Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
After all the ways he’d wronged her, why had she done any of it? And just to sink the dagger a little further into the heart of him, she’d gotten hurt for her efforts.
And on top of it all, she was dying, too. Of course, mortality was a condition from which all humans suffered. But Kaira’s time was more limited than most. She was someone who saw beauty in the natural world and captured it so that others could see it, too. He couldn’t keep her locked up in his citadel, hidden away from the world, just for him.
Henrik’s fingers landed on the outsides of her thighs, clutching her just a little tighter. He breathed deeply, taking some of her incredible sweet scent into his lungs and, hopefully, his memory, too.
Before he lost the will, he gently pushed her back and rose from the bed. He cupped her uninjured cheek in his hand and kissed her forehead, his mouth filling with saliva at the luscious scent of her blood. He heaved a breath and made peace with his decision. And then he gave it voice.
“You are free to go,” he rasped. “Upon the nightfall, Jakob will return you to your hotel.” He made for the door.
“What? Henrik, I thought—”
The closing door cut off the rest of her words, but Henrik just kept hauling ass out of the infirmary. Moving forward, away from her. Even as a thousand pins and needles erupted against the palm of his right hand. He fisted it, refusing to linger on what that sensation might mean.
That, if he took her, they might blood match.
That, if they matched, she might become his mate.
That, if she were his mate, he might actually be able to live again.
But why in the name of all that was right and holy would she want him? And how could he possibly ask her to?
He wasn’t sure where he was going. He just needed motion, the distraction of putting one foot in front of the other. After a while, he ended up in his office on the opposite end of the compound from the infirmary.
Sitting heavily in the big leather chair behind his desk, his gaze fell on a folder lying dead center. Hadn’t been there before. Idly, he flipped it open.
SUBJECT: Kaira Sorensen
LAST KNOWN ADDRESS: Røsågade 7, 3. Floor, Copenhagen, Denmark
“Faen i helvete,” he muttered. Bloody hell. The dossier he’d asked for.
Even though he knew he shouldn’t—he really fucking shouldn’t—read another word, his eyes refused to heed his brain and continued to skim over the page.
He flew forward in his seat. “No. This can’t be.” He slammed his fist against the surface.
Jakob leaned in the open doorway and rapped twice against the jamb. “Problem?”
Henrik chuffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. I apparently pissed off the wrong person in a former life.” He tossed the file to the corner of the desk. Jakob could read it for himself.
Or not. He was beyond caring.
Eyeing him warily, his brother retrieved and opened the folder. “Son of a— Her father was a member of The Electorate Council? Jesus, Henrik, that probably means she would’ve—”
“I know.” He held up a hand. He didn’t need the male to finish the sentence, to tell him that, had her father lived, Kaira very likely would’ve been trained among the ranks of the Proffered, as so many of the daughters of The Electorate were.
The Council was comprised of influential human allies who assisted in the prosecution of their war against the Soul Eaters. In exchange for the humans’ silence on the vampires’ existence, their assistance in conducting the war when necessary, and their providing of the Proffered, the vampires gave them protection and blood, which cured many diseases and extended their lives.
Henrik’s debate about offering Kaira his blood roared back to life in his mind. Could his blood cure her leukemia?
“Does she know this?” Jakob asked.
Henrik blinked away his thoughts. “What? Oh. I think not. She was genuine in her surprise about our existence.” Only eight when her parents had died in a car accident, no doubt she hadn’t yet been made privy to that part of her father’s business. And apparently neither had the mother’s sister who raised her.
“Brother, this changes things.” Jakob tossed the folder to the desk.
Weary and heartsick, Henrik reclined into the chair and propped his feet on the corner of the desk. His boots thumped against the wood. He crossed his ankles and got comfortable. “It changes nothing. Pour the akevitt, will you?”
Jakob crossed the room to the small bar in the corner. Norwegians reputed the grain alcohol to be the “water of life.”
If only.
“Bring the bottle,” Henrik said.
His brother settled the bottle and two shot glasses in front of him. The warm scent of the spiced spirit reached his nose as the golden liquor filled the little glass. They clinked and tossed the alcohol back. Heat ripped down his throat and pooled in his gut.