Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Finally, a godsend of an idea makes it through the quagmire of my fatigued brain.
“I came to Out of this Realm looking for a witch named Anka. Nothing has helped my brother’s condition, and I spoke with a…healer who believes Anka has magical powers that could help Lucan. I’ve tried everything else to make my brother whole, to no avail. Anka disappeared recently, and when I started reading your stories in the paper, I wondered if she was your source.”
Not a lie…just not the whole truth.
Regret and sadness cross Sydney’s face. “I can’t tell you that. As much as I want to help your brother…” She grimaces. “I can’t.”
I refuse to coerce her into compromising her ethics and giving me her source’s name. She’d resent me, and I can’t tolerate adding more fuel to the anger she’ll feel after tonight. Already, I feel beyond guilty for stopping the story that could help her prove her merit to the world and her stodgy parents.
“I know. And working with you under false pretenses was wrong. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be dodgy. I was desperate.”
After tonight, I’ll have to devise another strategy to locate Anka. But that’s a tomorrow-me problem.
Now I have to deceive Sydney again. I can barely think beyond my exhaustion and my need to touch her. Knowing I have to lie to her again burns—even if it’s for her own safety. And magickind’s.
“Let me prove I have no designs on your story. I came here because I’ve found two people who are experts on that old book Aquarius got you, the one you want to write about.”
“You told people about it?” She huffs. “Too late. They can’t beat me to press.”
“I merely mentioned the book to people who can help you understand it. I swear, no one has designs on your story.”
She hesitates. “All right. Everything I’ve written about it so far is conjecture, so if you brought me experts… I’ve already turned in the next installment, but I’ve got a bit of time—”
“You’ve written about the book?” At her nod, my stomach lurches. Fuck. She’s painting a huge red target on her forehead for Mathias. “You have until tomorrow afternoon to change it, yes?”
“Unless Holly releases it sooner. She’ll let me know in the morning.”
“Call her and tell her to hold it. You’ll want to, once you talk to my connections. Olivia Gray owns a local art gallery and is an expert in antiquities. She’s handled something remarkably similar before.”
Sydney’s face blooms with excitement. “Has she?”
Despite my searing guilt, I nod. “Indeed. I also spoke with Simon Northam. He’s—”
“The Simon Northam? The Duke of Hurstgrove?”
“You know him?”
“I know of him. Who doesn’t? Hello! magazine has named him England’s sexiest bachelor too many times to count. He’s filthy rich and intelligent, and…he knows about this book? And he’s willing to talk to me?”
“Indeed. Antique books are a passion of his. They both need to examine it. In your presence, of course.” Right before they steal it. “They can either come here or meet you at the pub ‘round the corner. I told them I would call if you were willing.”
Sydney studies me, biting her plump, pouty lip. The sight distracts me. I yank on my internal leash to stop myself from kissing her.
She’s too human—too delicate—to be in the middle of this magical war. If she accepted my Call, her lifespan would mirror mine. I can’t subject her to centuries fraught with danger, surrounded by people who could kill her in the blink of an eye when she has no way to fight back.
“I’ll talk to them,” she says. “But no pictures. The book doesn’t leave my sight. No one writes anything down.”
“And you’ll call Holly?”
“If I like what Olivia and Hurstgrove say, I’ll tell her to hold the story so I can make revisions. If I don’t hear anything interesting, it’ll run as is.”
Once they take the book, I’ll have to find some way to convince her to pull the article. But I won’t shag her to do it. After this deception, I refuse to hurt her again.
“Thank you. I hope you find Olivia and Duke’s information helpful.”
“Duke?”
“Simon’s nickname.”
“Simon, is it? How well do you know him?”
Well enough to have fought a battle by his side. Well enough to have endured Marrok’s physical training side by side until we nearly dropped. Of all the Doomsday Brethren, I like Duke most. He’s not the titled prat I first thought. He doesn’t bark orders like Marrok. He isn’t half mad like Ice. Or a manipulative sod like Bram. He’s reliable unlike Shock. Duke is quiet, shrewd, and tough when necessary. Having a bazillion pounds hasn’t made him pretentious at all.
“We met a few weeks ago,” I hedge. “He’s a friend of my brother’s.”
Sydney shakes her head. “This is surreal. I appreciate you introducing me to Olivia and ‘Duke.’ But regardless of what they say, I still can’t give you the name of my source.”