Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Excuse me while I vomited.
“Sarasin’s Midnight is tomorrow,” she said, looking at Vasilios. “Will you finally give in and come as my guest?”
“Very kind of you to ask, Monica, but I actually received an invitation myself this time,” he replied. “So I’ll be attending as an official guest.”
Sarasin’s Midnight? What the hell was that? It sounded ominous.
She pouted like she was disappointed and sidled closer to him. “Moving up in the world, are we?”
I became aware of her sharp fingernails. I couldn’t tell if they were natural or if she’d somehow filed them into shape, but they were like sharp little daggers as she lightly grazed them down Vasilios’s chest. For a second, I saw a glimmer of wariness in his gaze, which was odd. He was over a hundred years old if I remembered correctly. No way was he intimidated by the demon. She didn’t seem as old as him, nor as powerful.
He lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps.”
She was visibly annoyed as she brought her attention to Sven. “What about you?”
“I’m otherwise engaged,” Sven replied evenly.
For a second, I thought she might lose her temper, but then she seemed to regain her composure, a cocky smile spreading across her plump lips. “Your loss,” she said with a flick of her short, glossy hair as she strutted away.
“Okay,” I said once she was out of earshot. “What the hell is Sarasin’s Midnight, and why didn’t either of you want to go with her?”
Vasilios shot me a look I couldn’t decipher. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do. I want to know everything I can about this place.”
“It’s better if you remain uninformed about this particular event. Believe me, it’s for your own best interest.”
I folded my arms. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’ll ask someone else.”
“Good luck with that. No one else will talk to you.”
I scowled, about to argue that the woman in the cell next to mine had spoken with me, not to mention Serg, but I didn’t have the energy right then. The hunger for blood was becoming a little bit overwhelming. I felt distinctly woozy.
Vasilios frowned at me. “You look ill. What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” I said, trying my best not to faint.
He studied me closer. “You need blood. Why don’t you just—”
“That old warlock is coming over again,” Sven interrupted.
An elderly man who’d been sitting on the benches had risen and was walking directly toward us. He had long grey hair tied back in a ponytail, and he looked like he was well into his seventies. How awful it must be to live in such a place at his age. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.
It took him a while to reach us. His gait was slow, and I wondered how long he’d been locked up and what he’d done to deserve it. He must’ve been a younger man when he committed his crime because I couldn’t imagine him doing much harm in his frail condition.
“What do you want?” Vasilios asked once the man finally reached us. He blinked at Vasilios’s abrupt tone.
“I just came over to say hello. Family needs to stick together in a place like this.”
Hold on a second? Family?
“We might be family, but you know we can’t spend time together. You’re a warlock. It isn’t done.”
“Oh, screw the rules,” the old man spat. “I want to get to know you. I’ve been in this place for almost twenty years. I’ll be dead soon, and I won’t waste any more time not knowing my great-uncle.”
It suddenly dawned on me. I knew exactly who he was, and Vasilios wasn’t the only one he was related to. My coming to the prison had happened so fast that Peter and I barely had a chance to discuss the fact that I might cross paths with the one and only Marcel Girard.
It was a name I’d heard a lot over the course of my childhood, and now, there he was. It was almost anticlimactic seeing him, his weathered face and grey hair. His features were recognisable, though. He definitely had the look of a Girard, the long, straight nose, the high forehead.
Despite his frailty, his presence put me on edge because I knew how he’d betrayed my parents. I was also worried that he might recognise me or, at the very least, see some resemblance to my mother or father. At that moment, I was glad to be battered and dirty, covered in days-old blood and grime. I was barely recognisable.
“Like I said,” Vasilios replied to him. “It isn’t done. Maybe one day, if we ever get out of this place—”
Marcel scoffed. “We’re not getting out of here. They’ll never allow it.”
“Unlike you, I’m not serving a life sentence.”
“Doesn’t matter. They always figure out a way to stop us from leaving. Why do you think so many people end up hanging from that tree?” He motioned to the tree at the end of the yard that Vasilios had warned me away from. Not that I had any intention of going near it, not now that I knew people had died there. My vampire side was hypersensitive to death. If I got near the tree, I might be able to smell some remnants of those who’d passed.