Read Online Rock Hard And Wet (BBW Paranormal Romance) (Nymphs Of New York) by Jennifer James - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer James
Ads: Link
bottom of the river was a real one. Booker made it on the common path used
by all members of the aerie. He could feel them, out there, the other grotesques
in the city as they listened in.
They kept their emotions clamped down
tight, betraying nothing of what they thought of Booker’s statements.
“It surprises me
still that you learned nothing from your Censure. That human girl you were so
enamored of died not long after you were punished. Do you know why?”
Old memories flooded him. He’d never
asked what happened to her, the sweet peasant girl whose love he’d valued above
everything else. One night he’d heard her screams and struggled against the
magic that contained and trapped him on the church roof. For all his frantic
despair, he’d been unable to go to her.
“It was your fault,
Theo. You made the choices that led to her death. Your lack of vigilance on
patrol led to your punishment. You followed your cock and neglected your
duties. She was left unprotected.”
Booker hauled him up by the scruff of
the neck and shook him. His hind legs dangled on the ground.
“Someone else should
have been patrolling that part of the city, regardless of my punishment.”
“Someone? Your
brother.”
Theo shook his head in denial. No, Logan
would not allow an innocent to die. Not on purpose.
“He let her die
because I ordered it so. He bore witness to the elimination of your
transgression. All you had to do was stay away from her. But you were selfish.
Enamored. She could have had babies and gotten fat. Grown old with a husband.
Instead, she was raped and dumped in a sewer.”
He swiped his paw at Booker’s face and knew
the movement was impotent and useless before he was halfway through the arc of
the swing.
“You cannot protect
anyone. You’re a failure, Theo. Get rid of the female. If you keep her for even
one more day, she will die.”
“Are you going to
kill her?” Fear for Callie burbled to the surface, overshadowed his grief
for the lost girl he’d loved so many years before.
“No.” Booker dropped him. “You
are.”
Chapter Seven
Weak, morning sunlight created a rectangle of warmth on the lower
half of the bed. Callie rolled over and sat up when she realized the empty half
of the bed was cold. Nothing new there. A man hadn’t shared a bed all night
with her in—didn’t matter. A long ass time.
A small spark of hurt lit and died
before she let it catch fire. Theo hadn’t made her any promises. Hell, she
hadn’t promised him anything either.
Strips of bedding twined around her legs
and abdomen. She kicked her legs and used her feet to push it down and off. “Theo?
Hello?”
The silence of the apartment surprised
her. Only the hum of the refrigerator and various electronics met her ears.
A quick walk through the rooms revealed
she was indeed alone. The remains of her skirt lay discarded on the bathroom
floor. If she turned it to the side, put the worst rent in the fabric so that
it came up to her hip instead of to the tops of her thighs it might cover
enough for human decency. Eh, why bother? She tossed it into the trash can in
the kitchen. The pretty scarf had survived, but not her tank top. Theo was hard
on clothes.
After a quick shower to bolster her
spirits, she retrieved the notebook sized sketch book from her bag and a
cellophane wrapped package of charcoals. The soft black sticks made for messy
drawing, but right now she wanted messy. Blurry lines and shadow. The angle of
the rising sun put the hour well before seven o’clock. Seating herself before
the sliding glass door in the bedroom with her supplies, she forgot about
Poseidon, Theo, mates, and deadlines. Only lines, windows, flowers, cars, and the
people beginning to move through their apartments across the alley mattered.
Art let her simplify life, keep it contained
and as clear or obscure as she liked.
Petra had rolled her eyes and snorted
when she insisted on stopping at the art supply store. What had started as
by all members of the aerie. He could feel them, out there, the other grotesques
in the city as they listened in.
They kept their emotions clamped down
tight, betraying nothing of what they thought of Booker’s statements.
“It surprises me
still that you learned nothing from your Censure. That human girl you were so
enamored of died not long after you were punished. Do you know why?”
Old memories flooded him. He’d never
asked what happened to her, the sweet peasant girl whose love he’d valued above
everything else. One night he’d heard her screams and struggled against the
magic that contained and trapped him on the church roof. For all his frantic
despair, he’d been unable to go to her.
“It was your fault,
Theo. You made the choices that led to her death. Your lack of vigilance on
patrol led to your punishment. You followed your cock and neglected your
duties. She was left unprotected.”
Booker hauled him up by the scruff of
the neck and shook him. His hind legs dangled on the ground.
“Someone else should
have been patrolling that part of the city, regardless of my punishment.”
“Someone? Your
brother.”
Theo shook his head in denial. No, Logan
would not allow an innocent to die. Not on purpose.
“He let her die
because I ordered it so. He bore witness to the elimination of your
transgression. All you had to do was stay away from her. But you were selfish.
Enamored. She could have had babies and gotten fat. Grown old with a husband.
Instead, she was raped and dumped in a sewer.”
He swiped his paw at Booker’s face and knew
the movement was impotent and useless before he was halfway through the arc of
the swing.
“You cannot protect
anyone. You’re a failure, Theo. Get rid of the female. If you keep her for even
one more day, she will die.”
“Are you going to
kill her?” Fear for Callie burbled to the surface, overshadowed his grief
for the lost girl he’d loved so many years before.
“No.” Booker dropped him. “You
are.”
Chapter Seven
Weak, morning sunlight created a rectangle of warmth on the lower
half of the bed. Callie rolled over and sat up when she realized the empty half
of the bed was cold. Nothing new there. A man hadn’t shared a bed all night
with her in—didn’t matter. A long ass time.
A small spark of hurt lit and died
before she let it catch fire. Theo hadn’t made her any promises. Hell, she
hadn’t promised him anything either.
Strips of bedding twined around her legs
and abdomen. She kicked her legs and used her feet to push it down and off. “Theo?
Hello?”
The silence of the apartment surprised
her. Only the hum of the refrigerator and various electronics met her ears.
A quick walk through the rooms revealed
she was indeed alone. The remains of her skirt lay discarded on the bathroom
floor. If she turned it to the side, put the worst rent in the fabric so that
it came up to her hip instead of to the tops of her thighs it might cover
enough for human decency. Eh, why bother? She tossed it into the trash can in
the kitchen. The pretty scarf had survived, but not her tank top. Theo was hard
on clothes.
After a quick shower to bolster her
spirits, she retrieved the notebook sized sketch book from her bag and a
cellophane wrapped package of charcoals. The soft black sticks made for messy
drawing, but right now she wanted messy. Blurry lines and shadow. The angle of
the rising sun put the hour well before seven o’clock. Seating herself before
the sliding glass door in the bedroom with her supplies, she forgot about
Poseidon, Theo, mates, and deadlines. Only lines, windows, flowers, cars, and the
people beginning to move through their apartments across the alley mattered.
Art let her simplify life, keep it contained
and as clear or obscure as she liked.
Petra had rolled her eyes and snorted
when she insisted on stopping at the art supply store. What had started as
Similar Books
