Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 156210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
He waves at me, and I step toward him without a thought. He’s the one who’s saved my prince twice already, and if there’s one other person I can trust in this den of snakes, it's him.
A whirl of icy rain hits me the moment I’m out of the room, but there’s no time to hesitate, and I grab his hand, ready for anything.
I understand it all without words. Shadowcraft can’t be used in the tower, but he’s not in the tower.
Vertigo makes nausea rise in my throat when I take the leap of faith over the void under us and into Tristan’s strong arms. I wrap my arms around his neck for good measure, but he’s holding me so firmly, I feel safe despite hanging in the air, hundreds of feet above ground. Harsh wind covers my face with my own wet hair, saving me from the terrifying view.
Tristan’s shadow wings are a solid black, and leathery, like those of a bat. Or a demon.
What matters is that he’s here to take me to Kyran, which means he’s alive and safe enough to have planned this. I scream into Tristan’s shoulder when lightning cuts across the dark sky, contrasting with the moon that’s now low in the sky and reached the shade of old blood.
But my savior fears nothing, and as I close my eyes, desperate not to look down. He carries me away from my prison with the ease of a seagull snatching someone’s French fries.
My sense of balance spins, as if the laws of physics no longer matter in a storm such as this, but moments later, I dare to peek over my shoulder, and my stomach curls against my spine when I spot a large greenhouse perched at the very top of the palace.
It’s hard for me to tell with the world twisting around me and rain smacking me in the face, but I’m pretty sure I’m being taken to the Ancestral Sanctuary Kyran pointed out to me on the way to the village. Which makes a lot of sense, as it’s also high up, making it easier for Tristan to get there from my tower.
The glow of small, red lamps reveals the shapes of huge plants inside, but I don’t get much chance to see them all in detail, because moments later, my feet meet a puddle, and Tristan steps away with a grin. “There.”
I don’t get to take a full breath of damp air before the glass door leading into the greenhouse swings open, revealing Kyran. He pulls apart a huge plush blanket, and I step right into his arms, out of the rain.
The misgivings he put in my head at the end of the ball no longer matter as I cling to him, seeking the comfort of his warmth, and of his soothing scent, which I can no longer live without. Tristan must have closed the glass door behind me, because I can't feel the wind on the back of my head any longer. I don't think about him anymore when Kyran’s mouth opens mine. His tongue is pure bliss, and as I whimper, falling deeper into him, I lose my breath, trying to keep up with my lover.
We should talk about everything that’s happened, about the wedding, our future, but I have to get my fill of him first. His tongue is so familiar by now, and yet it never fails to make my heart beat faster. A greedy part of me likes that I’m the only one who’s ever tasted his soft lips.
My breath evens out in his presence. My body knows he can protect me from anything coming our way. But as my hands climb his shoulders and meet the collar made of silver and leather, I’m plucked out of our happy place and thrown into the dark reality.
I lean back, staring at the thick band with rows of symbols etched into it, but Kyran cups my face when he meets my gaze. “Are you all right?”
“Me? I… I’m fine,” I dismiss it. “Tristan helped with my hand, and my prison even has wine, so can’t say I’m complaining,” I joke because I want to see him smile. Especially when he’s in such a terrible position. He’s a powerful man even without access to shadowcraft, but it must hurt him to have his skill taken away. “Are you allowed to be here?”
He exhales and steps back, grabbing a black robe with a long train and wide, lushly embroidered sleeves. “Change into this. I… don’t want you to catch a cold because of me on top of everything else,” he says, holding the garment open.
I have to turn around so he can open the buttons at the back of my wedding shirt, and I can’t help the sadness filling my chest. He was supposed to be doing this on our wedding night. We were supposed to be happy.