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)
Her pulse skittered as his long legs began to cover the space between them. He moved with the sinuous grace of a tiger on the hunt, each step slow and precise, like he was callously savoring every fluid stride that took him closer to his prey. Damn, he had an explicit, sexy rawness to him. An edge. Not a devil-may-care edge; no, the edge of an apex predator who knew he was the penultimate alpha male and wouldn’t hesitate to slit your throat if you stepped a foot wrong. And she was entirely unprepared for how much that revved her engines.
Silently cursing her unruly hormones, she kept her expression blank, trying and failing not to admire the muscles bunching and flexing beneath his shirt. While her combat-trained mind instinctively plotted all kinds of potential pre-emptive strikes just in case he moved to hurt her, the entity inside her blinked and lifted its head. It went on high alert, but she sensed no panic from it. It didn’t feel threatened or vulnerable. She wasn’t sure if it could feel fear.
Finally, Cain came to a stop in front of her, so close she could feel his body heat. He gave her a lazy, head-to-toe perusal. An electric awareness snapped the air taut as little sparks seemed to spring from her to him. Not liking that visceral chemistry or the damn fluttering in her stomach, she fought the frown that tried tugging at her brow.
Towering over her, he watched her. Studied her. Missed nothing. “I am Cain. And you must be … ?”
She gave him a respectful dip of the chin and said, “Wynter.”
“Wynter,” he echoed, swirling his tumbler. “Pretty name.”
“It is, isn’t it?” said Delilah, remaining slightly behind Wynter. “Perfect for a Priestess.”
Wynter felt her lips thin.
“So you’re a coven?” asked Cain.
Since they no longer needed to pose as one, Wynter shook her head. “No, we’re—”
“The Bloodrose Coven.” Delilah reached past Wynter and handed him a fucking business card.
Wynter whirled on her. “What in the hell? When did you get—you know what, we’ll talk about this later.” She quickly introduced the others, thankful they remained quiet.
Cain inclined his head at them, a ghost of a smile now touching one corner of his mouth. It didn’t soften his expression or relax Wynter’s nerves. Something told her he’d still wear that hint of a smile while caning your fingers.
“Drink?” he offered.
“No, thanks.” She’d rather keep her wits about her.
The others also politely turned down his offer.
He gestured at one of the sofas. “Sit.” An instruction, not an invitation. It wasn’t spoken rudely, just in an expectant, no-nonsense tone that told her this was a man used to being in power.
He was also undoubtedly used to being obeyed … so it would probably be best not to spend a lot of time around him, because Wynter had a will of her own and wasn’t afraid to use it. That wouldn’t help with her whole ‘innocuous’ act.
She sat in the center of the couch he’d indicated and then crossed one leg over the other. Anabel and Hattie sat either side of her while Delilah and Xavier each claimed an armrest.
Cain sank onto the sofa opposite them and took another swig of his drink. “Maxim tells me you came to apply for residency.”
Wynter nodded. “That’s right.”
“I won’t ask where you’re originally from or why you’d choose to move to Devil’s Cradle—that’s your business. But I do need to be certain that you’re all fully aware of the realities of this town.” He balanced his glass on his thigh. “It was founded by myself and the other Ancients, all of whom live beneath the surface. There are rules, and everyone is expected to obey them. Punishments tend to be severe. Still, fights often break out. It can be difficult for several breeds of preternatural to coexist in a small town.”
“The population seems bigger than I thought it would be.”
“Oh, Devil’s Cradle is home to many creatures. Some merely come here because they haven’t been accepted anywhere else. I’m talking hybrids, misfits, cursed beings, or those with mutations. We also have species hiding out because they’ve been hunted near to extinction. Then there are the others, and most are the definition of unsavory. Outcasts, criminals, crazies. They have prices on their heads or are fleeing from persecution.” He idly tapped his finger on his glass. “Every single resident has one thing in common—they’re desperate for safety.”
A little like Wynter and her crew, then.
“If you become one of us, the Ancients here will protect and shelter you. We will never give you up to anyone who may come for you, we will never ostracize you, we will never hold you accountable for anything you did before coming here. But there’ll be a price.”
“Will there be any exceptions to the whole ‘not giving us up to anyone who’d come looking for us’ thing?” asked Xavier.