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)
Yes, in the back of my mind, I know he’s a cop. He’s wearing a navy-blue police uniform.
I’ve seen him before.
I even remember when he first moved here a few years ago. Half the town whispered about Junior Sergeant Micah Ainsley because they’d never seen an albino before. The other half whispered because he was from ‘the big city’—New York City, I think—and they thought he’d be stuck up as hell and cosmopolitan.
But when he quietly blended into our town, mostly out of sight when he’s not walking his dog or doing local patrols, everyone just sort of stopped chewing that bone, and he faded into the scenery.
I’ve never had a reason to talk to him.
No one bothers us much at A Touch of Grey, not even the odd teenage vandals during tourist season. We don’t deal with the police.
So I’ve never really gotten a look at him up close, just quick glimpses as he heads past the shop some mornings with his hands full of coffee.
But now, he’s all I see.
He becomes my whole world as he seals his lips to mine and literally breathes life into me and I blush like I’m dying.
Vaguely, I know what he’s doing.
He gave me a few pumps off my inhaler, but it takes a few minutes for the prednisone to really hit, and those excruciating minutes can be life or death.
That’s why he’s sharing his breath.
A taste of his life, helping me hold on to mine.
But my drowning mind remembers something else, too.
A teenage fantasy. Dark dreams I’d never tell anyone about when they’d just laugh at me for being so excited by a pale, inhumanly beautiful man with a dangerous mouth and eyes drawn like swords.
Christian Dracul.
…okay. Yes. I was one of those freaks growing up.
Totally vampire-obsessed, and the movie version of Christian could curl my toes with the thought of his lips at my throat, so hungry and seductive.
…and it’s not so different from what’s happening now, is it?
That’s what a vampire man does.
He gives you a piece of himself to make you like him.
He brings you back from the dead, sharing his blood like Officer Ainsley shares his breath now.
I’m trapped in the most surreal place right now.
I should be panicking. My chest caving in. The pain stitching up my lungs until I pass out.
I know this feeling all too well.
Instead, I feel like I’m dreaming.
I must be when all I can feel is this slow, molten warmth as the tightness in my chest slowly eases. It feels like escaping a giant’s fist.
His mouth burns so hot against mine. I taste a hint of coffee and something stark and creamy-minty every time he exhales.
His touch feels far too warm for the undead, too.
The graze of his teeth teases my lips.
That’s why I think I’m dreaming.
Because I swear his teeth feel sharper than any man’s have a right to be.
My heart rabbits, but not because of the asthma attack anymore. Because right now, I am so confused.
The logical explanation for what just happened battles the weird fantasy devouring me and making me wonder if this is all a grand delusion from my oxygen-starved brain.
But his eyes are too real. They never leave mine.
That pale, stark color completely swallows my world.
I don’t even remember why I had an asthma attack.
But suddenly, it’s over.
Suddenly, Officer Ainsley leans away from me and I’m looking up at him through a haze of tears while the sun forms a burning halo behind his head.
He’s suddenly cast in shadows, and all I can make out is his athletic silhouette, tall and strong with an older runner’s frame, so sleek inside a crisp dark uniform that seems tailored for the graceful angles of his body.
Then one strong arm slides under me and he lifts me up, cradling me against his wall of a chest. His warmth envelops me.
“Are you with me now? Are you feeling all right?” he whispers.
I don’t answer.
I’m too dizzy.
I can’t even speak and it has nothing to do with the unwanted audience witnessing my crappiest day ever.
It has everything to do with my gaze locked on his mouth.
It's still so very red.
So wet, too, gleaming and slick.
Like we’ve been kissing.
Like that’s really what I need to be thinking about right now.
He studies me with a searching gaze.
He doesn’t smile.
If anything, he looks like he doesn’t know how, even if that scarlet mouth can be so generous.
“Feeling better, Miss Grey?” he asks. His voice is dry, dispassionate, serious yet somehow reassuring.
I blink slowly.
Yeah, I’m… definitely not reacting very well right now.
Blame it on the attack, though I can feel the medicine now, easing that suffocating, reminding my lungs how to work again.
“H-how…” Talking is hard, my throat constricted so tight, barely a whisper squeezing past. “…how do you know my n-name?”
“Small town.” His lips twitch at the corners, but no… no smile. He tilts his head toward the far edge of the town square, our shop a short ways down the lane. “I remembered you work at the furniture shop approximately thirty seconds after I was sure you weren’t going to die on me.”