Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88613 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88613 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
It wasn’t an anonymous post either. This had come from the president himself, vowing more than just congressional action. It was a useless display, considering that if the Chaos King were to truly return, governments would cease to exist, but maybe the threat of Enforcers severing and imprisoning anyone trying to bring him back could have an effect.
I dropped my head back, the flat pillow practically fighting back with how lumpy it was. It felt like I had a brain surgeon come in and swap out my skull for a bee’s nest. My thoughts buzzed in a million different directions. All thoughts of a muscular ice dragon pinning me to the mattress and fucking my brains out faded away to the ether.
I locked my phone and set it on the cluttered nightstand, shoving aside a nearly empty bottle of water toward another nearly empty bottle of water. I got under the covers and stretched, turning off the light with a spoken command. Lying in my bed made the exhaustion of the day scorch right through me, every muscle and bone in my body wanting to melt directly into the mattress.
So much had happened. I’d used my powers, something I never enjoyed doing, and crossed paths with a group I never wanted to see again while bumping into a man who was arguably one of the most sexy and infuriating men I’d ever met.
Oh, and he almost killed me.
It wasn’t long before the exhaustion of it all caught up to me.
Sleep yanked me under as sudden as a kraken sinking a ship, dreams of the ice dragon floating through my head. Except in these, Maddox wasn’t brandishing an ice blade as I climbed on top of his lap, smile cocked and blue eyes drilling directly to the center of my soul.
Chapter 9
Day at the Museum
Maddox
Los Angeles buzzed with an electric energy as I drove down Sunset Boulevard, the street-side restaurants packed to the brim with tourists and locals alike. People strolled past expensive shops with floating displays of their products, eyes always open for any celebrity spotting. The lanky palm trees swayed delicately in the gentle spring breeze carried in from the nearby ocean. It was a beautiful day, and I was ready to make it my fucking bitch.
Aside from being beautiful, today was also important.
I took a right and drove down a hill toward the building that looked like silver origami, built with impossible edges and angles. There was no way I’d find street parking this close to the museum, so I decided to bite the bullet and just valet. I pulled up underneath a metallic roof and stepped out, handing my keys to the valet.
“Here’s your ticket, sir,” he said, handing it to me with a half-cocked grin. The guy was cute. He had nice lips and strong arms, with shaved legs that clearly got their daily workouts from running back and forth.
I was seconds from asking for his number but stopped myself, which was… weird. Normally, I followed most of my primal impulses, listening more to the head on my cock than the head on my shoulders. It caused problems, sure, but getting a nut off always helped the world make a little more sense, so how many problems could it really cause?
Cue the problems:
Broken hearts.
Shattered trust.
Dropped responsibilities.
Ruined friendships.
Antibiotic shot in the ass.
Yeah… maybe my constant need to get my dick wet wasn’t exactly my best trait.
I turned toward the entrance of the museum, a line of visitors working their way up to the ticket kiosk. This was the Los Angeles Museum of Fine and Contemporary Art, a popular attraction that boasted of being the only home to an entire collection of original Van Gogh pieces, one of them being the last painting ever drawn by the Marvel, depicting a starry night sky that always appeared to twinkle with light, no matter how bright the room was.
It had also been the home to one of the only Moriarty paintings ever put on display.
Little did they know, my castle was home to the other two.
Someone else who didn’t know that fact was Caleb, the man currently walking toward me and looking like death incarnate. He shuffled his feet, his white sneakers scuffed and chewed on, hands in the pockets of his wrinkled jeans. He did manage a smile as he approached, which I liked. Something about his smile made me smile right back. It was contagious, even though I could tell it caused him some effort to flash.
“You look—”
“Like death?” He completed my sentence.
“I was going to say good.”
“Mhmm,” he said, arms crossed as he stopped a couple of feet in front of me, close enough so that I could smell a waft of his cologne. A mix of leather and oak and something softer. Lavender? It was a good mix. “I had a rough start to the morning.”