Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
She waited until he was next to her before turning so that they walked side by side. He could almost hear the watchers skittering away.
“I’ve always enjoyed this park in the night hours.” Katrina’s husky voice stroked over him with near-tactile intent. “It is both active and secretive.”
Having not spotted Xai, he raised an eyebrow. “You’re not worried about being attacked?”
Her laughter entangled him in a sensuous trap. “No one touches Lady Katrina.”
He realized he still had no idea of her age or her power. But the fact that she could walk here at this time without being molested? Yes, this woman was dangerous, a predator among predators.
Now, she glanced at his cane then up at his eyes. “It causes you pain to walk.”
Vivek shrugged. “My choice.”
“But it is not my choice to have to deal with you should you collapse from overexertion.” A regal tone. “We will take a seat on that bench over there.” She flicked her fan at one of the ironwork seats tucked into a small green corner.
Vivek gritted his teeth. “I’m not a child to be ordered about.”
An unblinking look that was in no way human, the creature that prowled behind Katrina’s eyes a thing cold and of age. “If you wish to stand here until your leg buckles, go ahead. I will walk over your helpless body and return to my business.”
His face hot, Vivek bit back his anger. This wasn’t about him. It wasn’t even about the Cadre. No, it was about the dead and dying. About the countless children trapped in rubble or underground as the world went to hell—as he’d once been trapped in a hospital bed.
He took a seat.
When she followed, her skirts brushed his legs.
Shrugging the bag off his shoulder after he took several breaths to calm his temper, he opened it, reached inside. Rage would get him nowhere, not with a vampire of Katrina’s age and power. She’d have seen that uncontrolled reaction over and over through time. He had to be smarter, more cunning.
“Why are you carrying champagne flutes?” Her tone was arch.
“So we can drink this.” He pulled out a black bottle marked with a distinctive label of embossed black on black. “From the premier blood café in town. In honor of your find.”
“We did not have such things in my time. Blood from the vein was considered good enough.”
Unable to control the reckless edge within, Vivek flipped his hand to expose his wrist. “Anytime, Lady Katrina.”
A total stillness that told him he invited death. “I have very high standards for my blood.”
The hairs had risen on his arms when she went motionless, but why be a little reckless when he could go all the way? “Then,” he said, “I hope this vintage lives up to your expectations.”
Eyes yet frosty, she accepted the flute he offered her, but didn’t take a sip until he had his own in hand. He raised it in a toast. “To the text you managed to find out of thin air.”
The first sip was rich and luscious, his reaction to it a silent confirmation that he was no longer human in anything but his heart and thoughts. It was fire in his veins, a pump of energy visceral and rich. “Wow.” He turned to find her watching him with eyes that no longer seemed so frigid. “It’s good, admit it.” Yes, his mood was clearly for death.
“It’s passable,” was the cool response—but he knew he was safe. When she brought the flute to her lips again, she was no longer an inhuman ice sculpture but a woman powerful.
“When I first considered becoming a vampire,” Vivek said, savoring the lingering taste on his tongue, “I wondered how long it’d take me to get used to the taste of blood.”
“Only to wake up and realize that blood was the most delicious thing in the world to you,” Katrina completed. “Yes, it’s quite a shock, is it not, that first taste?”
“It still took me a while to get used to it,” he admitted. “My body wanted it, but my brain kept telling me it was blood I was drinking.”
“And now?” Katrina’s murmured question, the way her eyes lingered on him, made him feel like a teenager whose crush had finally deigned to notice him.
“Pure pleasure in my throat, ambrosia on my tongue.” He leaned forward, his forearms braced on his thighs. “I could keep on talking to you this way forever”—why pretend when it was obvious he had it bad for her—“but the situation is becoming worse by the hour.”
“Yes.” No more softness, but no ice, either; this was Katrina in business mode, focused and determined. “I have friends with children. They are beyond terrified for their babes.” The sound of glass against metal as she placed her flute carefully on the bench between them, then reached into a pocket of her dress.