always provides plenty. Playful encounters with many partners are expected until one mates. But almost from the start, Ronan fixated on Kari until he finally mated with her, despite the fact that the rest of the Wolvesey wizards, eternal bachelors all, thought him mad—including me.
I understand now. Meeting Tabitha was almost surreal. My first thought was that no witch could possibly be so lovely. Once I’d talked my way into her bed, my second thought was that no witch could possibly be so sweet.
It took great effort to leave her the next morning, but I vowed never to return. She was too tempting, felt too damn good once I sank into her. But I returned three agonizing days later, hungrier than ever. Then again, and again…
“I’m not like Ronan.” I clench my jaw so hard that I swear it will shatter.
Bram scoffs. “He’s smarter.”
When Bram turns away to sift through the ruins, I charge after him. “I don’t have the instinct!”
“But, in theory at least, you have a brain. And a heart. You knew that witch meant something to you, but…” Bram shrugs. “Well, I suppose it’s water under the bridge if she’s dead.”
I growl, “I will not believe that until I have proof.”
“But chances are—”
“Finish that sentence, and I’ll wring your bloody neck. Call that dodgy prick Shock. Find out what he knows. Right now!”
Bram doesn’t take orders, and it goes against everything in my body to suggest he call the Doomsday Brethren’s supposed double agent. No one likes the confrontational bastard. They trust him even less. But he alone is close enough to Mathias to have useful information. Shock might well know the truth. I close my eyes and pray.
“Are you mad?” Bram glares. “If Shock says Mathias has her, what will you do? Charge in like her white knight? You’ll be signing your own death warrant.”