Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I stay silent while we leave the Underworld. She’s practically vibrating with nerves and questions, and she lasts longer than I expect, managing to wait until we’re settled in the back of my town car to speak. “If you were going to give me the money, why not just do it yesterday when we talked?”
I twist to look at her, finally—finally—releasing my mask for the barest few seconds. I let her see my hunger, my anger, my lust. Then I wrap it up in a warm smile that I’m all too aware doesn’t reach my eyes. “I want you, Zurielle. Now I have you for the next seven days. It’s as simple as that.”
As simple and as complicated as that.
Chapter 8
Zurielle
Ursa wanted me, so she bid on me. It seems simple enough, but there’s nothing simple about this situation. I may be naive at times, but I’m not foolish enough to ignore the connection between her and my father nor to pretend it has nothing to do with her winning the bid on me. Maybe she wants me, but having me for the next week will be a strike at my father and that has to be more attractive to her.
I push the worry from my mind. It’s something to deal with at the end of this week, and maybe not even then. With Alaric free, we can leave Carver City, leave Olympus, just leave and go somewhere my father’s anger will never touch us, move to a city where no one knows the names Triton or Ursa. The thought makes me smile a little, but I let it drift away as the car pulls into a parking garage that looks like any other.
Ursa barely waits for the car to stop before she’s out, motioning for me to follow her. The same Black woman from before climbs out of the driver’s seat. Ursa waves a hand at her. “This is Monica. You won’t see her much this week, but as my head of security, if she tells you to do something for your safety, do it.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
Monica gives me a once-over and shakes her head. “You’re going to regret this.”
For a moment, I think she’s talking to me, but then Ursa’s laugh booms through the echoing space of the parking garage. “You know me, darling. I make a habit of regretting nothing. I’m certainly not going to regret this week.”
“Sure.” Monica rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say, darling.”
I half expect Ursa to slap her down over the blatant familiarity, but she surprises me by laughing again. “You missed dinner. Go get something to eat after you check in with our people.”
“Bossy.”
“I am your boss, yes.”
Monica gives a slim smile, but it dies when she turns to me. “I take Ursa’s safety seriously. You fuck with her, and I’ll toss you off a balcony without a second thought.”
I blink. “Um.” I really, really want to believe she’s joking, but her expression is deadly serious. “I’m not going to fuck with her.” As if I would, when doing so would risk violating our agreement. As if I could.
Ursa raises her brows. “If that’s all?”
“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here.” Monica waves us away.
I don’t realize that she’s not following us into the elevator until Ursa pushes the button and the doors slide shut. That’s when my nerves begin to get the best of me. My heartbeat kicks up, slamming against my ribcage. I’m at this woman’s mercy, and I should be preparing to do whatever she asks and bear whatever she wants to do to me. Simply survive it.
I am afraid. But I’m not only afraid.
The thought of her dragging those nails over my skin? Of watching her strip out of that dress and seeing what she has on—or doesn’t—beneath it? Of kissing her and kneeling before her spread thighs…
I shiver.
No, I’m not only afraid. Or even primarily afraid.
I should be. Wanting Ursa might be the worst mistake I’ve made yet, but I can’t help how drawn I am to her.
The doors open, and she steps out. I follow but stop short. I don’t know what I expected. Something minimalist and chic, maybe. That’s all the rage right now, and it seems like everyone with money in Olympus has jumped on the trend.
Ursa’s penthouse feels like a home. The front door leads into a lavish living room with a thick patterned blue rug over the cool-gray marble floors. The couches are a paler gray with blue and gray patterned pillows. A large white stone fireplace sits in one wall and in the corner opposite is a deceptively delicate fountain that stretches nearly to the ceiling. The windows overlook the city, spanning the breadth of the wall opposite the door. It’s remarkably cozy.
Ursa props a hand on her hip and looks at me. “Strip.”