Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I don’t know what he’s talking about.
You do.
I can’t even lie to myself. Sure, I’d blocked out my life before that awful night, but I remember. Mom took us far from our home. On an adventure.
Except it wasn’t an adventure.
It was an escape we barely pulled off.
She took us and ran because our lives depended on it.
For two years we traveled to obscure, low-populated areas, living out of tents at campgrounds, never talking about our past or how painful it was to lose Dad. Maine had been my favorite place so far. It didn’t feel like we were passing through. It felt like our destination. I’d dreamed of living in one of the cabins we’d walked past. I wanted to go to school again—to be around kids my age. All we ever did was run. It was exhausting.
That fateful night ten years ago, we’d been found. A monster was hunting us, and it finally caught up.
Massive. Gray fur covered in blood. Long, razor-sharp claws and even sharper teeth. Bony wings and long tail. Crazed and powerful and filled with hate.
The Beast.
“Father destroyed the entire Thatcher name,” Cash murmurs, a vicious growl emanating from him. “He was certain of it. Left you for dead.”
But I wasn’t dead.
Cy found me, nursed me to health, and kept me.
He claimed me as his.
I became a Hames.
“But you didn’t die, did you?” Cash asks, his green eyes flaring with manic fury. “You took what was ours and made it yours.”
I frown at him in confusion.
“Don’t be an idiot, Rem.”
Shaking my head, I glower at him. I didn’t take anything of his.
“The night you didn’t die,” he explains. “You took a piece from Father. Stole something that belongs to our line. Not yours.”
He’s the one who took everything from me.
Rage ignites in my lower belly, pulsing through my body like electricity. That monster stole my family. Ripped each one of them from my grasp. He’d tried to destroy me too, but I was too furious. Too outraged. As he tugged on my life force, I vined my way around his, yanking a little back for myself. The need to live and one day seek revenge was my single driving force as I lay bleeding on the forest floor.
“I read your journals,” he hisses, spittle flying over me. “What sounds like fantastical stories scribbled on those pages are memories of your past. Those journal entries describing the Quebec Kingdom were so detailed. So perfect. So real. I wasn’t certain, at first, because you’re so fucking good at shielding your gifts, but those journal entries solidified that it was you. Little heir to a kingdom. It was rumored you’d survived Father’s attempted execution, and we finally had our proof.”
My memory is murky from before Mom took us and ran. I remember Dad—dark hair and eyes. Powerful. People bowed to him and respected him. But not much more than that. Just the fun stuff. His magic tricks and smiles.
Cash cocks his head to the side as he studies me, poking the tip of his knife just above my knee. “You gave yourself away. Like a little beacon on Beacon Island, flickering against the darkness to guide us to you. Your anger is so bright.” He runs the tip of his blade higher up my thigh, threatening to break the skin again. “When I saw you, all these years later, I was pleasantly surprised. You have the darkness in you, and it calls to me. I would have reconsidered killing you to keep you as my mate, despite Father’s wishes.”
But?
He must see that question in my eyes because his sick smile fades as a sinister expression passes over his features. “You mated to a fucking backwoods wolf instead.”
So?
“But he wasn’t a backwoods wolf, was he?”
My brows scrunch in confusion.
“Your bitch of a mother wasn’t hiding you at all, was she? She was looking for someone. She was taking you to him.”
Cyrus. His name on my mind produces a warmth I can’t describe. It’s just so fucking wonderful.
“Your fated mate,” Cash grinds out, smacking at the dogtags hanging around my neck. “It’s why these won’t work, even though I made it stronger this time. It’s why whenever he’s near, our magic is so damn useless. It’s why all the spells and attempts at telepathy have been fruitless.”
Fuck. You. I mouth the words at him, careful to make sure he understands them clearly.
“No, I think I might fuck you instead.” He laughs, a twisted and disturbing sound. “I realize now, you never completed the bond with your fated mate. Not physically. Looks like we can be mated after all, though it’ll ruin your mind. Fated mates forced to mate with someone else is always a mindfuck. One you won’t survive. I’ll take back what you took from our bloodline and steal all your gifts too while you wallow in despair, forever trapped in a pairing you weren’t meant to be in.”