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)
“You dare utter that boy’s name here?” clips George.
“Continue,” says Markadian, ignoring George.
So Tristan does. The state of his corpse does not bode well for any easy explanations. Humans will be on the hunt for an assassin, not a murderer. Does he have enemies? Should we dig deeper? This is what they will ask, as Brock’s family is rich and powerful. Detectives, they will hire. Skilled humans with observant eyes and college degrees. There are countless others who paid witness to his whereabouts within the hotel, too, as well as the town of Nowhere, two gas stations on his way from Phoenix, every witness able to be identified and questioned by all matter of authorities, and considering his reputation, I’m sure many authorities will be utilized. Not to mention if Kyle and Elias are questioned, or worse, suspected of Brock’s murder, which twists the spotlight right back onto the very ones we’re trying to hide.
“Why do we place such importance on this mortal Brock?” asks George, cutting in once more. “He was merely a childhood friend of the disgraceful Mr. Amos and a drunken—”
He was also my friend, adds Tristan calmly, now hugging the cold vases to his chest. He closes his eyes, fondly recalling their memories together decades ago, back when he, Kyle, and Brock attended the same high school in Texas. He was also a husband. And father. And son to a powerful man who will not for much longer overlook his absence. He opens his eyes. Yes, George has fucked us.
George turns his cold, irritated dead stare upon Tristan.
“Then tell me, dear.” There is a note of bitter resentment in Markadian’s tone, as if uttering the term of endearment is poison. “What would you propose we do about Brock, the pain in our ass we’re calling a husband, father, friend, and son?”
Tristan has given this a lot of thought. In the short time he has had between weighing nightmares of his own. Or the recent return of Kyle in his life. That last kiss they shared before Kyle was dismissed to live out his days in Nowhere with his mortal boyfriend Elias. Tristan has had little else to think about. He has, indeed, allowed the dead Brock Hastings a ghastly amount of space to occupy in his mind.
Thinking of Brock’s head resting in his lap in a high school hallway, freshly put to sleep, snoring softly away.
Thinking of Brock in the locker room, after another cute showing off of his football player strength, trying to overpower immortal Tristan, before succumbing to him in so many ways.
Thinking of Brock and what he has endured in his short mortal life, his failing marriage, his son he’s so proud of …
Brock and his brief reunion with Kyle … which only took him down a road to his unintended yet certain death …
So Tristan voices his mind. I believe the only answer is to make Brock alive again. We must consider more … drastic measures. Tristan delivers the words to the floor at first. Then he dares to lift his eyes to Lord Markadian. Darker measures.
Tristan wonders if he will be understood.
He is understood perfectly. “No,” snaps Markadian. “You will not entertain any such measures of darkness.”
Respectfully, it may be our only option.
“Respectfully, fuck you. We will find other options. You will not entertain even a thought of such dark means again, or so help me, I’ll chain you to the floor and cast an illusion so all my guests think you’re nothing but a rug to walk upon.”
Surprisingly, that makes Tristan smile. I do miss your threats. I can’t help but admit, they used to make me incorrigibly hard.
For a moment, Markadian’s ire is gone. A flicker of his old self returns, lips curling, as if fighting back a laugh. “Used to?”
George’s eyes snap back and forth between them, annoyed.
Tristan seizes the opportunity, coming up to the desk and putting himself in front of George, keeping eye contact with Markadian. I only suggested such … dark means … because leaving Brock’s fate a mystery is becoming more dangerous by the hour. There are ever so many humans who watch our every action, who know of our nature … and certain blood contracts upon which our peace relies.
“Our dutiful and wise Lord of Vegasyn needs no reminding about the list of Protected Blood,” announces George.
Mmm … you may be quite right. Tristan addresses George while continuing to stare at Markadian. But do remind me, whose responsibility was it to maintain the list? My memory fails me …
“I very much doubt your memory ever fails you,” George returns, “for we all know it is I. I am responsible for that list.”
Oh, please accept my apologies, George, of course it is you.
“I do not accept your apologies,” George sighs out. “Brock Hastings’ name was simply overlooked that night.”