Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
I was always dispassionate in my kills. Calculating and cold. I was a mere instrument of death, taking out people who needed removing from the world.
I had no illusions about the shadowy world of crime my father and I operated in. There were few innocents, and I always had enough time to research my subjects before taking their lives to satisfy myself that none were in that category. I had enough blood on my hands at this point; I knew I wasn’t an innocent either. But my mother had been, so I respected life and told myself I’d never accept collateral damage.
Still, now, the buzzing red rage burning through my veins thinking about my uncle’s betrayal. . . I open my eyes, shaking.
I understand my father more than I ever have.
I want to kill my uncle and everyone he’s ever loved. And I don’t want to do it quickly. I want to make him suffer. I want him to beg me for mercy. Then I want to deny him it.
I look down at my second knife, which immediately calms me. It’s almost as beautiful as the first, though it’s a more obvious weapon. Bigger and shorter, though not heavier, it has a sharp, tapered point and a hook crafted into the steel.
It’s a knife made for gutting.
I set both knives on the bathroom counter and stare at them, my mind calming. Yes, I will make my uncle suffer before the end. And I will make whoever helped him watch helplessly before I do the same to them.
I pace the small bathroom, then shake my hands out vigorously as I look at the door. Even as my heart thumps for revenge, it’s strange to come back to my body and the here and now and remember I’m in a castle surrounded by monster men.
First, I have to escape here and get back there.
I quickly pull on the other woman’s clothes, frowning at the bright colors. There’s a turquoise sweater with peach-colored circles, but at least the jeans are dark blue. I’m European. I prefer dark colors. And considering my job, I usually only want to stand out when I use my assets as a distraction. It can be helpful to be a small, pretty blonde woman sometimes. No one ever expects the gutting knife until it’s twisting and pulling their intestines out before their very eyes. And usually, by then, they’re too choked up on their own blood to express their surprise.
It’s too cold in any room without a blazing fire to linger long, so I pull the sweater over my head, intentionally not looking in the mirror.
I look at the knives on the counter instead. Carefully, one side at a time, I stick the unsheathed knives into the pockets so they pierce through the fabric. I smile at the ease with which they slice through the material.
Then I pull them back out, sheathe them, shove the sheathed blades into the pockets, and pull the jeans on. The woman and I are close to the same size, and I don’t care if the monsters can see the sheaths through the fabric of the jeans. They can apparently crumple steel with their hands, so there’s no point hiding them anyway. Tomorrow, though, I’ll be gone from this place, and if I face another creature like that lynx, I want my blades within easy reach.
When I emerge from the bathroom, the big two-faced man with wings and a tail is there. I jerk, about to slam the door in his face, when he’s yanked backward by the one with all the arms.
“I am sorry for my brothers,” he says, jerking two thumbs toward the other one. I’ve noticed that sometimes his arms do that—move in tandem with his speech. It’s curious. I suppose I don’t think about moving my arms, so maybe it’s the same for him. Has he always had them, or are they some sort of lab experiment gone wrong?
I’m still not sure I actually believe in magic. People do nutty things with genetic experimentation these days, and I more than most know that people are doing all sorts of things on the black market. . .
“Dinner’s ready,” says the grinning one of the two-faced guy, popping up behind him. “May I escort you to dinner, beautiful?”
I frown harder in his direction, but it doesn’t seem to turn him off. If anything, his maniacal grin only gets brighter. My hand strays towards my pocket and the knife there. Maybe it’s only the lion-goat brother who can crumple steel like a tin can. If Two-Face attacks, I know I’ll at least try to get in a well-aimed slice or stab first. Those necks look awfully sliceable.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ll be joining us for dinner!” The woman from earlier hurries forward when she sees me, and I withdraw a step. I pull my hands from my knives in my surprise, especially when she comes barreling towards me. “Oh my god, it’s so nice having another human around. I’m Hannah. I can’t remember if I introduced myself earlier.”