Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Well aware,” she mumbled as she walked toward him and kissed the top of his head as she passed. “And I’m starving.”
My heart raced as she disappeared from view, and I barely kept myself from following her. If her father hadn’t been blocking most of the hallway, I probably would’ve. I stared in the direction she’d gone, my mind racing.
What the hell had I walked into?
“Sure you got questions,” Gary said, turning his wheelchair around. “Come on. We can talk while I make her somethin’ to eat.”
I followed him into the kitchen. The house was clean but clearly lived in. The floors were scratched from years of use, the door jams were gouged at the height of Gary’s wheelchair footrests, and there were random knick-knacks and framed photos everywhere. Inside the kitchen was an entire row of well-worn cookbooks. Almost every one of them had little notes peeking out of the top.
“Can I get you somethin’ to drink?” Gary asked as he moved toward the fridge. “We’ve got beer, milk, and water.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Don’t keep hard stuff in the house.”
“No thanks,” I replied cautiously. I couldn’t figure him out. The man was as calm as if I’d just brought his daughter home from a date, but from everything Rosemary had said—she’d been missing for a week. What kind of father didn’t care that his daughter had disappeared?
And why the hell hadn’t he reacted when she’d told him we were mates?
“I can hear your mind spinnin’ from here,” he said in amusement as he pulled various items from the fridge. “Sit down. She’ll be a while.”
I walked further into the kitchen and sat down while he gathered things for what looked like a sandwich. When he’d piled everything he needed onto his lap, he brought it all over and set it out on the table.
“First things first, I’ve heard of you,” he said conversationally.
“You have?” I asked flatly.
Gary nodded and pulled out a pair of reading glasses. He put them on the end of his nose and got to work on the sandwich.
“I wasn’t aware that humans talked about us,” I countered.
He let out a rough chuckle. “Well, you’ve got me there.” He pushed up the sleeve of his flannel and flexed his wiry forearm. “You know what that is?”
In the center of his arm was a faded tattoo. Even with the lines blurred by age, it was instantly recognizable. The outline of the United States was innocuous unless you looked closer and realized that Florida was too pointed at the bottom, and there was a mirror image on the opposite side. As if the United States had fangs.
“You worked with Command?” I asked in surprise. There had always been humans who worked alongside Vampire Command, but the list was small and highly guarded. Only the highest levels of security clearance were given the opportunity, and not all of those humans passed the psychological tests that our Command required.
“For thirty-four years,” he confirmed. “Not so long as you”—he glanced at me over his glasses—“but for a fair bit.”
“How did you end up here?” I asked, glancing around the room before I realized what I was saying.
Gary chuckled as I internally kicked myself for insulting the man. Humans who worked for Command were paid very well, both because the work was highly dangerous and because it inspired loyalty. There wasn’t anything wrong with his house, but if he’d worked for them for thirty-four years, he could’ve bought himself a private island somewhere.
“I own a thousand acres,” he said after a moment. “And this house suited me and my wife just fine.”
“I apologize—”
He waved me off.
“My wife was sick,” he said, carefully assembling the sandwich. “Experimental treatments don’t come cheap.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. He’d said was.
“So am I,” he agreed. “But we’ve done all right, me and Rosemary.”
My stomach twisted, and I glanced toward where I could hear the water running deeper in the house. How long did it take for my mate to shower? The longer she was gone, the more uncomfortable it became.
“She’ll be out in a minute,” he said sympathetically as he cut the sandwich in half and started packing up the supplies again. “I’m guessin’ your skin’s crawlin’ already.”
He shook his head as he backed up from the table.
He knew about the physical symptoms of the mating bond. Interesting.
“Were you hurt on a mission?” I asked, changing the subject in an attempt to distract myself. My muscles flexed and tightened as I fought the urge to go find my mate.
“Oh, the chair?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Nah, there wasn’t one big event. My discs are fucked from too many of them.” He rose to his feet and took a couple of lumbering steps toward the fridge. Bending slightly at the waist, he set the ingredients back inside, then stepped back and lowered himself into the chair again. He met my eyes once he’d spun back around. “I can walk. It just hurts like a motherfucker, especially this time of night.”