Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
All of the color is back in his skin and lips. He looks good. Healthy, I mean.
He winces as he lifts his injured arm and runs his hands through his wavy brown hair.
“Don’t move it,” I say, rushing to help. I grab his arm and gently lower it back down. “Your arm was really injured when we found you. It was ripped out of your socket.”
“Where am I?” he asks in a deep raspy voice. That voice… it does something fierce to my body. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
Keep it in check, girl. He’s injured and not up for any of that.
“You’re on my ship,” I say. “This is my room.”
It’s so nice to see his chest moving up and down with powerful breaths. He’s breathing in through his nose with every inhale.
“You’re the captain?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling a boost of pride. “Captain Calista.”
He closes his eyes and says my name like it’s sacred. “Calista.”
“What happened to you?” I ask. “Why were you half dead, pinned to a tree, and naked in the ocean?”
He closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath. “It’s… complicated.”
“I bet,” I say, not wanting to push him too hard too quickly. “Let’s start with something not complicated. What’s your name?”
“Kieran,” he says. “Kieran Stormfur.”
“Huh,” I say, wondering about that. Stormfur is the name of the neighbouring wolf kingdom. Is he a royal, or maybe all shifters take the last name of their pack? I don’t know too much about them. His species stays off the sea, so we don’t cross paths too often. Or ever.
“You’ve been watching over me,” he says. It’s not a question. “I could sense you here. The whole time.”
My cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I could smell you,” he says quietly.
I swallow hard, knowing what I smell like—dried sweat, salt, and fish. There ain’t a shower on this ship.
“Even when I was dreaming,” he goes on in a whisper. “Even when it was all dark. I knew you were here, Calista. Thank you.”
I don't know what to say to that. I look at my hands.
“Are you still in pain?” I eventually ask. “How long does it take a wolf shifter to heal?”
“Depends on the injuries,” he says with a sad smile. “I think I was on the edge of what a wolf is capable of healing. One additional splinter in my finger probably would have pushed me over the edge into death.”
I flinch. I don’t like him talking about his death, even in jest. I don’t know how I would have been able to go on if he had passed. It would have crushed me and broken my heart.
“Careful,” I say as he sits up in my bed. He still winces with every movement, but he looks so alive. I’m eternally grateful for that.
“I can’t believe you found me,” he says, staring at me with what can only be described as awe.
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re lucky we were sailing by.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I’ve been searching for you my whole life, and I wake up and you’re here.”
He’s not making sense. I touch his forehead with the back of my hand, expecting him to be feverish, but his skin is warm and feels as normal as ever.
“What do you mean, you’ve been searching for me?”
He smiles and the sight is so beautiful I have to grip the armrest on my chair.
“This is going to sound outlandish,” he says slowly. “But it’s the truth, Calista.”
I just wait for him to say it with my body frozen and my heart racing.
“You’re my mate,” he finally says. “We’re connected in more ways than you can possibly know.”
Mate.
The word lands in the room and sits there.
I stare at him.
He stares back.
I open my mouth.
Then I do the only reasonable thing a practical woman can do when a naked, half-dead wolf shifter tells her she’s his mate three minutes after waking up for the first time.
I laugh.
It comes out before I can stop it. My laugh turns loud and slightly hysterical, not helped by my lack of sleep and the giddy feeling rippling through my body.
“I’m sorry,” I say, covering my mouth as I giggle. “I’m sorry, that was… I’m not laughing at you, I just…”
He smiles back at me, appearing amused by my reaction.
“It’s just, you’ve been unconscious for five days,” I say. “And we’ve known each other for approximately four minutes. And you know?”
“Yes.”
“For sure?”
“Yup.”
This guy is unreal.
“You’re really telling me that we’re—”
“Mates,” he says with a firm nod. “That’s right.”
“And you’re not feverish or crazy or brain damaged?”
He shakes his head, grinning that sexy grin at me. “Not even in a little bit.”
I sit back in the chair and look at him. Really look at him. At the steadiness in those extraordinary eyes. At the absolute lack of uncertainty in his face. He’s not performing this. He’s not delirious. He means every word with a quiet, unshakeable certainty that makes something in my chest go very still.