Riftborn: A Gothic Reverse Harem Romance (The Rift Bride Book 2) by Ada Dart

Author:Ada Dart [Dart, Ada]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Painted Blind Publishing
Published: 2022-11-13T16:00:00+00:00

WITH a quizzical blink in defiance of his eyes, the hunter looked over my shoulder, then back into my miserable face.

His brow furrowed with concern—and his lips drooped apart with something more than a simple frown of empathy.

“Thecla?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Glenn. May I come in and just—sit in your house to think for a while?”

“Of course, please! Uh—”

As I sniffled in the vestibule, Glenn looked over his shoulder and sprang from shutting the door into the motions of tidying an open concept parlor adjacent to the entry. My eyes slid over the wood paneled walls: largely bare, to my surprise. A viewing screen was arranged along one, and there were some green houseplants that broke up the monotony of color, but something was off about the room.

“You don’t keep trophies?”

The question flew out of me as I noticed it. Glenn, his broad arms full of an old glass, a few documents, and—ugh, a copy of that wretched tabloid!—paused on his way to the kitchen opposite.

“Trophies…they’re not really my thing. My tattoos serve that purpose, I guess…”

I nodded as he hurried on. The rest of the room was tidy, if only due to its spare decor. Then again, he had been away from home for some months. “Do you employ a housekeeper, Glenn? You keep a neat place for a bachelor.”

“Uh, yeah…I have somebody come in and dust the place, water the plants, whatever. I just can’t commit to doing it myself when I’m working all the time.”

“But you’re not back at work yet, I see.”

“No…strictly speaking, I’m still recovering until two weeks from now. I just had a feeling I should respond to the Overseer’s invitation quickly. Now I’m glad I did.”

Appearing around the corner of the kitchen, his face tight beneath his beard, Glenn folded his arms to regard me. With his crisp white undershirt short sleeved around his bicep, I recognized for the first time just how extensive those tattoos of his were. Goodness, yes. They really were his trophies: the sleeve of inks provided habitat to an open-mouthed juntis leaping from the sea, a snarling borro that made me long for my mate, a ventil’s floral crown blown to petals by the wind. These represented victories, I assumed. Most of the creatures depicted were quite violent animals for a man who spoke to me—who even looked at me—so gently. As if he were afraid looking at me might shatter me somehow.

“You don’t have to talk about what’s going on, obviously,” Glenn began. He made no move to approach where I sat in the corner of his rustic couch, a stylish but simple orchestration of brown leather and exposed wood. “But, I hope you know—it’s a little concerning when a woman shows up at a man’s door looking as upset as you do.”

“I don’t mean to worry you, Glenn. I’m sorry to intrude, I—”

“You don’t have to apologize, Thecla. Please.” Though his lips briefly turned as though to laugh, he suppressed the instinct and said with a sweep of his eyes along me, “I’m happy you’re here.

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