Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Well, yes I do—I felt worse than this after Kraven tried to Drain me and I broke our Bond—but not by much. Cheating death is an onerous and tiring business.
As we walk out into the field beyond the cottage, I stumble and nearly fall. Alaric catches me at once.
“Here,” he growls, and swings me up into his arms.
“Alaric! Put me down!” I demand weakly. “I must stand on my own two feet to work the travel gem.”
“We’re not traveling anywhere by magic,” is his gruff reply.
“What? Why not?” I ask.
“Because I saw how it drained you—I nearly lost you in there. You’re not doing any more fucking magic for now,” he growls.
“You have no right to say such things to me!” I tell him. “I am your Mistress—put me down!”
“No.” He starts walking, still holding me in his arms like I’m a baby.
I can’t believe his insolence and disobedience! He’s never been so rebellious before!
“How do you propose we get home if not by magic?” I demand, glaring up at him.
“I’m going to carry you.” His voice is stoic as he strides along, cradling me to his chest with my satchel slung over one broad shoulder.
“What? But you heard what the man said—it’s a half a day’s journey. You can’t carry me all that way!” I protest.
He shoots me a look.
“Fucking watch me, Mistress,” he growls.
And then he just keeps walking.
I guess we’re going home the long way.
21
Sylvanna
I must have drifted off at some point—Alaric refused to put me down, even to rest and eventually my weariness overcame me. When I open my eyes, I see that we’re at my tower—home again. I ask again to be put down, but again he refuses.
“You still look weak,” he says as he pushes open the door. “I need to take care of you, Mistress.”
“Really, you don’t. I feel fine, Alaric!” I protest, but he carries me up the long spiral stairs anyway, though he must be tired from holding me for so long.
I have a new appreciation of my Paladin’s strength—as I’ve said before, I’m on the curvy side and not exactly light. But he never falters once and refuses to put me down until we reach the bed chamber. Then he places me carefully on the bed and goes into the bathing chamber. After a moment, I hear the water running in my tub. I taught Alaric the basic cantrips which he can use to open doors and turn on and heat the water just a few days into his time with me. Now I’m glad I did.
When he comes out of the bathing room, he’s stripped to the waist and still looking grim.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he begins to undress me.
“Going to bathe you and get you cleaned up,” he growls. “You’re dirty, Mistress.”
I look down at myself and see that it’s true. My dress is probably ruined—the delicate lace at the front is torn and stained. This gown wasn’t meant to be knelt in—especially not on a dirt floor.
Alaric pulls off my dress without his usual careful attention to detail. In fact, he’s almost rough with me as he scoops me up, naked, and brings me into the bath. He puts me in the deep, recessed tub but doesn’t come in with me. Instead, he reaches for the bathing sponge and a bottle of my cleansing soap and pours some out. Then he kneels beside the lip of the tub, takes one of my arms and begins to scrub me—vigorously—almost harshly.
“Ouch! What are you doing?” I exclaim, pulling my arm away—it was beginning to get red from his scrubbing!
“Cleaning you, Mistress.” He speaks through gritted teeth and I can feel the Holy Fire inside him rising with his anger.
“Cleaning me? I didn’t get that dirty!” I protest.
“Yes, you did—dirty inside and out,” he growls, reaching for my arm again.
“How in the world would I get dirty inside?” I counter, avoiding his grasp.
“By drinking that fucking peasant’s blood!” he snaps and now I see the anger flaring in his eyes. In fact, I see flames glowing and flickering in his blue gaze—I’ve never seen him this upset before. Not even when I first captured him and stripped him with my Shadows. What is happening here?
“You’re angry because I took blood from the peasant in payment for saving his son?” I ask.
“I’m angry because you took blood from another man!” he growls. “Because you allowed someone else to nourish you—to give you what you needed! Fuck, Sylvanna—I’m your Blood-servant! Why would you drink from someone else? Especially right in fucking front of me?”
I see the problem now—the reason he’s being so surly—but it’s not a difficulty I expected to encounter.
“You’re my Blood-servant, yes, but that’s just a title,” I try to explain. “It doesn’t mean that I must drink from you whenever I have the Thirst and need blood.”