Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“At least you made our little game fun.” He pulls my hair away from the nape of my neck, his bite so fast I barely feel it.
I cry out as he wraps one of his arms around my middle, holding me against him as he drinks. My knees go weak, my body succumbing to whatever power lives in this horrible exchange between us. His blood. My blood.
My eyes fall closed, and I’m lax as he holds me up, his hard body pressed to mine, clutching me like a lover as he forces his way into my veins, his will consuming my fight. Heat blooms between my legs, my nipples going hard and sensitive.
“There it is.” He growls against my throat, one of his hands cupping my breast.
I moan as he kneads me, his hard cock pressing against my back. This is wrong. So fucking wrong. When he pinches my nipple, I cry out, my body curling tighter and tighter around my need for him to take me. All of me. Every last bit until there’s nothing left. I’m dying. My life draining into desire for the devil. Turning from breath and heartbeats into lust and despair. I can’t keep going like this, hating and wanting.
“I know what you want.” His voice is feral, his tone coated in my blood. “On your knees in the dirt. My fangs in your shoulder. Fucking you as you scream for me. You want me to hurt you, little rabbit. To devour you.”
I shudder with hatred and pleasure.
“Soon,” he promises on a dark whisper. Pulling back and spinning me to face him, he cups my cheek. My blood stains his lips, a rivulet running down his chin. “What happened to Theo Dragonis?”
I stare into the tumultuous sea of his eyes. “I don’t know.” An ache sets up in my temples.
“Who killed Theo Dragonis?” he practically purrs the question, his gaze dropping to my mouth.
“I don’t know.” The ache intensifies into a stabbing pain.
He smirks. “Humans are so weak, so utterly pathetic. If you’re to be believed, a trauma caused you to forget. What trauma, little rabbit? Did the hoot of an owl frighten you so badly that your memories disappeared?”
“No.” I answer mechanically, his compulsion forcing the word from me. Still burning for him, still aching in ways that make me loathe myself.
“I will have the answers the High Lord seeks.” He strokes my cheek, his touch soft, his voice violent. “You will give them to me.”
He drops his hand, the compulsion still swirling through my mind.
In that moment, I realize I’ll never escape him. There’s no way out of here. I can’t kill him. I simply have to wait until he kills me. Or, if I can find the courage, I’ll end it myself. That, in itself, is a revelation, one that’s lurked in the recesses of my mind. One I’ve never wanted to fully face. But knowing that I can’t get away is also knowing that I have one remaining option.
In a daze, I stare up at him and realize he’s carrying me. I don’t remember him picking me up. The trees pass overhead, the sun peeking from behind wispy clouds. I stare at his sharp profile, the line of his jaw, the pale skin, the dark hair. His scent, sandalwood and soap and something smoky, mixes with the smell of green grass and honeysuckle.
“I hate you.” The words fall from my lips unbidden.
“I know.”
“I wish I could kill you.”
“I know that, too.” He sighs and carries me into the elevator, the door behind us closing, shutting out the brilliant sun. Cutting off my chance at freedom.
He looks down at me, something in his eyes that I can’t read, can’t name, can’t know. With a voice softer than silk, he whispers. “Sleep.”
14
Recovered Journal of Dr. Georgia Clark
May 23, Year 1, Emergence Era
It’s late. Valen just left. He was worse off this time, so bad that it would kill a regular person. A human. Not him, of course. He’ll survive. I’m beginning to think he’s just humoring me when I try to repair the damage he takes night after night. He won’t tell me how it happens, only that he’s at war—that we’re all at war, whether we recognize it or not. I’m not a soldier, not a fighter. I’m a healer. Not that it will matter if the vampires decide I’m expendable. Will there be a night when he comes for my life? When he shows up with his usual arrogance and ends me with boredom in his eyes?
“This isn’t so bad as far as picnics go.” Evie lies back on one of the hotel blankets we spread out beneath the cherry trees. They’re leafed out now, giving us shade and privacy from the tall buildings along Pennsylvania Avenue. Bits of white fluff from some tree deeper in the park float past and land in Aang’s dark hair as Wyatt strums his guitar somewhat aimlessly. It’s nice to get out of the lab sometimes. Even nicer to pretend the world is still chugging along like it did before the plague. I imagine a group of Girl Scouts coming up the avenue, their tour guide explaining landmarks as a harried chaperone tries to keep them away from traffic. But there are weeds growing in the pavement cracks now, and not a soul along the wide avenue.