Read Online To Mate an Assassin: The Lost Alphars Series, Book 1 by Ceri Grenelle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ceri Grenelle
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her fingers.
“Ah.” The woman saw her struggle. “I know it’s frustrating but your motor functions will return quickly now that you’re awake. Here, drink this.” She grabbed a glass of water. The woman gently placed the straw to Cymbeline’s lips and waited for her to swallow. She could sense the magic-infused water and drank with fervor, feeling instant relief.
“This will give you use of your arms and hands at least.”
“Thanks,” Cymbeline said grudgingly, grabbing a cut-up piece of steak from the breakfast tray and tossing it into her mouth. It was bloody and barely cooked, just the way she liked. The sooner she loaded up on calories and replenished her energy, the sooner she could skip out.
“The food will help you heal as well,” the woman said, nodding in satisfaction as she watched Cymbeline eat.
“I know,” Cymbeline said, annoyed with the two people watching her eat and what she now realized were magic-infused cuffs on her wrists. She was not leaving anytime soon, apparently.
“So how long have you been the Incendiary?” The redhead asked curiously, pushing back her frizzy hair with a trembling hand. The lab coat insinuated that this woman was a medical practitioner of some kind, even though it looked like she needed a doctor of her own.
“Can’t tell you.”
The woman flicked her eyes across the bed and back to Cymbeline. “Okay…where are you from?”
“Can’t tell you,” she said again through a mouthful of food.
The woman shrugged, leaning her hip on the bed and crossing her arms over her small chest. “Is there anything you can tell me about yourself?”
“Are you the Captain?”
“No.”
“The Lieutenant?”
She rolled her eyes and gestured to her lab coat before answering, “Clearly not.”
“You the Alphar?”
The skinny doctor placed her hands on her hips, frustrated by the runaround. “You know I’m not.”
“Then thank you for the food but there is not a damn thing I can tell you about myself. If you would like to remove these cuffs, then perhaps we can arrange an exchange of information. Do you have any other questions I am going to refuse to answer? I can do it all day.” Cymbeline bit a chunk out of a warm flaky biscuit, staring the healer down, not caring that she seemed to be ill and in need of healing herself. Cymbeline was not required to tell anyone who wasn’t her trainers or the Alphar anything about herself, and it was not the healer’s right to ask. The bastard playing the mandolin however had every right, if he deemed it worthy of his time to lift his head and look her in the eye.
“Lottie,” a deep voice to her left said quietly. The voice was almost as melodic as the tunes he had been playing during her waking. The frazzled woman, Lottie, stood and nodded to the figure out of Cymbeline’s line of sight.
He came into view, walking slowly around the edge of the bed. Even in captivity she found her breath catching at the marvel he was. Her darkest fantasies brought to life in an elegant yet dominant package. He now wore fitted jeans and a long-sleeved, navy-blue T-shirt. Needless to say it was perfectly sculpted to his rather large, muscular body. Cymbeline’s eyes made a blatant trail down his torso, noting the jeans that sculpted his form in all the right places and then surprisingly, finding his feet as bare as Lottie’s had been. She could not help the small quirk of her lips at the oddity.
“What?” he asked, arching an eyebrow, and stealing a slice of bacon off her breakfast tray. He sat down where Lottie had been leaning at the edge of the bed.
“No shoes,” she pointed out, forgoing the use of utensils as there seemed to be something off with her coordination, and shoving a slice of French toast in her mouth.
He shrugged. “I’m in my home, why shouldn’t I be comfortable?” They sat in silence, taking the time to observe one another. She could only imagine how dirty she looked after four days of hiding in trees
“Ah.” The woman saw her struggle. “I know it’s frustrating but your motor functions will return quickly now that you’re awake. Here, drink this.” She grabbed a glass of water. The woman gently placed the straw to Cymbeline’s lips and waited for her to swallow. She could sense the magic-infused water and drank with fervor, feeling instant relief.
“This will give you use of your arms and hands at least.”
“Thanks,” Cymbeline said grudgingly, grabbing a cut-up piece of steak from the breakfast tray and tossing it into her mouth. It was bloody and barely cooked, just the way she liked. The sooner she loaded up on calories and replenished her energy, the sooner she could skip out.
“The food will help you heal as well,” the woman said, nodding in satisfaction as she watched Cymbeline eat.
“I know,” Cymbeline said, annoyed with the two people watching her eat and what she now realized were magic-infused cuffs on her wrists. She was not leaving anytime soon, apparently.
“So how long have you been the Incendiary?” The redhead asked curiously, pushing back her frizzy hair with a trembling hand. The lab coat insinuated that this woman was a medical practitioner of some kind, even though it looked like she needed a doctor of her own.
“Can’t tell you.”
The woman flicked her eyes across the bed and back to Cymbeline. “Okay…where are you from?”
“Can’t tell you,” she said again through a mouthful of food.
The woman shrugged, leaning her hip on the bed and crossing her arms over her small chest. “Is there anything you can tell me about yourself?”
“Are you the Captain?”
“No.”
“The Lieutenant?”
She rolled her eyes and gestured to her lab coat before answering, “Clearly not.”
“You the Alphar?”
The skinny doctor placed her hands on her hips, frustrated by the runaround. “You know I’m not.”
“Then thank you for the food but there is not a damn thing I can tell you about myself. If you would like to remove these cuffs, then perhaps we can arrange an exchange of information. Do you have any other questions I am going to refuse to answer? I can do it all day.” Cymbeline bit a chunk out of a warm flaky biscuit, staring the healer down, not caring that she seemed to be ill and in need of healing herself. Cymbeline was not required to tell anyone who wasn’t her trainers or the Alphar anything about herself, and it was not the healer’s right to ask. The bastard playing the mandolin however had every right, if he deemed it worthy of his time to lift his head and look her in the eye.
“Lottie,” a deep voice to her left said quietly. The voice was almost as melodic as the tunes he had been playing during her waking. The frazzled woman, Lottie, stood and nodded to the figure out of Cymbeline’s line of sight.
He came into view, walking slowly around the edge of the bed. Even in captivity she found her breath catching at the marvel he was. Her darkest fantasies brought to life in an elegant yet dominant package. He now wore fitted jeans and a long-sleeved, navy-blue T-shirt. Needless to say it was perfectly sculpted to his rather large, muscular body. Cymbeline’s eyes made a blatant trail down his torso, noting the jeans that sculpted his form in all the right places and then surprisingly, finding his feet as bare as Lottie’s had been. She could not help the small quirk of her lips at the oddity.
“What?” he asked, arching an eyebrow, and stealing a slice of bacon off her breakfast tray. He sat down where Lottie had been leaning at the edge of the bed.
“No shoes,” she pointed out, forgoing the use of utensils as there seemed to be something off with her coordination, and shoving a slice of French toast in her mouth.
He shrugged. “I’m in my home, why shouldn’t I be comfortable?” They sat in silence, taking the time to observe one another. She could only imagine how dirty she looked after four days of hiding in trees
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