Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“What do you see them as?”
“Cleansers of both land and mind.” He pushes the door open and glances down at me. “Some people believe they’re messengers of the dead and can carry messages back and forth from the afterlife.”
I follow him inside. “I’ve never heard that before. I love how intelligent they are. Did you know some can use tools and problem solve? They’re very playful and loyal to their families too.”
He lets out a distracted hum, his gaze searching the small apartment.
I open my mouth to dazzle him with more of my endless knowledge about crows, but he cuts me off before I get out a word.
“Sit,” he orders, pointing to the couch.
When I don’t move, his lips curl into an enticing smirk. “Go on,” he coaxes in a low, raspy voice. “Have a seat. If you’re a good girl, I’ll give you a treat.”
A rush of outrage flares, then quickly vanishes under the weight of arousal. “I’m not a dog,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster.
He stares at me.
I hate how much I very much want to be his good girl. I drop down onto one of the cushions and glare at him. “Happy now?”
“Delighted,” he answers in the least delighted tone ever.
He moves toward a simple black worktable scattered with sketches and scraps of metal. While he’s occupied, I take in his apartment. It’s spare but functional. Sketchpads and stacks of books on shelves. This battered leather couch, an equally abused coffee table with iron hinges. Absolutely no sign a woman spends any time here.
Why does that spark relief in my chest?
“Here.” Declan approaches me with what looks like a black skeleton key on a silver chain dangling from his fingers. “I want you to wear this.”
I jump off the couch and stare at him. “What is it?”
“An iron key pendant.” He stops in front of me, the pendant swinging between us. “I make different ones and sell them in the shop. You didn’t see the display?”
My throat goes dry. “How could I when you practically threw me out on my butt? After all that hostility, you’re giving me jewelry?”
“Calm yourself. It’s not an engagement ring.” His gaze pins me in place, hot and unflinching. “This isn’t about jewelry. It’s about protecting you when you’re determined to go where you don’t belong. You can’t carry that nail around town and stab yourself every time you stick your hands in your pocket.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Wearing this around your neck will keep you safer than a nail in your pocket anyway.”
The key’s still swinging from his fingers, almost as if it’s reaching for me on its own.
He steps close enough that the heat of his body seeps through my sweatshirt. “Let me,” he says, voice low, rough.
I should tell him no. The chain is long enough for me to slip it over my head. Instead, I tip my chin up, silently granting him permission. He brushes my hair back, grazing my skin as he fastens the chain around my neck. The iron key settles cold and heavy against my skin. His touch is warm. The combination sends a shiver down my spine.
I pinch the key between my fingers and stare down at it. “So, what door does it open?”
“Emery.” He sighs, his gaze holding mine. “Not every door is meant to be unlocked.”
CHAPTER SIX
Emery
Morning arrives slowly in a town this gray. Light seeps through the flimsy curtains of my room in the Applewood Inn. It’s more of a suggestion that morning is here, than a declaration. The radiator clicks and sighs. Faint scents of lavender detergent and fresh coffee brewing somewhere in the house make my nose twitch.
I sit up and untangle my boobs from the straps of the tank top I slept in last night. Never fails, one of the girls always tries to make a run for it. The bag of fudge sitting on the nightstand tempts me with the sweet scent of maple-sugary goodness. Fudge for breakfast is regret waiting to happen, but I’m traveling, so it doesn’t count, right?
I reach for the white paper bag and something cold shifts on my sternum.
The iron key pendant.
It’s heavier than it looks. I pick it up and stare at it, the links of the silver chain gently rasping against my fingers. My skin still tingles where Declan’s fingers brushed my hair aside to slip the chain on. Figures my body would obsess over what I didn’t authorize it to.
Somewhere downstairs, cutlery clinks, a door thumps, voices murmur, then fade. The halls had been silent last night when I returned to the inn after Declan walked me here, broody as a bodyguard assigned to protect a pop star from her own scandals.
I drop the pendant and reach for the bag of fudge again. Several new aches complain. My shoulder where I’d ricocheted off Declan’s chest, my feet, and my left knee all have thoughts about how I spent my night. I rub my fingertip, expecting it to hurt from where I’d stabbed myself with the nail. It doesn’t. No dried blood or anything. Should it have healed so fast? Maybe it seemed worse than it was because it’d been so sudden and unexpected.