Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“Oh, I— Um, no. You’re just the second person to ask me that today.”
Her voice fades into this breathy whisper.
Interesting.
Who was the first person?
“Is it because I gave you mouth-to-mouth?” I ask. That must be why she keeps staring at my lips. There’s an urge to taunt her, just a little to make that blush deeper, to watch her flutter and tremble, but I hold myself back, remembering my role. “It wasn’t personal. I had to make sure you were stabilized.”
She doesn’t answer, not at first.
Not until she lets out the smallest murmur, still looking down.
“…your teeth are really sharp.”
If I was a laughing sort of man, I’d bust a fucking seam.
“Yes. That.” I wasn’t expecting that answer, though I’m not surprised by it, either. I lean back in my chair with a sigh and take another sip of coffee. “Albinism usually comes with other abnormalities,” I say bluntly.
I hate this shit, even if she deserves an answer.
I have too much pride to talk about my condition like I’m ashamed of it.
If I speak about it matter-of-factly, others tend to respond in kind, instead of treating me like I’m a freak or like I’ll turn to ash in direct sunlight. I fix my gaze on her intently, tapping my fingers against the side of my cup before I continue.
“Unnaturally long canine teeth. Poor vision. Circulation issues. Skin cancer. Sunburns. General light sensitivity. Bruising. Blood disorders. The list is a mile long.” I shrug. “I wound up with vision, teeth, light sensitivity, and bruising on my bingo card.” I tap my right eyebrow. “Lasik. Contact lenses. Light therapy. Avoiding coffee tables with sharp corners. Though I’ve considered filing my teeth down.” I quirk a brow. “Biting my tongue hurts like a bitch.”
She’s been listening intently, watching me with that wide-eyed, curious gaze, and no judgment.
That’s new.
No judgment. No pity. No awful sympathy at how bad it must be to be me.
Then again, I suppose she’d know, wouldn’t she?
The way people look at you when they think you’re just a walking corpse that hasn’t figured out it could die at any minute.
But when she blinks and gives me a delayed laugh, it’s a whisper. Barely there.
It lights up her face with a flushed sweetness and makes her eyes glitter above the slim hand she brings up to cover her mouth. I cock my head, watching her.
“There you go. Laughter suits you better.” I choose my words carefully.
She instantly squeaks, her laughter fading. Her knuckles press against her mouth, her cheeks flushing again.
It’s too damn easy to tease reactions out of her.
She’s like a musical instrument.
I have to remind myself not to and instead refocus on her condition.
“It sounds like your asthma attacks are triggered by stress now. Did something trigger this one, Miss Grey?”
“Tal-ia,” she corrects sharply.
I expected that.
Then her nervous fingers are in her hair again, separating a lock of crimson like she always needs to keep her hands busy.
“I had a big meeting with a new client. A really wealthy client for a huge long-term project. I made it through the meeting okay, but the whole thing was really unsettling… all the panic came bubbling up, I suppose. The long walk didn’t help. I don’t even know if we’re going to take them on, but I was scared I screwed everything up.”
As she speaks, her gaze drifts past me, fixing on something far away. I glance over my shoulder and instantly realize what she’s looking at.
That giant house on the hill, casting its long shadow over the town like a phantom.
Now I know the client she means.
Not that it was a big secret when we’ve only got one wealthy family around these parts.
My interest sharpens. I look back to Talia.
“You met with the Arrendells?”
“Arrendell. Singular,” she says. “It was just Xavier. He said his parents are out of town, grieving in Italy or something.”
Interesting.
Suddenly, every prickling awareness of her attractiveness, her vulnerability, becomes secondary to a different urgency inside me. It’s almost catching a scent that tells me my prey is near, if I’ll only follow the lead.
Could this be an opportunity?
And could it end with closing in for the kill? Taking out all the hatred I’ve nursed for years on Xavier Arrendell’s all-too-tender pampered flesh.
I’ve thought long and hard about killing that fuck.
In my mind, I already know the smell of his blood, the sound of his pain.
Even though I know it’s not right—I know I shouldn’t want it, I know I have to uphold the law—I can’t stop.
I can’t halt the dreams where I watch the light fade from his eyes like a candle sputtering out.
The same way it did from my brother’s.
I keep my composure, though. No point in scaring her now.
“What did he ask you to do?”
“Um, only redecorate the entire huge-ass manor.” She blanches and takes another quick sip of her tea. “Really crazy. We’re talking new handcrafted furniture in every room and he wants a whole new interior design on top of it. I don’t even do much interior design. That’s not really our thing, but… I guess I’ll learn. Whatever I can with a good contractor.”