Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 131364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
He would believe her, would have to believe her. Because the idea of actually doing her harm? Fuck, no.
But Eleri said, “I don’t know. Changelings have natural shields. Sophie’s husband has a natural shield.”
Adam frowned. “I met a J with dark hair, purplish blue eyes once. Her name was Sophia.” It had been in a home that sat partially on DarkRiver lands, partially on SnowDancer. The woman he’d met had been a visitor whose stay had overlapped his by only a few minutes; she’d been leaving the home of DarkRiver sentinel Mercy, who was mated to a SnowDancer lieutenant.
A number of packmates from both packs had been floating around at the time, the couple having hosted a casual afternoon gathering of friends. DarkRiver and SnowDancer’s alliance had gone far beyond agreements and territorial lines to a thing of blood in the children Mercy and her mate had created.
Triplets who were cherished by both packs.
Winged clans tended not to bond that way to other clans for the simple reason that their ways were not those of the predatory changelings who claimed the ground, but seeing how the wolves laughed with the leopards while ribbing them mercilessly—and vice versa—had made Adam consider if winged clans could learn from their example.
After all, a falcon was as deadly a predator as a wolf.
That day, as Mercy walked her guest out, she’d stopped by Adam. “Adam, this is Sophia.”
“Hi, Sophia.” Having spotted the black gloves on Mercy’s guest’s hands, Adam hadn’t offered her a handshake—he hadn’t known what the gloves meant at the time, but it didn’t take a genius to work out that it was a subtle message not to touch.
“Adam’s a falcon,” Mercy had told Sophia with a grin. “I know it’s driving you crazy.”
Sophia’s eyes had crinkled at the corners. “It was. You…feel different,” she’d said to Adam. “The way you walk, your presence, it’s hard to put my finger on it. I apologize if I was being unintentionally nosy.”
Adam had waved off the apology, smiled. “We play the same game with Psy—telepath, telekinetic, something else? It’s as hard to tell for us as it is for you to figure out our animals.”
“Sophia’s a former J,” Mercy had shared even as she leaned down to scoop up a baby who was doing a race-crawl toward a large platter of chips on a low table. “Nope, nope, nope,” she’d said to the baby in a voice both firm and full of love. “You do not want to pull those down on your head. No, not even if you’re adorable.”
Laughing, the baby had smacked her with a wet kiss before said baby was stolen away by a passing young packmate who threw the delighted child over his muscular shoulder as he headed outside.
“These days,” Mercy had said without missing a beat, “Sophia keeps Nikita Duncan in line.” While Adam was still digesting the latter, Mercy had pointed out the window at a lean, dark-haired male. “That’s her husband, Max, out by the car with Clay. Next time, you’ll have to coordinate your visits so I can do a proper introduction.”
“Max,” Adam said on the heels of the memory. “Her husband’s name was Max.”
Eleri nodded. “Yes, that’s Sophie.” She didn’t break eye contact. “Max is human, but he has a natural shield.”
“I saw them touch.” It had been after Sophia walked over to join Max. “She looked happy, not under stress.”
Locking his gaze to Eleri’s in a silent question, he telegraphed his intention to touch her by raising his hand. When she didn’t move, he very, very lightly placed his hand against her clothed upper arm. She didn’t react. So he exerted more pressure.
A reaction now, a motionlessness. But—“There’s no overload.” She was the one to raise her bare hand, reach for him.
He flinched.
She halted.
“It could kill you if you’re wrong,” he ground out, because no matter what he’d said to her that first day, no matter his anger and raw sense of betrayal, Adam would never, ever hurt her.
“Fleeting contact when I’m prepared won’t cause harm.” She moved her fingers slowly toward his bare forearm.
A butterfly brush of his rigid skin.
An exhale. “Nothing.” She tried again, this time holding the contact for a second. “Nothing but you.” A whisper. “I sense a turbulent wildness on the edge of my perception, an awareness of a great winged creature…but there’s no pain, no sense of overload. I don’t feel your memories.”
It hit him then. “How long since you’ve touched another person?”
She still had her fingers on his forearm, was staring at the connection, didn’t seem to hear him.
“Eleri.” He shook her a little, just a little, with that one hand he had on her upper arm.
“I found Reagan,” she whispered, her hand dropping away. “I held his body as he died. He mistimed it, was still alive in the physical sense. I was able to hold him so he didn’t die alone. Maybe he knew.”