Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“This is it,” the guard who was driving said, as he pulled into an empty spot. “Time for you to get out now, girly.”
He turned off the engine and came around to drag me out of the truck. His hands on me were rough but I didn’t complain--I no longer cared what became of me. In fact, I thought I might kill myself when this was all over with—hopefully before whichever strange Were won me, claimed me by taking me to his house and raping me.
“Be more careful with her!” the second guard protested as the first one yanked me out of the truck. “She’s still a Royal Omega—there’s only two of them in existence, her and her mother!”
“She’s the one who’s responsible for the death of the Alpha’s Heir,” the first guard growled, glaring at me. “A fine young male, cut down in his prime because she tempted him to break the Unbreakable Laws!”
I gave him a withering look.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the phrase, ‘blaming the victim,’ have you?” I said icily. “Jake and I were kidnapped and forced to do things together. It wasn’t his fault or my fault—it was that crazy cult, the Worshipers of the Moon.”
“Shut up, slut! He’s dead because of you!” The first guard backhanded me so hard I saw stars and heard ringing in my ears. The pain in my cheek was fierce and I could feel a warm trickle of blood coming from the side of my mouth but I didn’t care about any of that.
“Is he…is he already dead then?” I whispered, blinking back tears.
“The orders were to kill him as soon as we left with you for the grounds,” the second guard said flatly. “So yes, Miss Wulven—I’m afraid he is.”
I hadn’t thought I had any more tears in me, but my eyes were stinging fiercely as I nodded.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whispered.
“Never mind your fake tears!” The first guard dragged me through the parking lot, yanking me upright when I stumbled over ruts and tree roots. I was wearing a pair of silver sandals that laced up my calves and a thin white dress that came down to my knees. I had not picked this outfit—it had been chosen for me. “Sacrificial raiment” were the words I heard Marcus use when he ordered one of the maids to put it on me.
I shivered in the thin dress and summery sandals. I still had not been knotted and so the cold still affected me. Well, it wouldn’t affect me much longer, I thought grimly. Not if I had my way about it and could find some weapon to off myself. Maybe there would be a loose gun lying around somewhere—that didn’t seem unlikely considering where we were and the demographics of the locals.
At last we got through the parking lot area and I found there was grass under my feet again. Looking up, I saw we were in a large clearing. It was better than the rutted dirt of the parking area, but also worse because it was filled with Weres.
Now, I suppose that Weres must come from all walks of life, but from where I was standing, this seemed to be the same kind of crowd you’d find in a really rough country-western bar at the end of a hard-drinking, three-day weekend. They were wearing mostly denim and leather and they were mostly men. I saw a lot of tattoos and a lot of beards—really long, untrimmed ones—and most of them had bottles in their hands.
Honestly, they looked like a lot of bikers—and not the sexy kind you find in romance novels—the hardened, tough kind that look like they would be happy to carve out your kidneys and serve them to you for lunch.
The guards dragged me around the edges of the rough-looking crowd until they came to a kind of stage—a broad wooden platform at the far end of the clearing.
“C’mon, slut—up you get,” the first guard snarled in my ear as he dragged me up the rough wooden steps.
There was a low murmur among the Weres as I was pulled up onto the stage and I felt all eyes upon me.
There was an older man there, waiting, with a long salt and pepper beard and bushy sideburns. He also had hair the same color growing out of his ears and his nostrils—a fact which made me vaguely nauseous when I noticed it. However, the top of his head was as bald and shiny as a billiard ball.
“Is this her?” The man on the stage asked.
“The Second Royal Omega, right here,” the first guard confirmed. “You got the crowd all ready to fight for her, Curly?”
“Oh, yeah!” The old man nodded eagerly. “They been pushin’ and shovin’ for the past hour. I was gettin’ worried you boys might not come after all. Thought the Royal Alpha might have changed his mind—her bein’ his stepdaughter and all.”