Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Did he go to the police? Yeah, and tell them what? He was the nephew of a crime boss and he’d been bitten by a…
He touched the side of his neck, probing the puncture wounds. Shouldn’t they hurt, he wondered.
He couldn’t worry about that either. He needed to get out of this building, and go—where…? Where could he crash? Going back to his apartment wasn’t an option. One of his uncle’s assassins would be waiting for him there—
Mickey’s hideout. He could go to Mickey’s secret place, the one his cousin didn’t tell nobody about, that Evan only knew because he’d found out by mistake and Mickey had thought he was too stupid to believe the lie he’d been fed.
When there was a bump to a halt, he waited. And waited some more.
With his heart pounding, he went for the seam in the panels. Shoving his hands into the crack, he tried to pry things apart—and as he got nowhere, he lost it, flailing, scratching, pounding—
Bing!
The doors opened. But he didn’t move.
Splaying out his fingers, he looked at where the tips had been scrubbed raw. They were black with oil.
He told himself it was from the puddle he’d woken up in. But then he turned his palms face up.
Drip. Drip. Drip—
His blood was… black. He was bleeding… the oil…
Evan opened his mouth and screamed.
As the elevator doors reclosed on him.
* * *
When Nalla re-formed, it wasn’t anywhere near one of the entrance houses in that cul-de-sac that led down into the Wheel’s subterranean sets of quarters. No, she was out in the countryside, in front of a rambling farmhouse that had a curl of smoke rising from its brick chimney, a charming wraparound porch, and a big tree in the yard. Walking up the shoveled path, she knew she should have gone home. Also knew that if she had to spend all day locked underground with her father and her mahmen, she was going to lose her fucking mind.
It seemed far colder out here than it had been downtown, and the treads of her running shoes squeaked on the snowpack. When she hopped up the four steps to the porch, she thought of the steps leading into the sitting pit at that club.
God, she couldn’t believe she had trampled all those drinks. She could believe she’d killed those two slayers, though. Her father had insisted on training her himself, and no, it hadn’t just been for self-defense. She knew about explosives, poisons, and how to sneak up behind someone and piano-wire them.
She had loved that time with him. It had always been so special because he’d carved those hours out just for her. Her father spent so much time in the field and training soldiers, and her mahmen always got him during the daytime when everyone was hunkered down and sleeping.
Hard to be third in line, even though she’d known he had so many responsibilities.
As soon as she stepped onto the porch, the front door opened for her, and the platinum-haired female on the other side was a vision in a gray sweater and black pants. Then again, did Rahvyn ever look bad? No. She was like an ethereal pool of moonlight, even as she lived and breathed.
“You are supposed to be off tonight,” the female said with a smile.
“Well, I had some extra time.” Nalla stomped her feet on the mat to get most of the snow out of her sneaker bottoms. “Figured I’d see if I could help out.”
“You are always so giving—” Rahvyn glanced down and recoiled. “Are you all right?”
For a split second, Nalla couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Then she swallowed a curse: Lesser blood on her parka. Nate’s blood, too.
She closed her eyes. “I’m fine. I just need… a shower, a change of clothes, and some privacy. Only for the rest of the night.”
“Of course. That is what we are here for, are we not.”
Stepping over the threshold, Nalla felt like she was entering the place for the first time. Then again, she’d never come here as a resident, and as she’d explained what she’d needed and been greeted with such acceptance, she had a fresh perspective on what they did here: Luchas House had been established in memory of Uncle Qhuinn’s brother, who had died decades ago. Its purpose was to provide transitional housing for young who could no longer stay at Safe Place because they were males who had gone through the change, and to give support and skills training to males and females who were seeking to live independently after trauma or parental death. Nalla had started as a volunteer, gotten her social work degree through a human university—thanks to remote learning—and then been brought on as a full-time counselor.
“Let me take that coat and clean it for you.”
As Nalla let the thing get peeled off her shoulders, she glanced around the main living room. Over the last thirty years or so, the furniture had changed, and out in the back, the kitchen had been done over twice—but the vibe was always cozy, especially with the fire crackling in the hearth, and the throw blankets that were folded over the soft sofas and deep armchairs. Off to the left, a wing had been added about a decade ago, with individual counseling rooms and a group meeting space on the ground level, and another five bedroom suites built in underneath. There was also an annex with staff rooms and office space that was connected by a tunnel that ran under the lawn.