Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 65871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“How come people don’t know vampires are real?” I ask the question that way when what I really mean to ask is, why didn’t I know that vampires were real?
“They do,” she says. “They know vampires are real the same way they know aliens, unicorns, and shifters are real. They’re in the collective consciousness.”
“Unicorns are real?”
“Of course. Unicorns are the most logical and sensible of all those creatures. It’s just a horse with a horn. Aliens are pretty obvious too, really, I guess. It’s vampires that are truly aberrations.”
That time it sounded like she was about to be ill at simply having to have formed the word.
I don’t know if I entirely believe this woman. Shifters, sure. I know they’re real. Vampires? I guess they could be. But I’m going to draw the line at a unicorn.
She has an intimidating, slightly manic air about her. She steamrolled the cops without any trouble at all. I like her energy. I wish I had some of it, but I’m quiet and though I tend to wander sometimes and get into some trouble, I don’t have her gravitas or her magnetism.
She drives me to a very nice hotel and escorts me up to a suite.
“Get comfortable,” she says. “Alexei will be here soon. Or, think about taking a shower and getting changed, because I can still smell the booze from last night on you, and I know he won’t like that.”
Shit. He won’t like that.
“Is there a change of clothes here, or…”
“Honey, you’re not going to need a change of clothes once he gets his hands on you. I’m aware of the terms of your deal. It’s safe to say you won’t be going back to school.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re almost certainly going to be charged with something. You’re the only person they can place at the scene of the bloody crime, and you have no real alibi. The evidence is circumstantial, but there are several dead kids, and their parents are going to want someone to go down for it. As far as the law is concerned, you’re an orphan from a poor family. The perfect fall girl, and the fact that you’re cute is only going to make the media frenzy and the prosecutor’s cred even more impressive.”
The way she lays that all out barely without taking a breath is impressive and terrifying. I can see the horrors of a miscarriage of justice unfolding in front of me with absolutely no way of stopping it.
“Aren’t they going to think I’m trying to run from the law?”
“You’re a Russian citizen, Anya. You’re not under any obligation to go to jail in the USA for a crime you didn’t commit. Leave that to the American citizens.”
She’s so caustic.
Ding!
The elevator announces its presence outside the door. It’s faint, but I hear it. My senses must be more sensitive than ever. I must be freaking out. Hell, I am freaking out. My thoughts are a jumble of dead people I care about, the prospect of being put in prison for the rest of my life, and the realization I’m dropping out again, even though I don’t want to.
Suddenly, I am no longer alone. The doors slide open, and Alexei strides in.
I haven’t seen him for months. I thought I remembered him. I did remember him. But I didn’t remember his presence. When he walks in, it feels as though the rest of the world dims slightly. All the light is on him. I can’t see anything beside him. Call it tunnel vision.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything other than stare at him.
He is beyond handsome. It’s odd, how the first time I saw him I thought he was just some old guy and now he’s the most incredible creature I’ve ever seen.
He comes to me in swift strides, cups my face, and kisses me deeply. I melt into his arms and I let him pick me up like a stray kitten, cradling me in his lap.
I expect him to lecture me for my foolishness, for drinking, for being out at night, for passing out next to a massacre, for getting arrested. I expect to be in trouble, but he does not say so much as a word about any of it. He kisses me and he picks me up and hugs me very, very tight, wrapping me in an embrace that gives me a sense of immediate safety.
I snuggle into him, bury my face in his shoulder, and regret ever having tried to live a normal life. I’m not normal. I belong with him.
“I missed you,” I whimper.
“I missed you too,” he says, squeezing me closer.
“And I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.”
He doesn’t tell me it’s not my fault, because we both know it is, but he doesn’t start in on me, blaming me, lecturing. He just holds me.