Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
She went by the name “Ghost Girlie” on social media and had her own YouTube channel devoted to her ghost hunting exploits. It was a use of her talents that didn’t involve dealing with individual clients for hours on end like her aunt did when she read the cards for people. It also beat the hell out of being a bank teller, which was what Sam had been doing before her channel took off.
“Yes, I’ve been watching your show,” R’orn growled. “Parts of it, anyway. It mostly seems to consist of you walking around abandoned domiciles, jumping at shadows, and talking to dead humans who aren’t there.”
Sam shot him another glare.
“You think they aren’t there because you can’t see them. But I assure you—none of what I do is a trick or a gimmick. I can see the people I’m talking to, even if you can’t.”
“So you really think you’re talking to spirits?” R’orn shook his head. “I thought humans had medication for disorders like that.”
“All right—that’s it.” Sam stalked over to him, her feet crunching in the drifts of dead leaves on the ground, and poked him in his broad, muscular chest. “I’ve had just about enough of your sarcasm and rudeness!” she told him. “So you can just fly right back up to the Mother Ship now—I don’t need you!”
R’orn crossed his arms over his broad chest, his biceps bulging with the move.
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “Because you do need me. Have you read any of those fucking remarks that Slasher69 asshole has been leaving for you under your little vids?”
“Those ‘little vids’ pay enough for me to travel the country doing what I love!” Sam snapped. “Not many people can say that. I work hard and I’m proud of what I do!”
“I’m not talking about what you do—I’m talking about who’s watching you do it!” R’orn growled, glaring down at her. “Maybe if you weren’t so flamboyant you wouldn’t attract so much attention to yourself and crazy humans like Slasher69 wouldn’t be wanting to ‘cut you into little pieces’ with a special knife he’s been sharpening just for you!”
Sam sucked in a breath.
“He said that?” She’d really been trying to avoid reading the deranged comments this particular “fan” left under all her videos on social media, but they were getting harder to ignore. He wasn’t just on her YouTube channel, either. He followed her across all platforms, including Instagram, Tagalong, Piper, and FaceBook. To be honest, he seemed kind of obsessed with her—which was a little scary—but nothing to lose her shit over.
Or so Sam kept telling herself.
Now, however, R’orn was telling her that it was time to take Slasher69 seriously—not that she wanted to listen. But still…
“He really said he…he wanted to cut me into pieces?” she couldn’t help asking.
“That and a hell of a lot worse. I’m not going anywhere until this fucker is caught,” the big Kindred growled. “No matter how much you insult me—I gave you my oath and I’m not fucking breaking it.”
“Hey—you’re the one insulting me and my work!” Sam pointed out, getting angry all over again. “Just stop shitting on what I do for a living and we’ll get along a lot better—all right?”
“All right…all right…” He lifted both hands, palms up. “But don’t ask me to leave while this guy is stalking you. He’s fucking crazy.”
“A lot of people are.” Sam went back to putting equipment into her bag. “If you ignore them, they generally go away.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work with this guy—he seems completely obsessed with you,” R’orn said, echoing her own thoughts to an uncomfortable degree. “Look, maybe if you weren’t so fucking gorgeous, he’d lose interest. Have you thought about trying to look a little plainer in your vids?”
Sam shot him a surprised look. Gorgeous? Was he serious?
“Excuse me,” she said, putting a hand on her hip. “Did you just say I’m pretty?”
“Come on—you know you are,” R’orn growled. “I mean—just look at you.” He waved a hand to indicate her face and body. “You’re an Elite and you’ve got those luscious lips and those big, dark eyes…”
“An ‘Elite’? What’s that?” Sam asked.
“A female who the Goddess has blessed with extra-generous curves,” he growled. “And you’re always flaunting them—wearing those tight clothes and making your face up to emphasize your beauty…”
Sam shot a glance at herself in one of the side mirrors of her van. A heart-shaped face with straight black hair and big, very dark blue eyes stared back. She had on pale makeup and her full lips—which she had painted into a cupid’s bow with a ruby-black lipstick—seemed to pout sensuously.
Her clothing was all black from her form-fitting, long sleeved t-shirt and leather mini skirt to her black tights and Doc Martins. Yes, her clothes hugged her body but so what? She had realized back in high school after trying diet after diet that she was never going to be skinny. Now she owned her curves and showed them off with pride.