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)
She and her coven quickly settled in the five vacant seats near Cain. Anabel instantly pulled down her tray table and cleaned it with one of her antibacterial potions. All seats had such trays attached to their backs, much like on airplanes.
Glancing down at the performance space below, Wynter felt her brows lift at the Halloween “touches”. Hay bales were pressed against the walls. Cobwebs and streamers dangled from wall lanterns. What seemed to be hundreds of intricately decorated pumpkins were piled up around the perimeter. Strobe lights in colors of black, orange, and green shone down on the large space.
Resting his hand on her thigh, Cain leaned into her. “I like having you sitting here with me. The last few times we were at the arena, I had to be content with staring at you from afar. And you spent every moment trying to seem unaffected.”
Wynter hiked up a brow. “Who says I wasn’t unaffected?”
His mouth curved. “I do. You wanted me from the very beginning, sweet witch. You just weren’t comfortable with it.”
At first, no, she hadn’t been. “Well, you’re sort of scary.”
Humor lit his eyes. “You were never afraid of me.”
“I was wary, though.”
“Only to a small extent.”
True again. Because there’d always been something exciting for her about being the focus of someone so very powerful that he could probably end even a revenant. Well, she’d never claimed to be normal.
“The doors have been closed,” Seth interjected. “Everyone’s seated.”
Cain gave a curt nod and then stood. A hush soon fell over the crowd. Using pure power to amplify his voice, he thanked the event organizers, the caterers, etc., etc.
Feeling the spot between her shoulder blades itch once more, Wynter glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes instantly clashed with those of Ishtar. The Ancient’s baby blues were narrowed but disturbingly blank.
Wynter flicked up a daring brow—unwise, sure, but she was getting seriously tired of this bitch thinking she could stare at her whenever she pleased. Ishtar’s lips flattened, but she did nothing.
Hearing Cain call for the celebration to begin, Wynter faced front just as he sat. People flooded the performance space, where contest after contest then occurred. Each time, two competing artists—or groups of artists—would have a “battle” of sorts. The crowd was then asked to cheer for their favorite, and whoever received the loudest applause would be declared the winner.
When there were only semi-finalists left, the event presenter announced, “The finals will be held after our break.”
Food and drinks were then promptly dished out. Wynter heard Xavier trying to charm a female server, introducing himself as Mattia Vivaldi while adopting an Italian accent.
Once the server left, Wynter frowned at him. “Did you just introduce yourself as a type font?”
His brow creased. “What?”
“You said ‘Vivaldi.
“It’s an Italian surname.”
“Pretty sure it’s also a font,” said Delilah, forking some pasta. “More, it isn’t your surname.”
“Does that really have to be relevant to the conversation?” he asked.
Wynter exchanged a quick glance with Cain, who wasn’t bothering to hide his amusement.
Delilah gave Xavier a droll look. “God, you’re annoying. If my surname was Gamble—which is a super cool surname, in my opinion—I wouldn’t be giving people false ones.”
His nose wrinkled. “I don’t like it. Don’t like my first name either.”
“Why not?” asked Delilah. “It’s a perfectly nice name.”
He sighed, digging into his food. “It was also my grandfather’s. He was an absolute bastard. I never liked him. So I guess I resent having the same name as him.”
Delilah narrowed her eyes. “That was all true? Really?”
“No, not really.”
“Oh my God, then why say it?”
“Maybe the voices in my head tell me I should.”
“You hear voices?” interrupted Hattie, slicing into her steak. “That’s not good. One of my husbands, Keith—bless his dark soul—heard ’em often. He claimed they told him he should strangle me to death or I’d one day kill him.”
Lifting her glass of water, Anabel twisted her mouth. “Hmm. Seems that the voices weren’t wrong, huh?”
“It would have done him good to heed them, yes,” said Hattie with an incline of her head.
His shoulders shaking, Cain put his mouth to Wynter’s ear. “Having your coven here livens the atmosphere a little.”
That couldn’t be denied. The Ancients didn’t really chat to one another while in the arena. They simply sat and observed, sober as judges.
“On another note,” began Xavier, “it might interest you all to know that I signed our coven up for the gauntlet.”
Pausing with a forkful of food halfway to her mouth, Wynter felt her brows knit. “You did what?”
“I signed us up,” he replied, grinning.
“And you didn’t think to mention it until now?”
“I wanted to surprise you. Ta daa.”
Wynter clenched her fork, tempted to throw it at him. “We agreed that you wouldn’t try to surprise me anymore.”
“You’re not still upset about my last one, are you?”
She arched her brows. “Why would I be upset that you summoned Asmodeus and let him possess you again? Especially when you promised that you wouldn’t do it anymore?”