Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
I could have sworn I felt her heart drop to the ground and shatter at my feet as she sucked in a sharp breath.
She was nothing.
Just a pretty thing I would destroy.
Something I would take off the shelf and mar with my darkness, she might as well be Pandora’s box.
I would open her once.
And be lost forever.
Tragic.
True.
I hung my head. “Get some sleep. I’ll have Phoenix grab you in the morning. I’ll provide a strung-out stand in for the Italians. You can take your clothes; I don’t want them here. Take the shoes, the purses.” Take my fucking soul. “I don’t want anything in here that would ever remind me of you.”
It hurt to say out loud.
More than I thought it would.
My chest was tight as she hurried past me with a whispered “I hate you.” On her lips.
And when the door slammed, I hung my head and said. “Good.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Alice
My tears stained the pillowcase. I felt irrationally angry over him sending me away. All I’d ever wanted was my freedom.
And he was giving it to me.
I should be thankful.
Giddy even.
He was going to give me a fresh start.
I’d been in his presence mere days, and the thought of not having him looming after me, arguing with me, kissing me, made me physically sick.
That’s how demented this whole thing was!
Falling for Andrei was like mental warfare.
I knew it was wrong.
And yet touching him always felt so right, I’d never felt more safe in my entire life.
I thought back over the night.
Over what Phoenix had said.
Andrei would give me everything.
But what if it wasn’t enough?
What if by taking the last part of him… I created an even bigger monster?
Was I really debating this?
I threw off my covers and walked across the room, opened my door and stared across the hall at his.
Everything about Andrei was too big, too unreal.
Too much.
I raised my hand to knock, changed my mind, and just opened the door.
His bedroom was beautiful, just like him and eerily different late at night. Dark navy was offset by shades of white and pale blue, with understated accents in creamy tones. Subtle, classy. A few art pieces hung on the wall, all abstracts with hues echoing the room itself. A chaise of slate gray leather sat in a nook that looked… cozy, inviting. The mahogany bed with a plush mattress was topped by a snow white duvet. In stark contrast, a black fur blanket lay folded across the foot. Everything was high-end but… comfortable, lived in. Not a red, black, or gold in sight. This room was a sanctuary except for the large flat screen TV in the corner.
A roaring fire blazed in the fireplace.
And the man who I hated.
The man who I couldn’t stop thinking about.
Was on his knees in front of the fireplace.
He was wearing a pair of black pajama pants, silk.
And he was staring at the fire like he knew what it felt like to let the heat singe him.
The flames licked higher and higher.
His gloves were off.
He didn’t acknowledge that I was in the room, but I knew he heard me, sensed me, could have killed me in less than three seconds if he wanted.
I was out of my element.
Funny how the hero in my story should have been my own family, my brother, my father.
But because of that mistrust, because of the twisted way they showed love, I’d fallen for the dragon that protected the castle.
I’d fallen for the beast.
I’d fallen for darkness.
Preferred it to light.
I’d fallen for the devil himself.
“Don’t test my self-control, not tonight.” His voice was raspy, deep. If I closed my eyes I could hear the slight Russian accent, just like I could feel the warmth from his body even though he wasn’t touching me.
When I finally made it to him, my knees buckled.
He was kneeling in a pool of blood.
“Andrei…” I dropped in front of him, searching for the wound, only to see that his left hand, the one with the star tattoo, was completely mutilated. “What happened?”
“He’s in me,” Andrei whispered. “The devil himself.”
“No.” I reached for his bloody hand. “That’s not true.”
“In my blood.” He stared straight ahead. “At least I can cut the reminder from my skin, cut the tattoo away from my bone and pray it’s not a premonition of things to come, the final star in the dynasty, falling…”
Maybe he was still drunk.
“That would be the cruelest trick of all you know.” His eyes watched the flames behind me. “My father, he’s laughing from his Circle of Hell, watching, waiting, mocking me.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I ran to the adjoining bathroom, grabbed a towel and ran back, then wrapped it around his hand, shocked he let me touch him.
Angry that I’d slapped him when he’d never lied about who he was.
Angry that I’d want him to be something other than the man kneeling in front of the fireplace bleeding out his truth.