Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
He chuckles, turning to face me from the side. I watch as his hand dips beneath the waistband of his sweats. I try really hard to ignore the way his veins pulse over his muscles from flexing them, but I’m human, not that it would matter if I wasn’t. I’m sure Brantley could even work his way into a vampire’s bed. “I’m trying to figure something out…”
My eyes snap to his. “What’s that?”
He turns to face me, and now somehow, I’m even more aware of his thick muscles and tight abs. “I’m trying to figure out if you’ve always looked at me this way.”
I raise an eyebrow. “In what way?”
He does a really good half-smile. “Like you wanna eat me…”
My mouth turns dry, my tongue stuck to the top. I release it. “I—what?”
His smirk turns into a laugh, but not a loud one. He stifles his obvious desperation for it by curling his lips between his teeth, but his shoulders give it away because they can’t stop jiggling. “Go for your run, Mommy.”
I turn to exit, grabbing the door handle without looking back.
“Oh, and Dea?”
I pause, squeezing the handle with one hand while holding the two leads with the other. Brantley continues, “You can look at me like that all you want, but it won’t be me who will end up being the feast.”
I close the door behind me and continue down the hallway, pushing my pods back into my ears and pulling out my phone. Once I’ve hit the front door while opening Spotify, there’s already a guard standing on the other side.
He gestures for me to pass, and I do, well acquainted with this process.
Hitting “Freak on a Leash” by Korn, I start my jog instantly as the city car follows me down the driveway. They follow me through my normal six-mile run, because they know the routine. I run it every other day. Everything is still fresh on my mind.
What if I can’t trust Tillie? I barely know her or Madison. I’d like to say I know Brantley. I’d even like to say I know Bishop to an extent, or at the very least, I feel as though I do. Could what she is saying be true? I’ve never thought about having siblings, and the closest thing I ever got to one was with the boy who had an empty soul and carried the eyes of death.
I’m pulling off my hoodie after my run and giving the dogs water at the front of the house when I hear a car pull up. Tossing the hoodie, my phone, and pods onto the ground, I turn to see who it is. I haven’t seen a Maserati here before.
The door opens and Bishop steps out, wearing a leather jacket, jeans, boots, and a bandana hanging out the back of his pants.
“Is that mine?” I point to the white scarf that’s sticking out of his back pocket.
He smirks, grabbing the thin material and tossing it at me. “It is. Here.”
I catch it, unable to stop the laugh that’s bubbling up my throat. “It looks good on you.” I give it back to him and he takes it, tucking it back into his jeans. “Are you looking for Brantley?”
“He home?” Bishop asks, his eyes going up to the house.
“He was when I left, but that was about an hour ago.” I nibble on my bottom lip, again those same words wanting to come out. I know I should be talking with Brantley about this before anyone else—but does Bishop know? And again, is this true?
“You’re drifting off into space,” he says, and I unlatch the dogs from their lead, watching them run to the back of the house.
“Have you and Brantley known each other long?” I ask, and watch as he leans against his car. I take a seat on the first step of the house. It’s stupid, because we should be inside, but I don’t want to distract him from telling me something.
“All my life.”
His answer shocks me, but it shouldn’t. It’s obvious how close Brantley and Bishop are, as well as Nate and even Eli. They move around together like a synchronized gang. They occupy every and any area of the space they’re in.
“Is that the same with all of you?”
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and I look up at him, shading the sun from my eyes by cupping my hand against my forehead.
“Just wondering.”
Bishop pushes off his car and then drops down beside me. His cologne is different from Brantley’s. Stronger bodied. He pulls out a cigarette and lights the tip. I watch closely as he blows gray smoke out from between his lips before dragging his tongue over them. Do I look like him? “We’ve all known each other all our lives. Our families are…” He pauses, flicking the ash off the tip of his cigarette before continuing, “…intertwined.”