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)
Each time she felt herself dying, she wondered if it would be the one time that she didn’t come back. But it was always as if something spat her back out of the netherworld. She’d appear there long enough to feel the mists brush her soul, hear broken screams, and catch a glimpse of this or that … and then she’d be back.
Was there anything that could kill her for good? Wynter really didn’t know. She suspected that the Ancients could. They’d at the very least try if they learned what she strove so hard to hide. Which was one of the reasons why being around Cain so much wasn’t smart. It was like flirting with death, in a way. She couldn’t help herself, though. Or maybe she just didn’t want to.
He drew her back to him so effortlessly, and it wasn’t simply about sex. It was as if the darkness in him spoke to her own. Attracted it, even. It was hard to explain. But when she’d been involved with other males, she’d always felt like she didn’t ‘fit’ with them. Felt that they were lightyears apart in terms of what sort of people they were.
Cain, though … he was someone who truly knew about darkness. Someone who understood how vengeance could be such a driving force. Someone who made her feel. Really feel.
Fucked up though it might seem, she actually felt comfortable around him on some level. He was dangerous, yes, but so was she. He was capable of extreme cruelty, yes, but again so was she.
If anyone could understand her, if anyone could take her as she was, it would be him. And that was sort of comforting. So it was a real fucking shame that there might come a day when he actively tried to kill her.
Striding up the path toward Wynter’s cottage, Cain nodded at the lycans in the neighboring yard. Ever since the first night she’d slept in his bed, she hadn’t slept anywhere else. She’d come to him every evening after dinner, and she’d eaten breakfast with him each morning before heading home. So when she hadn’t turned up as usual that evening, he’d thought about sending Maxim to bring her to the Keep. But then Cain had reconsidered it, because summoning her felt … wrong. She wasn’t a mere resident, she was his. So he’d made his way to her home to find out the reason for the delay.
He knocked on the door, which swung open moments later to reveal Xavier.
“Is Wynter here?” Cain asked.
He nodded, stepped away from the door, and indicated for Cain to follow him inside. Strolling through the living area, Cain noticed a black cat curled up on a footstool near the fire. A cat with hot pink nail polish on her claws and what looked like gold mascara on her whiskers. She opened one eye, regarded him carefully, and then shut said eye.
Walking into the kitchen, Cain found Wynter sat at the table, her head resting on the surface, her eyes closed. He frowned, not liking how pale and drained she looked. His creature stilled, just as uneasy. They’d never once seen her look fragile before.
Ishtar’s words from earlier rushed back to Cain …
Something will kill her eventually. Age, illness, an accident, an attack.
Wynter had had a broken sleep the night before, so maybe it had simply taken its toll.
“She drifted off while eating,” Xavier told him, switching a kettle on to boil, utterly at ease with turning his back on an Ancient—something people generally avoided doing. In fact, whenever Cain entered a house, its inhabitants usually became tense and wary and either stared at the floor or watched his every move. Anabel and Hattie? They gave him a single nod and then went back to their conversation.
Pointing at an open book, Hattie looked at Anabel. “All I’m saying is that, realistically, her cervix would be in ruins if she had a harem that large. Especially when one of them is an alien with an overgrown appendage.”
Anabel briefly glanced away from a cauldron. “You’re concerned about realism when you’re reading a book about ETs with giant penises?”
“My first husband, bless his soul, was hung like a bull. My cervix took a thrashing during that marriage. If he’d been part of a harem, well, I can tell you right now that my ovaries would have been scrambled eggs. Anyway, back to my question—”
“No, not back to the question. We should forget about the question. We should always forget about your questions.”
“I just want to know if it’s some sort of kink I’m failing to understand.” Hattie switched her gaze to Cain. “You’re male, maybe you can help. Do you know why a man would decide to give a woman a facial during sex? I mean, all us ladies like using a rejuvenating mask now and then, but during intimate moments? No, I can’t see the appeal in it.”