Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I’m just about to say yes when he turns his head towards a large window overlooking the resort, like he’s listening to something. I didn’t pay attention to the view when I came into the living room because my mind was solely on the man in front of the fire. But I do now. And it’s stunning. Like take-your-breath-away stunning.
Snow, sky, sun, mountains, and… a helicopter. Landing on the rooftop helipad of a nearby building.
That’s what he heard and why he turned his head. “Fuck.” He says this under his breath. Then he turns to me. “My boss is here. I’ll be right back.”
He’s already moving away from me when I grab his arm. “Wait.”
He turns, but his attention is no longer on me. “Syrsee. I’ll be right back, OK? Just have some coffee and”—he’s releasing my grip on his arm as he says this, sliding my hand off him—“and… I swear, it’ll just be a minute.”
Then he’s moving towards the door. And before I can even come up with a reason why he should absolutely not go talk to his boss before we have our chat about my secrets, he’s out the door, pulling it closed behind him.
Now what?
Let Paul be the one to tell Ryet who I am? Because that’s why he’s here. I know it. I can feel it. And whatever happened last night with Paul, it wasn’t real, obviously. Because he just got here. It was just a dreamwalk.
It wasn’t real.
Here’s the problem with my delusion. Maybe, back before I could hear things, and see things, and feel things inside my dreamwalks I could talk myself into thinking they were nothing more than a fantasy. No. Wrong word. Not a fantasy, but just a regular dream.
I’m not fantasizing about that fucking vampire. I’m not.
But now that I have all my senses—now that I can feel their touch—oh, God. I close my eyes, wincing. What the hell have I been doing?
Did I fuck the vampire last night?
I can’t. I can’t think about that. I untie the robe, let it slip down my arms, and go hunting for my clothes. I need to see Ryet before Paul tells him.
I pull my pants up my legs, slip my shirt on, slip my feet into my boots, and shrug on my jacket as I go outside and tug the door closed behind me.
This cabin is up on the side of the mountain. Higher than the lodge. So I scan the walkways below me, looking for Ryet.
I spot him just as he pulls the door open to a building that looks like a greenhouse, the helicopter still on the roof, and disappears inside.
It’s cold out here, and beginning to snow, so I automatically shove my hands into my pockets. Then I lean into the wind and follow the pathway down to the building where the vampire Paul is waiting.
I’m only a few steps into this journey when the helicopter is in the air again. My heart thumps wildly, fear filling up my whole body. Did Ryet just leave with Paul?
I squint as the helicopter slowly moves through the air—I’m at a much higher elevation, so for a moment I’m almost eye level with the person in the cockpit.
Just one person. The pilot.
So that means Paul is here to stay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - RYET
Like an animal.
Or maybe a demon.
I was calm. It was OK. I was gonna let it all go. Chalk it up as a… a fantasy. The dreamwalk.
I don’t need to know about them. They’re gone. They’re never coming back. My family died, this much I know. And even if I could get the memories back, nothing good will come of it.
But there is an ache inside me. A horrible ache that has rotted my heart from the inside out. An emptiness. A loss. A terrible, terrible loss. And it hurts. I don’t want to admit that, but it fucking hurts. Just thinking about the loss—and being unable to even understand it—it makes me want to give up.
It makes me want to dig a hole, and crawl inside it, and cover myself with dirt, and never take another breath or drink another drop.
And this feeling, this knowing, this realization of my own end—and the desire to end it—I’ve been battling it for decades now. I know the truth will kill me. Even if I can’t die, it will kill me. I can feel that much. If I ever get those memories back, I will stop functioning. I will cease to exist. I will wallow in my pain, and my loss, and my sadness. I will be trapped in my own anguish and that will be the end of me.
I know this.
But he’s here. Paul came here. Because I’m here. And we were in a dreamwalk, fucking, and feeding, and he made me an offer.