Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
I stumbled, and my eyes snapped open. Just at the thought of the potion, my cheeks had flushed. Dread settled in my stomach. I craved the potion more than I wanted food, or water, or anything else for that matter. But then I thought of Rebekah, here in this place, safe and happy, and I made myself reach for the comb. Concentrating on her face, her smile, and the hope that Grace made it to her alive, I ran the comb through my hair until the long red strands were straight and smooth.
Red, I thought as I stared back at my reflection. AK had called me “Red”.
The color of my hair.
I startled at the brief flicker of a smile on my lips. I was not sure why, but I enjoyed that name for me. Not Phebe. Not “whore” . . . but the sheer simplicity of the name Red.
I opened the door, and, slowly, painfully, I made my legs take me in the direction AK had gone. The smell of food almost made me return to the bathroom to purge. But I fought it, determined to keep moving.
When I reached the kitchen, AK was at a stove, cooking food. I did not realize I had paused in the doorway, captivated by him, until he glanced over his shoulder and froze. He had changed into another pair of pants, and his hair was brushed back from his face.
He was incredibly handsome. I did not understand the flush that came to my cheeks as that thought crossed my mind. Men did not affect me. They never had. Yet here I was, blushing as though I did not know the touch of a man.
“You wanna sit?” He flicked his chin toward a table at the side of the room. I sat down, and AK placed a mug in front of me. I knew the smell immediately.
“Coffee,” he said and walked back to the stove.
“I have never tried it.” I lowered my nose to the liquid, but I had to turn my head away at the smell.
“Try it,” he said encouragingly, placing a plate of food before me. Bacon and eggs. He shrugged and sat down opposite me. “I ain’t a good cook, but even I can't fuck this up.”
I tentatively cut into the food. I brought a small amount to my mouth and made myself chew. It tasted like sawdust on my tongue. It felt like razorblades to swallow. But I ate it. I knew that I must.
AK stared out of the window of his cabin while I ate as much as I could—it was not much. When I could eat no more, I placed down the cutlery and asked, “Why?”
AK slowly turned back to face me. I swallowed a small amount of the coffee, wincing as the hot liquid burned my throat. But I liked it.
“Why what?” he echoed. My eyes fell to his naked torso and the mass of tattoos marring his skin.
“Me?” I said, finally fixing my attention back on his eyes. “Why . . . why did you help me?” Instinctively, my hand ran over the marks on my inner arm. “Why did you take me from . . . him?” I dropped my gaze and stared into the dark abyss of my coffee cup. “Why did you care? You do not know me.”
“Just did,” he replied finally.
I could see by his stiff posture that he would say nothing more on the matter. And that was okay. He did not have to explain anything. He rescued me, for whatever reason, from Meister. In the end, that was all I needed to know.
“Thank you,” I whispered, keeping my eyes from meeting his. “Thank you for saving me.”
I heard his breathing quicken, and I felt his need to say something to me from across the table. But before he could reply, there was a knock at the door.
My head snapped up. I wondered who it could be. AK got up and opened the door. When the visitor stepped inside, my heart filled with light. He saw me sitting at the table and stopped dead.
“Phebe,” he breathed.
My hand shot to my mouth in disbelief. I saw a woman enter behind him. She was beautiful, with long black hair and blue eyes. But before I could wonder about her any further, Cain crossed the room and took me in his arms. Tears spilled from my eyes as I fell into his familiar embrace. He wore a black shirt and denim pants . . . and his long hair was gone. I cried into his shoulder, racking sobs, until he stood back. His eyes swept over me, and he smiled.
I recognized that kind smile.
Then the woman was pushing past him. “Phebe,” she breathed and embraced me with the same vigor. I frowned in confusion, wondering how she knew me. Then she pulled back, and I studied her face. Her hair was the wrong color, as were her eyes, but she was, this was . . .