Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Tristan grimaces.
Mance clenches his eyes shut. Bows his head.
Slowly, the flaming tables begin to weaken, lowering, down and down their fingers pull, until they’re nothing more than glowing embers upon the red tablecloths.
“A decent man …?” asks Mance.
Then his eyes pop open. He slides off the table. Grabs the back of Tristan’s chair, startling him—and proceeds to drag it across the room.
Mance … Tristan tries. He can’t budge even a finger. Faces pass by, faces filled with fear, eyes connecting to Tristan’s, all of them watching, worried, wondering what’s next. Mance, please.
Mance carelessly flings Tristan’s chair next to Markadian’s, putting the two side-by-side. He steps back, his shape eclipsing the gloomy, deep-red darkness behind him. “Peas in a fuckin’ pod, you two.” Mance snorts, shakes his head. “Manipulators. Tricksters. You both will say whatever the fuck you need to, lie through your fangy-ass teeth, actin’ like you’re above punishin’, above everyone else, worm your way out of anythin’, like you’re un-fuckin’-touchable …”
Tristan glances past Mance.
A few tables beyond, not too far away.
Kyle is watching, prisoner to a chair of his own. His eyes, wet with fear and emotion, close enough to the stage that the spotlight glimmers in them, staring back at Tristan.
Tristan can’t imagine what Kyle is thinking right now. The pain in his heart, feeling betrayed by all the lies Tristan has told over the decades they spent together, all the times he consoled Kyle over a family he lost, a brother he could never imagine he would see again.
How does one even begin to process such deceit?
Kyle may never forgive him. He may never understand why Tristan didn’t just bring Kaleb along for the ride. That it was a fleeting moment of selfishness that caused Tristan to hesitate, to hide Kaleb, to cause him to get caught by the wrong people and taken away.
So many terrors in their lives, caused by little moments of misjudgment.
Then Tristan notices the person standing next to Kyle, a vampire with long white hair in a reddish-purple catsuit—one of Mance’s new Feral pals. This one carries a long, curved sword at his side and seems oddly fixated on Kyle, eyes wide, lips pulled into the most bizarre, lopsided grin.
“Oh, hold on now.” Mance follows Tristan’s line of sight, sees Kyle. “Did I … Did I misjudge?” A glint of mischief enters his eyes when he peers back at Tristan. “Is that the guy you’re so desperate to protect? The loser from that rinky-dink town?”
Tristan peels his gaze from the vampire and Kyle, looking upon Mance with innocent, blinking eyes.
Mance grins. “Y’know what, Tristan? You’re right … dead right. About it all. Givin’ gifts, honorin’ deals, the whole thing. And I think I will honor that deal of ours.”
He lifts a hand, snaps his fingers.
At once, Kyle rises from his chair, leaves the vampire with the sword, walks toward Mance.
Then trips over someone’s foot.
Slams face-first onto the floor.
“He’s a clumsy dude, huh?” Mance chuckles, then twirls his finger in the air. Kyle grimaces as he, with forced and unnatural movement, rises back to his feet, now with a bright red spot on his forehead and cheek, wincing, breathing hard, continues his way. “Hey, watch your step,” taunts Mance, “don’t go trippin’ on anyone else’s Louis Vuitton’s.”
Kyle comes to an abrupt stop in front of Tristan, breathing heavy, still cringing in pain from the fall. Their eyes reconnect. He is in a full state of panic, and for so many reasons, one of which still clings to the ceiling of a cage far behind him.
Mance clicks his tongue at Tristan. “It’s rude of you to stay sittin’ in the presence of the man you care so dang much for.”
Tristan at once stands, unable to stop his body from acting at Mance’s behest, turns militantly, faces Kyle.
The two stare silently into one another’s eyes.
Kyle into Tristan’s. Tristan into Kyle’s.
Mance lets out a snort of amusement, then reaches into a pocket and pulls something out.
A test tube of dark liquid.
With a smirk, he extends it to Tristan. “Here’s to honorin’ the deal. Giving back your precious collateral. See? Ain’t I such a stand-up guy?”
Tristan stares at the tube, the dark blood swirling inside.
Kyle, too, but with a note of confusion.
“What?” asks Mance. “Ain’t you gonna take it?”
Tristan’s jaw tightens. It may have escaped your attention, but I still cannot move my—
“You do know what happens if this spills, right? Wait.” His eyes gleam with wickedness. He’s getting off on this. “I never went into it, did I? You don’t know the nitty-gritty. Like, what actually happens if this dark shit spills out. Let me describe it to you. In detail.” Wiggling the test tube precariously between two fingers, its contents seesawing from side to side in front of Tristan’s eyes, Mance lowers his voice. “Every bead you ate, it was like the slowest-ass signature you’ve ever scratched on the bottom line of a contract with Death. Every bead you ate, you locked up the soul of the one you were so desperate to protect. It’s like you took that soul outta Death’s daycare, arrogantly tellin’ Death that you can take better care of it. Death listened every single time you crunched a bead between those teeth and gave a pretty little thought to your loved one. Death obliged you, too. Death let go. Their soul’s blood is trapped in this test tube whether they want it to be or not. How’s that sound? I bet you didn’t even know souls can bleed.”