Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
I arch a brow, tilting my head at him. “Oh, so modern times have enlightened you to allow women into your all-boys club?”
“Naturally,” he says like he's choosing his words very carefully. “And I know you'll go out on your own anyway. You might as well have the full force of the hunters at your back.”
I can't stop the small smile from shaping my lips, nor can I stop myself from taking a step closer to him, addicted to his warmth, his scent…everything about him really. “Is that your way of saying you're worried about me, Zachariah?”
He lets his arms fall to his sides, his fingers just barely grazing the back of my hand, we stand so close to each other. My body aches in ways it's never ached before, my heart racing from just the sight of him.
“Always,” he says, his tone so much softer than it was moments before, and that cracks something in my cold, icy heart, warming it just enough that I allow my mind to wander. To fantasize.
To picture what might happen if I span the small distance between us, take his hand, and reach up for his mouth at the same time. He’d kiss me like he had at the auction, and then he wouldn't hesitate to wend us back to his quarters to finish what he started centuries ago. He’d peel my clothes off, slowly exploring every inch of my body before focusing on that needy spot between my thighs—
“Are you going to come?”
I blink a few times, floundering in my own mind on how to respond to that. Then I’m firmly planted back in reality where he's asking me to go on a mission with him, not back to his bedroom.
I need to get a fucking grip.
“Of course, I'm coming,” I snap. “No one knows Conrad’s scent as well as I do.”
“Lovely,” he says, matching my energy. He extends his hand, and I hesitate only a few seconds before taking it. He doesn't bother giving me a warning, his power folding us into time and space as he wends us away.
It's only a matter of moments before we land right next to his awaiting hunter brothers in what smells like lycan territory. Ajax and Talon and Dagon and Saint. They’re all there, looking like no time has passed at all.
Saint is the hardest to look at, knowing that when it came down to me or him, Zachariah chose him.
And honestly, I can't blame him for that.
That's not what broke my heart.
Not that he'd bothered to ask.
“Talia,” Saint says my name with a dip of his head, and I finally blink out of my stare and return the gesture.
“This is where we last picked up on the scent from the nest you found,” Ajax says, glancing between me and Zachariah.
“We don't smell Samuel,” Saint says, an edge to his voice, his red-ringed eyes locked on to Zachariah.
Those eyes, tinted with a hint of bloodmadness, are enough to make my powers perk up beneath my skin, sharpening like I might have to throw them around Saint at any moment.
But I know better. Not one of these hunters would let him out into the real world, let him come out of stasis, if they didn't think he was fit to be in society.
And that just brings up a whole other well of hurt that I'm not ready to address.
I inhale deeply, focusing my senses on the mission at hand, and stand up a bit straighter.
“I can smell Conrad,” I say to the group. “But it's faint.” My shoulders drop and I shake my head. “It's likely newborns. He's been creating more and more in every city that he steals an artifact from.”
“Well, whether Conrad is here or not,” Zachariah says. “We still have to dispatch of the nest.”
“Understood,” Ajax says, giving some unrecognizable signal as all of the hunters spread out, tracking down different traces of the scent as we all head in the same general direction across lycan territory.
There's a chill to the night air, October’s autumn in full force, the winds dropping a few more degrees from the river that winds to our left only a few yards away. Its sound covers any noise we make, the fallen leaves from the wooded area around the river enough to make any of us a little more loud in our steps than usual. Especially when Zachariah seems hell-bent on matching every step I make.
I can't help but sneak glances at Saint, who’s to our right, looking completely in control and healthy as he follows the trail.
“I need you to understand something,” Zachariah says after the third time I've checked Saint’s location, some inner instinct in me needing to know where he is at all times. “We truly believed Saint was on the verge of destroying the world, and that included you in it.”