Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Why?”
“Why is it more powerful? Well, it’s Black magic, Syrsee. That’s the most powerful magic in the whole realm. I literally live off it. All vampires do and we do nothing but suck up energy. That’s why we need your blood.”
I sigh. Because I hate that he knows so much and I know so little. I hate that I need him to feed me this information. Someone should’ve taught me this shit. The Guild should’ve taught me this shit.
“You’ll understand it more once you start using it regularly.”
I feign disinterest with a shrug. “Whatever. I don’t even care.”
“Good. We’re not here to discuss the power, we’re here to discuss your future.”
“Ya know, you’re pretty confident that you’re allowed to have an opinion about my future. I mean, this is nice and all”—I wave my hand at the room—“but you’re stuck. I can leave and do whatever I want. You can’t.”
I’m not actually sure this is true, but I’m running with it anyway. Because there’s something to it, that’s for sure. Otherwise, why meet up with me here? He has to know we’re at Ryet’s home. And even if he doesn’t actually have that information, it’s a logical first guess.
But he didn’t come to the cabin. He’s controlling this experience, I do understand that. But he’s not really in control.
I am.
“You’re very astute, Syrsee. Do you know that?”
I’m so used to him being smarmy and assholishly charming that I find his new serious, calm, deliberate, and almost cold nature off-putting.
Frightening, actually. That’s a better word. Because only people who know they’ve won act like this. And I didn’t even know we were playing a game, so there’s no way I’m the winner here.
“Why are we here, Paul?”
“I just told you. To discuss your future. And you took us off track to try to convince yourself that I’m not really in control of your future, but as your maker, I disagree. You are mine. I’ve already told you this. Ryet is mine. I’ve told you that as well. We’re doing this together whether you want to or not.”
“Doing what, though?”
“That’s all very need-to-know. And you don’t need to know. Yet.”
“Then why should I help you?”
“I don’t need your help. Well”—he pauses to smile. It’s a very confident smile—“I don’t need your permission to take your help.”
‘Take my help.’ It feels like a weird way to phrase things.
“Then, again, why am I here?”
As soon as I say this, Ryet appears. Not standing in front of me, or sitting next to us having tea—but in the bed. He’s naked and lying on top of the covers. All stretched out on his stomach and showing off that glorious body of his.
I look over at Paul with an eyebrow raised. “What’s going on?”
“Do you love him?”
“You don’t have the right to ask me that question. We’re not friends.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Well, you would be wrong. I like him, but love him? No, Paul. I do not love him. I’m his food.”
Paul laughs. “My darling, he is your food.”
“What? How the hell do you figure? He feeds on me!”
“He feeds on you so he can feed you back. It’s a symbiotic relationship. That means—”
“I know what it means, you asshole. I’m not stupid.”
Paul flicks a finger in the air. “Of course you’re not. I know that better than anyone. I am, after all, the one who educated you.”
“You didn’t—” But I don’t even bother finishing. Because of course, he was the one who sent me to college. He was probably the one who chose all my classes.
The moment this thought runs through my head, he smiles. “Did you enjoy the piano?”
“What?”
“You took two semesters of it. I like the piano, myself. I had fantasies of you playing for me one day, but I suppose that’s all they were. Fantasies. You did like it, though, didn’t you?”
“Is that why Ryet plays instruments? So he can play for you one day?”
“Why does Ryet do anything? Why does he make things with his hands? Why does he build houses, and fix cars, and all those other things he does?”
“So he’s got no free will?”
“I never expected you to be such an either-or person, Syrsee. I have to admit, it’s throwing me. There is no black and white, my sweet.”
I curl up my lip at the term of endearment. Sweet. That’s probably how he literally sees me. A piece of candy to suck on.
“It’s all very gray.”
“Well”—I sigh—“I just don’t see it that way.”
“Then you’re going to have a very hard time adjusting to what’s coming next.”
My stomach sinks and I suddenly feel sick. “What’s that mean?”
“It means, if you want to survive with your mind intact, you will learn to love the gray.” He gets up and walks over to the bed, stopping next to Ryet.
Paul begins to loosen his tie. His head turns so he can meet my gaze as he does this, undoing the knot and pulling on the tie so the silk slides through his collar. He drops it to the floor and tugs his dress shirt out of his pants.