Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“What idea?”
“I don’t wanna create any false hope or anything, so until I do some research it’s pointless to---”
“Then get the fuck out.”
Tristan knew there wasn’t even a spark of hope in his eyes at Sam’s mention of an idea. Sam stood there a minute, about to speak, looking like he was measuring his words.
Tristan’s eyes finally met his and he stared deep, “Go.”
Sam backed out.
Tristan now had confirmation he could influence Sam against Sam’s will. He’d suspected he’d done it a few times in the last few days but now he was sure.
That was another something new. He’d always had exceptionally strong skills to mesmerize people, animals, even. He hadn’t mastered it with other vamps yet but based on how Sam’s pupils reacted, dilated, and the way the air moved around him, Tristan was fairly certain he had another new talent. Perhaps before everything…her blood had accelerated other talents. And this talent obviously made him oblivious to Sam’s nudging.
He glanced at the lock and willed it to turn again, to block the outside world out. And it was effortless again. There were new things he couldn’t do before but were now easy. Things he could do when tweaked or really focused were now effortless.
He lifted the bottle of whisky that was on the table beside him by the neck and when he got it to his lips he realized it was empty. He released his grip, letting it fall and shatter. Without so much as a flinch at the sound of the glass smashing on the wood floor, he got to his feet and strode outside, willing the lock and then the door on the way, as well as willing it shut behind him so he could get some air but doing it thinking that he didn’t have the capacity to dedicate headspace to thinking about the fact that Brandt, essentially Claudio’s American counterpart, wanted to talk.
Tristan had no idea what’d been told about Claudio’s demise. Tristan could be called before a council to answer for that. Brandt and Claude were tight. Brandt was a reasonable guy, a respected leader, on some high-level councils, but who knew what other things had been hidden? Kovac Capital was so far off his radar right now it wasn’t even a blip.
But maybe work would help him. Maybe the distraction would help him get his emotions under control.
He inhaled the night air for a few minutes and then headed back inside, seeing Leonard near the fence on his way in.
“Everything okay, boss?” Leonard asked from about 50 feet away.
“Yeah, man,” Tristan called back and as he opened the door, he caught the aroma of blood. Her blood? Kyla’s blood?
What the fuck?
“Stay there ‘till I shut the door,” he called out, looking him right in the eye, “Don’t try to get in unless I tell you to come in.”
His body jerked to a halt as he took in the room. He saw blood on the floor by all the shattered glass from the whisky bottle and then a few smudges of it leading toward the kitchen. He locked the door manually and rushed into the kitchen. She was standing by the fridge, drinking from a bottle of water.
His fangs dropped out of reflex, hunger gnawing at his gut, but he pulled them back. It was as if it was her blood but it was diluted. No; it must be his mind playing tricks. He was feeling a little drunk. It took a lot to get him drunk but then again he’d been drinking a fuck of a lot of booze and very little blood, sub-par blood, plus had eaten virtually nothing food-like in days.
“I’m hurt,” she said, looking dazedly in his direction.
He looked down and saw that her foot was wrapped with paper towel but it had bled through.
More negligence.
He moved swiftly to her and lifted her by putting both hands to her waist and sat her on the counter. Her foot was sliced on her heel. He twisted her so that her foot was hovering over the sink and he peeled away the paper towel and began to rinse it, feeling like there was a giant boulder sitting in the middle of his chest as he did it.
He was salivating, wanting to taste the blood but couldn’t bring himself to do it, couldn’t bring himself to try knowing the disappointment he’d feel when it didn’t taste like it was supposed to taste. He’d only be able to seal it if he’d bitten, which he hadn’t, it so he applied pressure.
He pulled his fangs back in, not even realizing they’d again dropped at the mouthwatering scent. He tried to shake off the drunken haze, wanting the bleeding to stop. As if by his silent command, it did.
“Stay here,” he said softly and headed upstairs. He found a first aid kit in a drawer in the bathroom vanity and went down and applied first aid cream after making sure there wasn’t any glass in it, and then he bandaged her heel and carried her up to the bedroom. He put her on the bed.