Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
“Never.” He stuck his head out the window to read the billboard as we passed. “Though once in Spain, I had my head ripped off and my body burned and scattered to the winds. It took my body a year to heal from that. But in my last memories of 1920, I was not injured.”
My mouth dropped open, and I snapped my neck to look over at him. “You’ve had your head ripped off? And been burned? Jesus Christ, I thought fire killed vampires?”
“You may wish to watch the road, Ms. Monroe.” He pointed ahead as a jeep honked at me for entering his lane.
“I got it, Mr. Thorbørn.” I entered my lane again and luckily the street toward my apartment.
“Of course,” he replied.
“We’re here.” I pulled into the underground parking garage, driving to my parking spot, and the moment I put the car in park, he was out of his seat beat and around to my side, opening my door.
“You can’t do that!”
He called me the young one, but he was the one acting like a brand-new vampire. Grabbing my jacket and bag, I got out at a human pace and pointed to the cameras. “There are security cameras. People are watching.”
His grey eyes followed mine to the black orbs on the garage’s ceiling corners. He frowned. “Crafty mortals, is it to expose us?”
“No, it’s to prevent other humans from stealing or harming one another.” I closed the door behind me. I exhaled and hung my head. “Though you have just used it to expose us. Actually, just you, because I will pretend like I don’t know you.”
His gaze shifted back to me, a frown still on his lips. “How very American of you.” Aka how rude of me.
My nostrils flared, and his eyebrow raised, something I noticed he did when he was amused. The frown disappeared.
“Do not fret much, Ms. Monroe humans have made a habit of excusing away things they cannot understand. They will simply think something was wrong with their machine. And if it were witches, well they would not be surprised.”
“And if it doesn’t work out so perfectly?”
“We kill them,” he said, nonchalantly looking over the garage. “Are all the vehicles yours?”
I thought about telling him the truth, but since he was such a pain, I decided to have a little fun. “Yes, of course,” I said with an uppity air, lifting my head a bit. “I’m a wealthy and important person among humans. Someone would even say I’m like their queen.”
His eyes widened, and he took a step back and bowed. “Forgive me, your majesty—”
“Stop that!” I quickly pushed him up to stand straighter as another car entered the garage.
“Did you give that human permission to drive one your vehicles? Or has he stolen it, which is why there are people watching, your majesty?” he questioned, already moving to where the car was going to park, and I had to hold on to him for dear life, gazing up at his face.
“I was kidding. It was a joke. I’m not the queen of anything. I’m an art conservator and restorationist at The National Gallery of Art.”
“Ahhh…so you were lying to me.” The corner of his lips tugging up into a smile, and there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Ms. Monroe, I may not remember the last century, but I was not born so brief ago that you could fool me.”
I tried to let go of his hand, but he held me closer to him again, his arm snaking around my waist. “In this century, women do not take kindly to men touching them without their permission.”
“You grabbed me first if I recall.”
“I let go.”
“It seems unfair that you are able to grab me at your leisure, while I am prohibited from doing the same,” he replied, releasing me.
Again, I stepped back and took a deep breath I didn’t need just so I could explain. But before I could even get out the words, a woman walked by, talking loudly on her phone. She looked us over, mildly interested as if we were beneath her, our dingy, dirt-covered clothes making her powerwalk in her Channel boots.
“I swear, I need to move. They let just anyone in here now,” she whispered under her breath, wrapping her unnecessarily gloved hands around herself, speaking into the earpiece of her phone.
“Let’s talk inside,” I said to Theseus, cracking my jaw to the side before walking to the elevators behind the woman on her phone.
This same woman had closed the elevator in my face before, and I was sure she had left a note on my car when I had first moved in. When I stepped closer, she clenched her Gucci purse to her side and muttered goodbye on the phone, hanging up when the doors opened.
“Have you lived here long?” she asked, not to me, but to Theseus behind me as I stepped onto the elevator.