Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 118860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
There was no way to just get that diffuser. It was from a special company, and it took a while for them to ship it. She knew. She’d been in the United States, not the Peruvian rainforest, and yet there it was. Sitting on a shelf with half a dozen other, smaller products she liked for her skin.
“Okay,” she whispered aloud. She spent a great deal of time alone and often spoke out loud.
“He was definitely in my mind, looking around at my memories. When was he able to do that and I wasn’t aware? What about Tomas? He can do that as well.”
She leaned into the mirror, turning her head slowly, and for the first time examined the mark on her neck. Two small spots that looked suspiciously like a snakebite. Or just a bite. Her heart went crazy as her hand crept up to cover the brand.
“You knew,” she accused herself. “Don’t act shocked. Don’t get all panicky, because you’ve known all along—he took your blood after you said no to him. That’s why you woke up and wanted to run.”
What’s with Carpathian males that they don’t care in the least what their lifemate, or maybe it’s any woman, thinks or feels? She sent that question out into the universe because she really wanted the answer.
Where is the disconnect happening? Why are women less to you? Why don’t we have the same rights as you?
If she was being honest, the jaguar shifters were equally as bad. And human males around the world seemed often to have those same opinions. They were in charge, and the women were supposed to do whatever they said.
She shook out her hair and began to style it, completely on automatic, strangely grateful and yet resentful of having the products she needed at her fingertips.
Okay, not all men worldwide. She had to be fair. There were good men in the world, many of them. Men who respected women and had good relationships with them. Men who didn’t treat women as sex objects or servants.
Was she crying? Did she actually have tears spilling over and running down her face? She peered closer into the mirror because her image was blurry. She wasn’t a big crier, although she indulged occasionally when she was alone. Sorrow had welled up unexpectedly. Overwhelming grief. It was shocking in its raw intensity.
Her hands shook as she wiped at the tears and studied her pale face in the mirror. “What is wrong with you? You aren’t in love with him. You have the brains to get yourself out of this if you think logically.”
Emotions were visceral. Gutting her. It wasn’t simply because she couldn’t touch Tomas; it was because he was wrong for her. Dead to her, whether he was asleep beneath the ground or not.
Why are you so distressed, sivamet? I warned you what to expect. I am coming to you at sunset. Only a short time away.
Tomas flooded her mind—with him. Strong. Confident. Reassuring. That gentle stroke of velvet like a caress. He seemed to do so effortlessly. His concern for her was apparent, and yet he was undisturbed by their separation. Only she seemed to have to suffer the consequences of his binding them together.
Perversely, she didn’t want him to come to her. She hadn’t decided what to do or how best to handle the situation. She detested that he could read her emotions, which were all over the place. That had been one of the reasons she didn’t want him taking her blood. No one had the right to look into her personal thoughts or feel her emotions, confused or otherwise. She should be able to decide when and what she wanted to share.
Don’t mistake my sorrow for me believing you are dead or being sad about our separation. Yes, I do feel sad. Very sad. I asked you not to take my blood, just as I asked Luiz. Neither of you respected me enough to listen. My choice didn’t matter to you or to my cousin. Only what you wanted or needed. I needed time to learn about you and your ways. Neither of you was willing to give that time to me.
There was silence, but she felt him there, moving in her mind, stroking soothing caresses. She wasn’t even certain he knew he was doing it as he absorbed her accusation.
I understand how you would think that. Your point of view does count, Sarika, far more than you know. In my culture, before all else, we must put the safety of our women first. That is an absolute rule. We cannot get around it. No manner of discussion or upset can remove that fundamental imperative obligation. It is bred into our bones. Far before our births it is imprinted on us, just as the ritual binding words are.