Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
"Ja, you were supposed to find me, Valkyrie," Malachi murmurs, his voice a rumbling purr of sound. "But we can talk about that later. Sleep now."
He reaches out, running a calloused fingertip down my cheek. Electricity hums beneath my skin at his touch, sinking deep into my core. Heat rushes through me, igniting hidden veins of desire.
A soft gasp escapes my lips, my gaze flying to his.
"Sleep, Valkyrie," he croons, the deep rumble of his voice compelling me to listen, to obey. "You're safe now."
Despite the questions swirling in my mind, exhaustion tugs at my consciousness. My eyes flutter.
"Just sleep," he commands gently, covering my hand with his.
My eyes drift closed, his presence a comforting anchor. When darkness claims me this time, it's peaceful for once.
The soft rustle of movement pulls me from sleep. I blink, momentarily disoriented, before remembering that I'm no longer with the Forsaken.
Malachi.
That wasn't a dream, was it?
I quickly glance around, relaxing only when I find the giant Fae in a chair beside the bed, his eyes closed as he sleeps sitting upright, one hand outstretched toward me.
It wasn't a dream.
He's real, and I'm no longer in captivity.
I exhale a soft breath and then look around. How long was I asleep? I glance toward the windows across the room, trying to judge the position of the sun. A full day, at least, I think.
I slowly creep from the bed, my bladder screaming at me. My bare feet are silent against the furs as I go in search of the bathroom.
"Trying to sneak out already, ljúfr?"
I cry out, whirling around to find Malachi watching me through slit lids. "You scared me."
"Sorry." The cheeky grin on his face suggests otherwise as he stretches his massive arms, the beads in his braids clicking together. "You're very loud for someone trying to sneak."
"And you're very quiet for someone so large," I mutter, scowling at him. Good grief. Are all Fae so impressively large? I've seen fully grown trees smaller than this man.
His laughter booms across the room, the rich sound making my stomach flutter. "Ja, so I've been told. Where are you trying to go, Valkyrie?"
"Marion."
"Hmm?"
"You keep calling me Valkyrie. My name is Marion," I say, meeting his amused gaze.
"Marion," he rumbles, my name rolling off his tongue like a caress. The smile he gives me has electricity humming through my veins.
"Bathroom," I whisper, suddenly shy under the intensity of his attention.
"I'll show you." He rises to his feet, crossing toward me with his hand extended.
I hesitate for only a moment before slipping my hand into his. Sparks of electricity immediately race up my arm. Desire stabs into me, piercing deep. There's so much of it, pulsing like it's alive between us. It's a vast well of light pulsing just out of sight, like the sun dancing just below the horizon before it rises. It's almost like I could reach out and touch it if I wanted.
Part of me wants to do exactly that. I want to reach out and touch it, feel it pouring over me. I want to run my hands across it, through it, mold it beneath my palms.
"Faen," he grunts.
"W-what is that?" I gasp, trembling at his side.
He ignores the question, tugging gently on my arm to get me moving. I stumble along behind him to a door across the room, stealing a glance up at his face. His expression is savage, severe…blazing with heat.
"Malachi?" I whisper, suddenly uncertain.
"All is well, Valkyrie." He squeezes my hand in reassurance before throwing open the bathroom door and then standing aside for me to enter.
I hesitate for a brief moment, prepared to press the subject before I decide against it. I quickly duck beneath his arm into the bathroom.
It's cozy, with stone walls and floors and an oversized shower. The only windows are high up on the walls, allowing natural light to spill into the room.
Malachi lingers in the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame as he stares at me. "Take your time, ljúfr. I'll be right outside if you need anything."
"Thank you," I whisper, my throat tight at the gentle way he speaks to me. Gentle doesn't seem like his natural state, and yet it fits him well.
As the door closes behind him, I can't help but wonder yet again who he is. Or what I felt when he took my hand. I felt it the last time I woke up, too, when he touched my cheek. Whatever it is, it's him or part of him.
I ponder the question as I quickly take care of business, but every answer I come up with sounds more ridiculous and impossible than the last.
My reflection in the mirror over the sink is a grim sight. My hair is a tangled mess. Bruises ring my wrists. My face is dirty, and my clothes are torn. I look like I haven't bathed in weeks.