Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 106292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Nikolai laughs and the sound is filled with pity. “There once was, until Julius DeVil, your real father, stamped it out. He sacrificed his sister only days before the loophole was discovered. He believed that if he had to go through it, that every heir beneath him must do the same.”
“Fuck.”
My thoughts exactly.
My father meets my stare through the bars with wide, pleading eyes. “You have to promise me, Oakley. If you get out of here, run and never look back. Forget me, forget Empire, and just run.”
I swallow hard and nod, feeling the weight of the world resting on my shoulders. “I will,” I lie, knowing with every fiber of my being that I will never stop fighting for my freedom, and never stop fighting for his.
Wiping my dirty hands over my face, I try to find some composure. “What happens if he doesn’t follow through with the ritual?”
“That will never happen,” my father says. “Zade will never allow Empire to slip through his fingers like that. He will find you and hold onto you until your beating heart is in the palm of his hand. The only way for that to not happen is if you were to die before the sixtieth moon.”
Nikolai meets my stare. “If no heir rises to power, Empire will crumble. It would turn into a bloodbath as people try to claw their way to the top. What I did to you would be nothing but child’s play, and do not be fooled, once they start digging, they will find your name and both you and Zade will be seen as the biggest threat this world has ever seen. There is nowhere you will be safe. So you must ask yourself, is the loss of just one life, your life, not better than the loss of hundreds?”
My father rattles the bars of his cell, his face pressed right up against them. “Don’t put that shit into her head. Why should she care about those hundreds of lives who’ve never once cared about hers? Lives that have only ever willed for her death? Oakley will not be manipulated by your bullshit, and it sure as fuck isn’t her responsibility to take on the burden of all that spilled blood if Zade weren’t to spill hers.”
Nikolai scoffs, shaking his head. “If Zade doesn’t complete his ritual, then God be with us all.”
The weight of his words sit heavily in the cells as I fumble back to my bed, drop my ass onto the hard mattress, and curl up against the wall with my knees pressed to my chest. I drop my chin to my knees and try to breathe, focusing on calming my racing nerves, but it doesn’t do nearly enough to ease me.
The idea of being slaughtered, of having a man who swore to protect me physically breaking my bones and shoving his hand deep inside my chest to claim my heart makes me sick. I’d give anything to trade places with someone, to fall at Zade’s feet and beg for my life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save myself. I’m not finished here yet. I’ve barely had a chance to live. To get married and raise children of my own. I mean, it’s not something I’ve really ever thought about, but the idea of never getting to do it makes me crave a life I’ve never even considered.
“O,” my father’s soft tone rings through the cells. I look up and find his haunted stare on mine, and without a word passing between us, I know he knows what’s circling my mind. “Tell me about your life. Where did you go to school? Which boys broke your heart? Where’d you end up after I was taken?”
A sad smile settles onto my face, appreciating his efforts to distract me. Despite not being in the mood to share all the ins and outs of my life, I know he needs this. Besides, I don’t know when I might ever get another chance to speak with my father. Everything could all be stripped away from me in the blink of an eye.
Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I prepare to tell him every facet of my life over the past twelve years, racking my brain and trying to remember all those little things kids usually try to forget. “I was eight when you were kill—taken,” I say, still not used to the idea of him being alive, right here in front of my face. “There was a funeral for you, and I remember seeing some of the firemen there that worked with you, but I didn’t recognize any of their faces.”
“I’m sorry, Oakley. That must have been really hard.”
“It was,” I agree. “Everyone was offering me condolences and talking at me. No one actually asked me how I was doing. It was always Poor Oakley and I’m sorry for your loss but never actually How are you feeling? I couldn’t understand that.”