Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
“Talia,” he says as I take the step away, reaching for me like he might take my hand again. “Please—”
“Space,” I say as I reach for the handle on my door. “I need space. I need time to think.”
“About me?” he asks in a hopeful tone. “About us?”
“About this utter failure of a mission tonight,” I answer instead of telling him the truth.
Instead of saying he's all I've thought about since I laid eyes on him. “And about how the hell I'm going to get back on Conrad's trail now.”
I push open my door and shut it behind me without looking back, knowing if I continue to look at him, I’ll stand there all night, talking to him, hearing him out, slipping into that girl I used to be if only to find some kind of solid ground between us again.
But I know how dangerous hope is.
Know what it feels like to make plans and dream of a future only to have those things crushed in the end.
I can’t be that person anymore, and more so, I don’t want to be.
Zachariah's lips pressing against mine, my spine kissing the wall of the alcove he’d walked us into.
His hands roaming over my body in a territorial way that set my blood on fire.
The way his body felt against mine, leaving me aching and breathless and needy—
I throw a dagger in the assassin's training room, then another, and another. Every single one of the practice blades slam into the target within a centimeter of each other.
Frustration clings to my body as I stomp across the space to retrieve them, returning to my starting point and throwing them again.
And again
And again.
I throw them until the target is nearly destroyed and my body is peppered with sweat, but it doesn't matter how much energy I expend, I can't shake the craving racing through my blood.
The need pulsing beneath every inch of my skin whispering Zachariah, Zachariah, Zachariah.
I’ve been kissed plenty of times since he decided to choose duty over me, but none have ever felt like that. Like he knew me inside and out, every inch his to claim, every breath his to take.
I throw a dagger at the target again, already reaching for the other two on a small table next to me.
“I hope it's not my face you're picturing on that target,” Zachariah says, appearing right next to me, making me jump.
“Just your balls,” I say, not turning to look at him, internally cursing myself for not realizing he’d snuck up on me. I throw the remaining daggers, each blade sinking into the wood right where I aim.
“Are you using your powers?” Zachariah asks, nodding toward the expertly thrown blades as I turn to look up at him.
I shake my head, pride welling within me.
Zachariah tilts his head, folding his arms over his chest as he looks down at me. “Why not?” he asks. “With your telekinetic powers, you can always hit your mark.”
He's not wrong. Thanks to my very powerful, very ancient, and very noble bloodline, I was born with the unique ability to move things with my mind. I can lift him right now with just a thought, perhaps send him flying into the target just for the fun of it.
The thought makes me smirk a little, but I refrain.
“I don't like to rely solely on my powers,” I explain as I walk toward the target, retrieving the blades and bringing them back to the table.
Zachariah tracks my every step.
“In this modern age, there are too many things that can nullify them. If they're ever stripped from me, I want to be able to handle myself without them.”
“Impressive,” he says, smiling down at me, looking at me as if I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
And I hate that everything inside me perks up at his praise, my entire soul arching and begging for more.
It's unfair.
The way he looks, smells…the way he makes me feel.
It's absolutely unfair.
“Is there a reason you're here?” I ask, diving right back into the irritation and iciness that I hope will protect me in the end.
The line of his jaw goes rigid and there's a debate in his eyes like he might say something else, but he only blows out of breath. “The hunters and I are about to go track down a lead on another nest.”
Apprehension grips me.
I shouldn't be worried about him, shouldn't have a care in the world about him when it comes to his safety, but that concern is right there in the center of my heart, nonetheless.
“You don't owe me anything,” I say, clinging to that coldness. “You don't have to run your itinerary by me.”
Zachariah tips his head, looking at the ceiling high above in the assassin's training room like he's searching for patience there. “I'm not running anything by you,” he says, looking back down at me. “I'm asking you to come with us.”