Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 125179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
More bones cracked. More body parts twisted at unnatural angles. Until the woman looked like a damn contortionist. It was cruel and sadistic—there were no two ways about it. Shelia’s weak cries of pain were lost beneath the buzzing.
It was just as Shelia looked like she didn’t have much life left in her that there was one final crack. Her neck had been broken. The bees gradually faded, eventually disintegrating into nothing. As Leviathans were literal gateways to hell, there was only one place Shelia’s soul would go, no matter how many good deeds she might have done in her life—the very depths of hell.
Bon voyage.
No one spoke. Or moved. Or even breathed too loud. Including the other Ancients. The last thing anyone appeared to want was Cain’s attention.
His gaze sought Wynter. Darkened. Intensified. Gleamed. An array of emotions flickered fast in those eyes—too fast for her to discern them—as if each was fighting for dominance.
Despite that her insides were still doing sickly little flips, she held out her hand, letting him know that she wouldn’t turn away from him; that she wasn’t disgusted by what he’d done or who he was.
Oh, the torture had been hard to watch for sure. And it could be said that he’d taken it further than he’d needed to. But she wasn’t sure she’d have been any less merciful in his position, if she was honest. And considering Adam would have done far worse to Wynter—something that had probably driven Cain to make Shelia’s death so agonizing—it was seriously difficult to feel any sympathy for her.
Cain stalked straight to Wynter and slipped his hand into hers. “Home,” he said. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a warning. A message that he wasn’t prepared to part from her any time soon.
Since she wasn’t feeling the need to have any space or time away from him, she agreed, “Home.”
*
Dragging a brush through her wet hair, Wynter sighed at the closed bathroom door. How long had he been in there? Twenty minutes? Maybe more? She had no idea. But he was definitely still showering, because she could hear water splattering tile.
She was really gonna have to do something to snap Cain out of whatever zone he was in. The moment they’d entered the bedchamber, he’d released her hand and hadn’t touched her since. Not even to help her wash off the blood. Hell, he hadn’t even joined her in the shower stall. Unless they were in a rush to be somewhere, it was very rare that they showered separately.
It didn’t seem like he needed space from her at the moment. In fact, each time he looked at her, it seemed like he wanted nothing more than to drag her to him and hold her close. But he’d determinedly put some physical distance between them, and she couldn’t understand why.
One thing Wynter could be certain of was that it wasn’t a case of him not wanting to touch her while metaphorical blood was on his hands. He’d touched her in the past when actual blood stained his hands. They’d cleaned each other off after battles, big and small.
Wynter might have thought that he was simply so pissed he worried he’d hurt her if he touched her, but that didn’t ring true. Cain had more control over his emotions than most people. Sure, rage could ride him hard in the right circumstances, but he never outwardly lost his shit. He never violently vented on those who didn’t deserve it.
Even the way he’d handled Shelia had been very controlled and methodical. Cain was a damn expert at sucking in his emotions and maintaining his composure. It would take super extreme occurrences to make it evaporate.
She heard the shower shut off. About time. Wynter set her brush on the top of the dresser.
It was a few moments before he strode out of the bathroom, a towel looped around his hips. Hot damn. All that hard, tattooed muscle glistening with tiny droplets of water . . . She wanted to lick them all up. Lick him all up.
His gaze immediately sought her out, as if he simply needed to know she was still there. He drank in the sight of her in his shirt. She’d slipped it on, knowing he liked seeing her wearing his tees or shirts. He didn’t react, though. Didn’t speak at all about any damn thing. Instead, he silently dried himself off and then pulled on sweatpants and a tee.
She was about to ask if he was ready to talk, but then knuckles rapped on the door. He opened it, took a tray of food from whoever stood on the other side of the door, and then closed it.
The scents of cooked vegetables and grilled meat wafted her way, making her stomach rumble. She hadn’t eaten dinner yet, and she was famished.