Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
“From here in Hungary to Poland? That’s quite the jaunt.”
“Who are you?” she asked again. If he wanted her dead, he could have killed her while she lay unconscious.
“I’m called Jasper Maxwell.” He studied her and waited.
She’d never heard of him. “What a lovely name. I’m Leah Ferry. Why am I not dead?”
“I gave you some of my blood.”
She winced. “You what?” That made no sense. While she’d heard the Nazis conducted experiments that nobody understood, healing blood seemed too good to be true. Impossible, really.
“I’m a vampire, Leah, with a hint of demon thrown in.” He looked deadly serious.
“Ah,” she said. “Of course you are.” She had to get away from this man. While he had saved her life, he apparently had serious mental problems. She needed to get on those skis. “Peter and John…” she started.
Jasper shook his head. “They blew up with the bridge. There was no way to save either of them.”
It hurt. They’d been good friends and even better spies. Pain filled her chest. Yet another agonizing loss to add to her list. Soon, she’d have no one left. “I understand.”
His gaze narrowed. “You accept reality quickly, don’t you?”
“One has to as a spy.”
“Have you always been a spy?”
She tried not to cough because her chest felt tight. “I spent four years as a housewife wearing dresses and pearls while vacuuming.” She often missed the person she had once been. Even if the world centered itself, she’d never be that carefree girl again.
“Four whole years?” he asked. “Are you still married?”
The pain of the first of her many losses still echoed inside her. “My husband died two years ago, almost right after we joined the war effort.” She missed him; they’d been great pals. Never again would she allow herself to get that close to another person.
“So now you’re a spy by yourself?”
She looked toward where the bridge had been. “I had friends, but now I’m on my own.”
“I could get you to safety.”
“I don’t want safety.” For some reason, she’d been given a second chance, and she was going to fetch those skis and find her way into Poland to aid the resistance. “Do you want to help us?” She didn’t know him, and he seemed unhinged, but he had saved her life, and they needed all the help they could get.
A veil drew down over his eyes. “Sorry, I’m on my own path right now. There are wars you don’t know about.”
“I can only handle one,” she said. “A vampire war, huh?” She tried not to sound terrified.
In answer, fangs dropped in his mouth. His eyes swirled an unreal silver through the blue and green and then returned to normal.
Her body hurt too much for her to feel true shock. So, it was true. Was she concussed? “Oh,” she said lamely. “I’ve heard stories. Whispers, really. But I didn’t believe them.”
“You should have.”
Why would an immortal care about her life? “Why did you save me?”
“You’re not completely saved. You have internal wounds. You must feel the destruction inside you, right?”
Truth be told, her energy seemed to be ebbing. She struggled to breathe, and blood no doubt filtered into her lungs by the spoonful. “What do I have? Maybe a day left?”
“Not that long.”
Then she wouldn’t make it into Poland on time. “Would more of your blood help?”
Now, both of his eyebrows rose. “I gave you more blood than I should, and it would’ve killed you if you were anybody but who you are.”
Who else would she be? “I have no idea what that means.”
“I know.” His gaze intensified. “It’s not a coincidence that I’m here, near you.”
She’d never truly believed in coincidences, so she just waited.
He looked away and then back at her. “Immortals have mates, and many of my people believe in soulmates. The men in my family? We definitely only have one mate, and if we don’t find her by the time we’re around four hundred years old, we slowly go mad and die.”
“That’s quite a story.” She had no chance in a fight against him, so why the tall tale? If he wanted to take her, he could have. “You want me.”
“Desperately.” He cocked his head. “I felt you, the being of you, two countries away from here. Like a beacon across a stormy sea.”
Poetic, that. “I don’t believe you.”
“Doesn’t matter. My blood saved you. If you want more of it, if you want to live, then we have to mate. You’ll get stronger than ever before, to the point of being immortal. Except for a good beheading, of course.” He sounded matter-of-fact, except tension rolled off him—hot, wild, dangerous. Raw and violent.
Instead of jerking in fear, her body warmed. From head to toe. Craving something in his voice. In him. “I take it mating requires sexual congress?”
He flashed her a grin. “You could say that. Plus, a brand—my mark that you’ll wear on your flesh for all eternity.” He held up his right palm, showing the figure of a deadly-looking M with jagged metal barbs all around it. “M, for my surname. Maxwell.”