Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
The next thing I knew, I was being hauled onto the stage. My captors kept their heads bowed as they presented me to Muscles.
“Release her.” Two simple words, uttered in a voice as hard as the man himself, and my captors let go as if I were toxic.
Streams of blood made the dais floor slippery, and I struggled to maintain my balance. As I wobbled, sucking air into my lungs, Muscles caught me by the waist. To my surprise, he was careful not to jostle me.
The heat of his hands singed. Though he eyed the crowd who eyed me, I sensed the intensity of his awareness remained focused squarely on me. The predator and his prey.
There was no stopping my shudder. Or my awe. He was even more beautiful up close. Thick, enviously long lashes framed irises the color of a sunset. Shades of gold glinted with hues of blue and lavender.
How did eyes reminiscent of summer possess only winter frost? And why did I experience an urge to burrow closer and heat him up?
Stupid concussion! It had stolen my wits.
Tone as sharp as his blood-soaked ax, he asked, “Do you have a substitute?”
“What does that even mean? What did I do wrong?” Besides steal the elixir. Oh, sweet goodness. Was that the reason for this?
He turned into me and canted his head ever so slightly, sliding his gaze over me a second time, absolutely decimating my nerves. “You stole something. What?”
Any hope of getting out of this unscathed plummeted. “Okay, so, yes, I took something without paying for it. That looks bad. Very bad. I get it. But I swear to you, I intended to return with silvers. This is a simple misunderstanding.”
“So you have no substitute?”
“Who are you?” I demanded, hoping to brazen my way out of this. “Who do you work for?”
He blinked, as if surprised. “I am Jasher, I answer only to the Guardian, and you will keep your gaze downcast, as my position demands.”
Murmurs of awe spread through the listening spectators. Apparently, this Guardian was greatly respected, I should be impressed, and I shouldn’t eye his soldiers. “Let’s call him. If I explain the situation, he’ll tell you to let me go.”
A crack of thunder and flash of lightning followed my words, rousing groans from the crowd.
“Kill her before it’s too late!” someone shouted.
I pressed my uninjured hand to my belly.
Muscles—Jasher—arched a thick black brow. Yes, I saw it happen with major side eye. “I asked you a question.”
So no calling the guardian? “Look. I don’t think I have a substitute. Unless I do. You haven’t bothered to explain what we’re discussing, so how can I know?” I sagged into myself, losing steam. “My name is Moriah Shaker, and I just want to go home. I’ll settle for calling an attorney.” Yes, I had committed a crime, technically speaking. But I didn’t deserve to die for it. Extenuating circumstances, Your Honor. “I’m even okay with lock up today and appearing before a judge tomorrow.”
Not bothering to issue a response, Jasher led me past Mr. Green, who no longer had a shadowy halo floating over his head. Or rather, I no longer hallucinated one. The older man perused me, as if inspecting a vase he might wish to purchase.
“This is a misunderstanding,” I repeated, hoping to galvanize someone into helping.
“The breaking of a law is never a misunderstanding. It’s always an absolute.” Jasher stopped at the scarlet splattered chopping block and moved behind me, as if he planned to do to me what he’d done to Rags.
A loud ring consumed my ears. Am I truly dying today?
“Context matters,” I rasped. “Both surgeons and murderers cut people open.”
“You have only proven my point. One is a crime, the other isn’t.”
He wasn’t wrong. But I lifted my chin, refusing to shrink back, and called, “A late payment isn’t worthy of a death sentence. You know that, right?”
My words did nothing to shame the spectators into action. Nothing to encourage their insistence that I live. If anything, I spurred their impatience.
“Kneel.” Jasher delivered the command behind me, as heartless as Dorothy’s Tinman.
I swallowed a humorless laugh. “I won’t help you behead me.”
“That’s all right. I don’t require your aid.” Giving no quarter, he settled a big, rough hand on my shoulder and pushed.
Locking my knees, I grated, “There’s got to be a better way to settle this.” If I could just change his mind. He was the linchpin. The crowd would follow his lead.
“There isn’t.” He increased the pressure. “The storm looms.”
I resisted with every ounce of my being. Soon, panting breaths turned into wheezes. At least the air smelled nice. A dreamy, dizzying combination of sandalwood and orchids. Problem was, all that goodness came from him. The man determined to murder me.
“What do my actions have to do with the storm?” I demanded.