Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“You want my help with Rogan? Fine. But you have to do something for me as well.”
“I’m not sure you’re in the position to be making any deals, Hannah.”
“You’re forgetting one thing, Richard. I don’t give a rat’s ass about you or Rogan. I’m bound, though, by blood, to follow my father’s command. He asked me to find proof. You’re asking me to manufacture proof. If there’s proof, I’ll find it. I have to. My blood requires it. That’s all I’ll offer. I’ll give you the proof if I find it.”
“And I’m telling you that you will find proof, whether it exists or not.”
I shake my head. “You got a hearing problem, old man?”
He laughs then. A demonic and maniacal laugh. A laugh I’ve seldom heard over the years, but when I did, I never realized how evil it was.
“You think you have any cards to play, bitch? Really? I’ll never harm your mother or your sister, but I can make your sister’s life a holy living hell.”
My temper spikes with rage. I have one Achilles heel—my little sister. Larissa and I aren’t close in a BFF sisterly way, but we’d take a bullet for each other, no questions asked.
“You stay the fuck away from her,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Who’s going to make me?”
“I will.”
The voice. The low voice that’s not quite human, but that I recognize.
“Rogan,” I say softly.
He’s there—buck naked—his gorgeous body shiny with sweat.
“How the hell did you get here?” Richard demands.
“Let her go,” Rogan growls.
“He got into your place, Rogan,” I say. “Into your closet.”
“He didn’t get in,” Rogan says. “But one of his minions did.”
“You mean…you’re not working with demons?”
“We’ll talk later,” Rogan says, his voice finally normalizing. “For now, she comes with me, Richard.”
“That’s Your Majesty to you,” Richard says.
“You know him?” I widen my eyes.
“Everyone knows the demon king.”
Everyone? Interesting word, since the dick’s been married to my mother for years and I didn’t know.
“You have no power here, Rogan,” Richard says with his satanic smile on his face. “She doesn’t go anywhere until I say she does.”
“Think again.” Rogan grabs me, throws me over his shoulder as if I’m a sack of potatoes, and turns.
“Impetum eos!” Richard roars.
One semester of Latin in college pays off. Attack them. But no one else is—
I gasp as demons appear from nowhere in all directions, their eyes red with evil and malice.
My heart sinks. There’s no way out of this. No freaking way.
“Hang on!” Rogan yells at me.
“Hang onto what?”
“Just fucking hang on!”
22
I grab onto Rogan’s ass, wrap my arms around it. I’m upside down and still reeling from whatever Richard dosed me with.
And—
Crack!
I grab harder, determined, as Rogan jumps and changes in midair. Bones shatter and muscles shift, and still I hold on. If I don’t I’ll die. In a flash I’m no longer grasping his firm buttocks. Instead, I’m straddling him, facing his tail, and clutching at his underbelly.
He’s running, leaping—one last snap brings him fully into wolf form—and I’m gripping onto him as if my life depends on it—which, of course, it does.
Flaming arrows shoot around us. Then gunshots. Bullets whizz by. Richard’s voice spews out more commands in Latin, but my mind is too occupied to decipher any of it.
This is the end of my life. I know it. I accept it.
Until—
Rogan leaps beyond some sort of—gelatin. It feels like we’re moving through gelatin for several seconds. What is it? A protective veil? Slime that leads to the underworld?
I don’t know, and I have no more time to dwell on it as the sun sears into my vision. I squint at the light.
Rogan is still scampering, and I’m still grabbing fistfuls of his fur.
The drugs in my body plus Rogan’s animal movement and my own fear and anxiety make my stomach churn.
No. Not going to get sick. I don’t get sick. I’ve been on the best roller coasters in the country and never even thought about getting sick.
I’m not going to freak out now.
Rogan continues to run. Where are we? Images whiz by so quickly I have no idea.
I close my eyes against the motion, trying to settle my stomach. Just when I’m not sure I can hold the nausea at bay a second longer, Rogan finally stops.
I roll off him onto a grassy knoll. Yes. Solid ground. Solid ground is good. I love you, solid ground. The sky is bright blue and the sun is scorching—except I’m not hot. I’m comfortable. Flowers are scattered throughout the grass, poking pink, orange, yellow, and blue heads up through the green.
“Are you okay?”
The voice isn’t Rogan’s. It’s not even human. It’s a growl, but somehow I understand the words.
I open my eyes, again squinting against the sun.
Rogan stands over me—in all his gray and silvery magnificence, those greenish gold eyes searing into me.
Did he just use words? Or did I understand the growl?