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)
“I think I have a mind to go to Lord Markadian right now and tell him everything,” George then says, folding his arms, lifting his chin superiorly. “This undeathly abomination.”
Be careful where you aim that gun of yours, says Tristan as he continues to stare at Brock’s chest, still remembering his years with Kyle. For some reason, he thinks about one late night rain shower they watched together by the back window, cuddled in an armchair. It was one of their sweetest nights. Those silver bullets you’re so eager to fire may very well be the ones that kill you.
George stiffens up, remains silent, eyes sharpening.
Tristan smiles, glances back. You’re an accomplice now.
“Accomplice?” George lets out a mocking, chirping laugh. “I knew not what I was gathering those preposterous items for.”
Yes, yes, and I’m sure the accomplice in a murder didn’t know why they were buying duct tape, rope, a bottle of bleach … Was it for a science project? You’ll fool no one. Tristan returns to wiping away blood, now with more affection. Mutually assured destruction, my dear George. If I were you, I would keep Markadian out of this.
George’s eyes snap to Brock, as if mulling it over. Irritation creases his brow as his thoughts seem to grow more furious by the second. Then, all at once, it fades like a storm cloud. “Well, I suppose it’s all for naught, anyway. None of us can hope to keep our Lord Markadian’s attention more than his new toy.”
Oh? Did Marky finally order himself that vibrating butt plug I nearly got him for his birthday? The top review said that it has an impressively long battery life …
“His new toy is a violinist.”
Tristan drops the handkerchief.
Limbs turning to stone, veins to ice.
A violinist …
“He’s obsessed,” George carries on, words flowing out like a melodic sigh, tired of it before he’s even begun talking. “He even brushes off Ashara. Is it truly so pleasing to have connections with humans who are … are smelly and uninteresting and … temporary? I do not understand such sexual expressions. Or emotional ones. It confuses me to my very core.” He sniffs his fingers, squints in the direction of Brock. “I smell rosemary in this room, do you not? Why do I smell rosemary? Is it a witchy ingredient?”
I’ve met … many nice witches, says Tristan absently, still struck thinking about Kaleb and what Lord Markadian may be doing to him, a whole new nightmare. Really, the necromancer shouldn’t be representative of their kind. He’s rather quite singular. And terrible.
“Of course you would be sympathetic to such people who’d put silver daggers in your back without batting an eye. Do you really not smell the rosemary? It is overpowering and terribly unpleasant.” He huffs, turns away. “Perhaps I shouldn’t worry about this violinist. Markadian is known to fall in love easily, then toss aside his toys when he’s bored. And he gets so easily bored. Still, it irks me. Our Lord Markadian cannot afford to have such distractions from work. We’re to host many directors here in just a few nights’ time and there is so much to do.”
Tristan turns at once, crosses the room to George, then neatly folds the dirtied handkerchief and tucks it back into his breast pocket. Leave the violinist be. The toy will be an afterthought someday soon, like you said. Why don’t you go and help prepare for our guests, instead? You do love serving, don’t you?
George’s eyes narrow, and his voice turns cold. “Our Lord could end you for the illegal act you’ve so recklessly performed here. Should he hold a trial right now, I am certain you would be found guilty by every single director in our region.”
Then I’d better make sure the cameras catch my good side.
“And how long will you bury the secret in this room? Four or so days, you said? I doubt that monster will be ready in four years’ time to reenter society. And what if it breaks free before it is ready? You shall make human headlines across the world, worse than your Kyle Amos nearly did—headlines describing a cannibal on the rampage in the casinos of the human city of Las Vegas … hundreds left dead, no number of bullets could put the beast down. What was it you said earlier about firing silver bullets?” He clicks his tongue, bows his head disapprovingly. “Perhaps you ought to consider your own. You have started down a road I don’t think you’ll ever return from.”
Allow me to worry about the road I’m on, suggests Tristan, and the headlines. I have faith in Brock.
“I do not.” George plucks the dirty handkerchief from his pocket with disgust, drops it on the floor. “Keep this. I shall not wish to look upon it—or the monster whose bloody snot now drenches it—for the rest of my days.”