Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Maybe he wasn’t shitting me, after all.
The thought rocks me back on my heels. This, out of everything, doesn’t make sense. I’m here. I’m more or less willing to play my part. I might hold out as long as possible, but it’s inevitable I end up in his bed at some point. Especially with that bite of his. He has absolutely no reason to heal me. None. Not when I’ve already admitted my father pulverized my knee because I have a history of running.
I don’t understand this vampire, and that scares me more than anything else that’s happened.
I make a circuit around the room. My suitcase is gone, which initially fills me with panic, but I find it tucked in the wardrobe, along with all my clothing that’s been unpacked. I frown at the neat row of shirts and pants and dresses. “Pushy.”
The thought of putting clean clothes on without cleaning my body first makes me leave the wardrobe and go check the second door I didn’t bother with this morning. Sure enough, it leads to a bathroom. I don’t have high hopes for the plumbing, but when I turn the facet on the large copper tub, the water comes out clear and hot.
I eye the door. I could try to block it, but what’s the point? If he really wants into the room, he’ll end up here, chair in front of the doorknob or no.
Will he see me not locking the door as an invitation?
I refuse to examine that thought too closely as I strip and step into the tub. The water is hot enough to make me hiss out a surprised breath, but I sink down into it all the same and lean my head back. I didn’t realize how cold I was until now, when heat begins soaking into my body.
The creak of a floorboard has me opening my eyes to find Malachi leaning against the wall across from the tub. I narrow my eyes. “Did you make a sound on purpose?”
“You seem opposed to me surprising you.”
“Gee, I wonder why?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, which leads me to realize he’s changed since I saw him last, too. Now he’s wearing a pair of low-slung pants…and nothing else. His body is too lean for his wide shoulders and sturdy frame, confirming my suspicion he’s gone without regular feedings for a long time. And he’s covered in scars. The one over his heart is the worst of them, but there are slashing and stabbing marks, and more than a few bullet holes. And that’s just what I can see from my position.
I frown. “If your healing power is so superior, why are you scarred up?”
“I’m surprised you don’t know. If the wound is made with silver, it doesn’t always heal properly.” He touches the one over his heart. “The scarring is mostly surface-level though.”
I hadn’t known that. Why didn’t I know that?
I study him. “Are you here to collect your daily feeding?”
“You don’t seem particularly opposed to the idea.”
No, opposed isn’t the word I’d use. Damn it, but even the sight of him has desire coursing through me. There’s no point in denying it, either, because his senses are acute enough to pick up on all the signs. “Might as well get it over with.”
Malachi’s lips curve. “Such a noble sacrifice.”
“You’re stronger than me. Faster than me. And your bite ensures I become a willing victim the second you get your fangs into my skin. Fighting you is pointless, and I try to save my strength for battles I can win.” It sounds logical enough, even if I feel anything but.
The bastard laughs. It’s just as rusty as the last time. “No, Mina. I’m not here to take my daily feeding.”
I draw my knees to my chest and refuse to categorizing the sinking feeling inside me. “Then why are you here?”
“I suppose I owe you an apology.” He studies me for a long moment. “All the others who’ve come through that door felt differently about the role than you do. If I hadn’t been half-starved, I would have realized it.”
Half-starved. I knew it. “Why wait for your meal to come to you? You’re more than capable of taking care of it yourself.”
He ignores the question and taps his fingers against his forearm. “I suppose if you want your freedom, you’re more than welcome to leave.”
Ah, so this is just another game. I glare. “You should really work on your sense of humor. You know as well as I do I can’t leave.”
“Do I?” He doesn’t move. “Walk out the door. I won’t stop you.”
“And the guards my father has posted around the property?”
His mouth tightens. “I’ll handle it. I’m more than capable of keeping them distracted long enough for you to slip away.”
For a moment, I almost believe him. Freedom is what I crave more than anything else in the world. If there’s a chance…