Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
It is not miles long anymore. Ryker arranges his bed at the foot of mine, out of the strongest heat from the fireplace, and stretches out as if he’s used to sleeping on the floor. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears from my pounding heart.
Even in his human form, he is so obviously strong. I stare at the ceiling and press my back to the mattress, so I don’t sit up and stare at him. My eyes stay wide and although sleep begs me to give in, there is no way I possibly could. My mind races with so many thoughts, many of which are sinful. But others, more logical and terrifying.
The rain drums and drums on the roof, and I have the sense the drops are coming through and landing on my blankets and my clothes. Each one is a cool prickle of doubt.
I do not trust other beings. My coven died at the hands of other beings because they’d felt it necessary to fight in the war. A wolf shifter—and a soldier, no less—is no less of a danger to me than the trolls who killed my sisters.
What was I thinking, letting him stay for the night? Why did I hand him a stack of blankets and let him lie down at the foot of my bed? He is practically on top of me.
No, he is not. I cannot fathom what the weight of all those muscles would feel like if he were stretched out over me instead of on the floor.
Or perhaps I can fathom it.
I turn over on my side and squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying not to imagine it. He was able to enter, and he sleeps atop an enchanted quilt. I am safe and the moons protect me. I know this and with those thoughts, I let go of my worries.
I force myself to relax and inhale deeply. There’s certainly more energy in the cottage. All he’s doing is lying on his makeshift bed, but power ripples off him.
Power, but not a threat.
Not to me.
I push myself up on one elbow to steal a glance at him. After a few moments, he turns over and stretches before settling down again.
I lower myself back to my pillow, feeling…off. I don’t like that he is left to be uncomfortable. I know he is a powerful wolf shifter and a soldier, but I saw how he shifted on the blanket, clearly trying to find a better position for his body.
Sleep evades me.
The soldier makes no move to get up from the bed or to come to mine. He does not leap up and growl. He lies there, and all he seems to do whenever I check on him is breathe.
After what feels like hours of sleeplessness, I can tell he is not sleeping, either.
No matter how many times I tell myself it is all right, sleep will not come. I spend what feels like hours relaxing the muscles in my body bit by bit and counting up to a hundred and back down to one. My eyes burn from the late hour. I can’t drift off.
I’m awake so long that the storm tapers off to a downpour, and then to a light rain, and then to a shower that comes and goes. I imagine that I will fall asleep before the rain stops completely, but I find myself listening for the next set of drops, listening and listening and still awake.
His breaths are deep and even, but they are too purposeful for him to be truly asleep. I stretch my legs under the covers, trying to work out some of the restlessness.
Stretching does not dispel any of the fidgety feeling, which seems to be everywhere in my body. Even though we are both pretending to sleep—or at least rest—the tension only thickens in the silence. It makes the cottage even hotter than the fire, and without the cooling effect of the rain, the temperature becomes too much.
I wave my hand at the fireplace and send a cool breeze through the cottage.
The soldier lets out a gentle sigh of satisfaction. I let one out as well.
It’s still not enough to send me to sleep.
My thoughts circle in my head as the night drags on. I cannot stop thinking of the soldier. I cannot stop listening to his breathing. He is awake. I am awake. We’re both awake.
I fall into a pattern, checking to see if he is awake, then noticing he is, then noticing how impossible it is to sleep.
The walls of the cottage draw closer every time I exhale. At the foot of the bed, Ryker turns over a second time, then a third.
After a long time, I think his breathing has settled into real sleep.
I cannot lie here anymore, so I swing my legs out of the bed and tiptoe silently past him, holding my nightgown up so that it does not accidentally brush against his leg and wake him.