Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Azazel linked his fingers behind his head. “Well, she didn’t hit on me.”
“She would have done if you didn’t loathe her,” said Seth.
Azazel’s brow creased. “I don’t hate her. I just like to pretend she’s dead.”
Seth sighed. “I have to say, that sounds like hate to me.”
Azazel gave an indifferent shrug. “It’s a weird point of pride for her that she’s had two brothers, you know. It’s like she thinks you two broke some kind of bro-code for her.”
Holding back a snort, Cain downed more of his whiskey. In truth, Seth had spoken with him before getting involved with Ishtar, wanting to be sure that Cain would be fine with it. Cain’s only worry had been that she’d shit all over Seth.
“Really, I brought all this on myself.” Seth skimmed a hand over his close-cropped, dark-blond hair. “I saw how she was with Cain; I ignored the red flags. But it was like with Lilith and Dantalion. When they were together, Lilith came across as a shrew, but it was simply that they didn’t fit. They weren’t good for each other.”
“You were good for Ishtar,” Cain told him as he returned to the liquor cabinet to top up his glass. “You’re steady. Patient. You’re the kind of man she needs. But Ishtar’s more about what she wants than what she needs.” That had always been her problem.
“Yeah.” Seth let out a long sigh. “So, what were you two talking about? Anything interesting?”
Azazel beamed. “Actually, it’s fucking fascinating.”
Seth blinked. “Oh? What?”
The clock chimed, and Azazel softly swore. “Gotta go. Walk with me, I’ll tell you everything,” he said to Seth. The two stood upright as Azazel began, “So I spoke to my source at Aeon—”
A knock came at the door.
“Yes?” Cain called out.
Maxim stepped inside the parlor. “There’s a coven here requesting to see an Ancient. They want residency.”
“All right,” said Cain. “Bring them to me.”
Hearing footfalls, Wynter turned away from the painting she’d been admiring to see the gargoyle coming toward her.
He swept his gaze over her and the others. “Follow me.”
Wynter raised an Are you ready for this? brow at her crew, who all nodded. “Let me do the talking, please.” Because Christ knew what kind of shit they’d blurt out, and they did not need to be offending an Ancient.
Trailing after their guide, she asked, “Who has agreed to see us?”
“Cain,” he replied.
Her heartbeat stuttered. Not the best news, considering he’d been described as a mental sadist, but it was better than being turned away.
Wynter passed through many ornamental arches and glanced into various rooms, noting several people lingering around.
Rolling back her shoulders, she fixed a placid look on her face. Innocuous, staid, uninteresting—that was what she was going for. Wynter wanted to fade into the background and draw as little attention as possible while here. She wanted to be simply another resident, wanted to come across as a mere run-of-the-mill witch.
Finally, her guide halted near a mahogany door and wrapped his knuckles on it. A deep voice bid them to enter. Following the gargoyle into the room, Wynter almost blinked in surprise. She’d expected a simple office. It was a parlor. Gothic and elegant, it had antique Victorian furnishings, thick red drapes, a large stone fireplace, Persian rugs—
Sharp, hooded eyes clashed with hers, so serpent-like in their intensity that it tripped every one of her inner danger alarms. At the same time, though, her body perversely perked up. And she couldn’t really judge it for that.
Long and lean and supremely male, this man was perfect in form. His face looked carved from stone, all sharp angles and hard lines like an uncut jewel. His short, smooth hair was the color of obsidian, and he had the kind of full, carnal mouth that made a girl wonder just what he could do with it. His eyes were definitely his best feature, though—they were dark and almost … lustrous, like two black pearls.
So this was Cain … The originator of murder, the ancestor of envy, the quintessential personification of sin.
Someone could have warned her that he was also built to compel and seduce.
He stood tall and straight with his shoulders back and his feet planted—the image of self-possession. The long-sleeved tee he wore stretched tight across a delightfully toned chest. He’d shoved the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing ancient-looking tattoos. Even his forearms were toned, like those of a drummer.
“The coven I mentioned,” the gargoyle said to him.
Cain lifted a glass tumbler from a liquor cabinet. “So I see.” His voice was a deep, rumbly, I’ll talk dirty to you all night long kind of sexy that made her think very filthy thoughts. “You can leave now, Maxim.”
The guy obligingly breezed out of the room.
Cain took a swig of his drink, his gaze sweeping over the others, who’d all fanned out behind her. His eyes then once more locked with hers, unapologetically direct.