Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 154735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Sooner or later,” she heard herself say, “you are going to have to tell me what changed within you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Where is your halo.”
He blanched and reached up above his head. “I didn’t know it was gone.”
“But you are not surprised, are you.” When he did not respond, she knew she was correct. “You are going to have to tell me the why of it.”
There was a pause. “All right, but not today. We have time.”
“Do we? What of Eddie and Adrian. The former told me they have come for you.”
The angel’s iridescent eyes narrowed. “I’ll take care of all that. I promise.”
With a nod—because what else could she do other than trust him on both accounts—she ascended to join him at the decorative doorway. The fact that he assiduously stepped aside so there would be no contact of their bodies as she passed by stung a little.
But the room they entered was so astounding, she let the minor rejection go.
Under a soaring ceiling, set across an ancient stone floor, a series of desks were arranged in rows, and each of the stations was kitted out in identical fashion. Upon the hand-hewn tables rested a pot of sanguine ink, a feathered quill, and rolls of parchment tied with ribbons—as well as a crystal bowl that was so beautifully made, so finely blown, that the basin was as clear as the still water it contained.
“The scribing stations,” she murmured in awe. “For truth, I did not believe they actually existed.”
Walking forward, her hand lifted, as if she would touch any part of it, either the backless stools, the feathers, or the ink—and yet of course she would ne’er dare. This was the sacred space of the recorders of history, the chosen among the Chosen, the most important deed performed in service to the mahmen of the species.
Rahvyn glanced over her shoulder. “I cannot believe… I am here.”
Her words drifted as their eyes met. Lassiter was staring at her with an undisguised, naked yearning, his arms crossed over his chest as if he sought to confine himself and his emotions, his feet planted solidly as if he had ordered them to hold his body in place, his torso set in the stiff tension of self-control.
Perhaps he had not desired the contact between them a moment ago… because he desired such too much.
“Come check out the library,” he said in a brisk voice.
As if he were trying to divert himself.
This time, as he stepped around her in a wide berth, she was not hurt. The scent of his arousal told her what his lips could not.
The body, after all, never lied.
* * *
Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her here.
As Rahvyn looked around the Temple of the Sequestered Scribes with wonder and reverence, Lassiter couldn’t see anything but her—and he thought of the way things had been when the Scribe Virgin had been in charge, all those sacred females teeming around the Sanctuary, recording the history of her race and performing devotionals, and reproducing with the Primale to spawn new members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood as well as more Chosen.
There had been people everywhere up here in the past. Not anymore.
He and Rahvyn were very, very alone.
And that was making things difficult for him, in ways that his self-control should have had no problem with. Instead, his thoughts had their own agendas, and they kept going to things like… full contact… of mouths… of bodies…
It was as if, having decided he wouldn’t be stopped by what had been done to him by Devina, he had given free rein to the attraction that had always simmered under his surface for Rahvyn—and the lust was taking over everything.
To get a little more air, he went down all the rows of desks to a set of double doors, and after opening them, he walked into the vast library that housed the chronology of the entire race in orderly lineups of tall shelves.
Well, the chronology at least up until Phury had let the Chosen go free.
“All of these books…” Rahvyn said with wonder as she joined him. “These are lives? Every one?”
“All of the vampire souls that ever went before and came after.”
Just like with the scribing stations, as she went exploring, she stopped short of touching anything, her hands hovering in the air. And as he focused on those fingertips of hers, his libido suggested he had plenty of things she could make contact with if she wanted to—
Shut up.
Rahvyn turned around on a spin, her silver hair fanning out. “I’m sorry?”
Lassiter coulda-hadda-V8’d himself, knocking his forehead with the heel of his palm. “That wasn’t directed to you.” And he wasn’t about to explain he was talking to his cock. “The volumes are pretty impressive, aren’t they. Not that I’ve read any.”
He went over to one of the shelving stacks and pulled out a random tome. Flipping it open, he didn’t allow his eyes to focus on the orderly symbols of the Old Language. Even though it was now his right, he felt no need to intrude on the privacy of someone else.