Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
It’s not like gravity-defying wonder-sex means there’s a future.
Not even real feelings mean that, no matter how complicated they might be.
He doesn’t owe me anything.
His life is complicated enough, and the thought of dumping my drama, my mess, on Grant and that sweet little girl...
The lump in my throat feels like a cactus.
We haven’t talked about it, of course.
It just happened.
We tumbled into this together.
And I’m in such free fall that adding another layer of uncertainty doesn’t help anything.
But I still think of Redhaven as home.
Some childish part of me thinks that if I just hope hard enough, everything will turn out fine.
Mom will pull off a miraculous recovery.
Ros will come to her senses, or somehow, I’ll find out that Aleksander’s a pretty decent, misunderstood guy underneath his creeper façade.
Grant and I, we’ll—I don’t even know.
Settle down and live happily ever after?
Maybe little Nell wouldn’t mind that when she’s already got me wrapped around her little finger.
Then I won’t have to sell the family house because Mom will be there, growing old, clucking her tongue at me because I haven’t brought my man and kid around for dinner in a few weekends and... and...
Sweet Jesus.
I’m deluding myself, aren’t I?
Weaving a ridiculous fairy tale so I don’t have to face the hard truth that everything I love is falling apart and the only thing stable right now is Grant.
I wonder if he’d mind if I called him.
Just to hear that slow, drawling voice, that gruffness that’s so gentle when you learn his language.
The thought makes me feel better, like he’s reaching out to comfort me.
I wish I could be home with Grant right now, curled up on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and a goofy movie and Nell snuggled between us, demanding our attention.
Then the bell over the shop door jingles.
It hits like a gunshot, but it’s what I need—a reminder to get out of my own head, keep it together, and take on life one minute at a time.
And right now, I have a customer, so I splash my face with water from the little sink in my mother’s work area, take a deep breath, and put on my best smile before I walk to the register.
“Welcome to Nobody’s Bees—”
I freeze.
This time it’s not a gunshot to my chest.
It’s a cannonball.
The door swings shut with a rattling jingle before my vision stabilizes.
My stalker takes several reeling steps into the shop with blood dripping past his stained lips and running down his chin.
I stare at him, my mouth trembling, my body rooted in place.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. Concern and fear rip through me. “A-are you...?”
He clutches at his stomach—and I notice his hands are filthy, grimed with mud.
He stops like he’s just realizing he isn’t alone.
His head lifts sluggishly and muddled eyes look at me from beneath the disarrayed mess of his silver hair, his gaze set deep in rough hollows.
He lets out a guttural sound, gurgling pain.
Then he turns and nearly flings himself out the door, making it bang violently with his weight as he stumbles back onto the sidewalk.
“Hey—wait!” I yell, stretching out a hand.
But he’s gone, disappearing into the street.
I only hesitate a second before I find my strength, my head.
Some wild urge hurls me out after him.
Yes, I know it’s risky, but I have to know.
What does he want with me?
I burst out into the frosty afternoon, sucking in cold, searing breaths, looking left and right.
No sign of him, but there’s something else.
Blood.
Right on the sidewalk.
Small gory droplets leading left in an uneven line.
I follow the faint trail until it vanishes between Mom’s shop and the pâtisserie next door.
Then I duck into the alley between the buildings, just in time to see the flash of his tailcoat behind him.
I don’t know how he moves so fast in his condition, but he’s a whole two blocks down, struggling past the buildings on the opposite street toward the thick clumps of trees leading into the hills.
“Hey!” I call, racing after him.
I go careening off the side of a building as I rush down the pavement, pumping my short legs as fast as they can go, desperate to catch up.
Stalker Guy has a visible limp.
As injured as he is, he shouldn’t be able to keep so far ahead of me, but he’s as tall and leggy as an ostrich, so his unstable steps cover two of mine. There’s a stitch in my side and my ribs hurt by the time I break past the buildings, just as he vanishes into the trees.
Panting, I bend over for a second, hands on my thighs, sucking in a few harsh breaths.
“Not again,” I gasp.
Then I decide I’ve had enough.
I’m not letting go this easy.
Gathering my last strength, I plunge into the woods after him, ignoring the burn knifing through my whole body.