Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
At my feet, a little yellow blossom pokes up between two slabs of concrete. A dandelion growing through the cracks. Most people would call it a weed, but my mother knew ten different ways to use the blossom, leaves, and root.
I can do this.
I luck out and catch up to Armand before he gets in the car.
“Daphne? You need a ride?”
“No,” I blurt, then amend. “Well, actually yes. That’d be great. But really I need a favor. Something delivered.”
A smile spreads across his face. “Well, then, I’m your messenger.”
Thirty-Five
Present Day
Logan
I pace the sidewalk outside Daphne’s apartment. I made it all of about six hours after leaving her at the funeral before hopping in the truck and driving like a bat out of hell back over here.
I might’ve hated her father but she loved him.
And I remember how broken she was when she lost her mother. How lost she was and how she clung to me like I was the only thing that made sense in her shattered world.
Things were so simple back then. I punched the buzzer again but she doesn’t respond. Is she not home or just not responding to me?
The sun is dropping below the horizon and with it, the temperature, but the cold doesn’t touch me. I’m already numb from days replaying our last fight in my head.
“Nobody hurts me the way you do.”
Why do I even think she’s here? She’s probably run back to Adam. The thought is acrimonious and bitter going down.
But even as I tell myself that, I don’t believe it.“Trust me when I say I didn’t betray you. That I would never betray you. Trust me. We could have everything, if you would just trust me.”
I shake my head, growling, and a couple of pedestrians startle and scuttle away.
That’s right. Run from the madman.
I tried to go back to the castle. Tried to get on with my life. But I just have to make sure she’s okay.
The street lights switch on. I turn up the collar of my great coat. When I close my eyes, I see Daphne’s small form at the memorial service. I reach out as if I could touch her, as if my thoughts could conjure her. But when I open my eyes, she’s not here.
I pace a few more times, kicking pieces of trash into the gutter before I face her door, and the truth.
She’s not coming. Tonight I’ll be alone.
Better get used to it.
And just like that, the isolation that is my life hits me with full force. Endless days and nights of me rattling around that huge castle, alone and empty. Soon I really will be a mad old monster.
I turn and almost knock over a slender man in a great coat. He clings to me to keep from falling and I set him upright without cussing him out. My good deed for the day.
But once he’s standing on his own, he keeps hold of me. “My gods,” he feels the muscle in my arms. “No skipping workouts for you. At least, not arm day.”
I open my mouth to snarl and he holds up the last thing I’d expect. A rose.
And that’s when I recognize him. He’s the man I saw Daphne talking to at the most recent Ubeli ball. Armand. I pulled him aside and told him I was her secret admirer. I asked him to give her the message to meet me in the labyrinth along with her mother’s favorite rose. It feels like a lifetime ago now even though it couldn’t have been more than a month.
But now he’s handing me that exact same species of rose. Then he leans in, kohl-lined eyes twinkling.
“I have a message for you.”
“A message,” I repeat, fighting the urge to step back. What the hell is this guy playing at? What’s his game? He keeps holding the rose in my face until I snatch it away. “Is this it?”
“That’s half of it.” He hands me a roll of paper tied with a red ribbon.
I’m itching to study both the rose and the note, but not with him watching. “Who are you?”
“Me? I’m just a messenger.” He nods at the items I’m holding. “She wanted me to give you these.”
She? “Who?”
“You know who.”
Fucking riddles. I jerk off the ribbon and unroll the paper just enough to read the first part of the fancy script. Avicennius Grant…
I jerk my head up. “Is this...?”
“Daphne’s Avicennius grant. And I believe that second piece of paper is her college diploma. One of them.”
Sure enough, the paper reads Awarded to: and follows with Daph’s full name. “I don’t understand.” What the hell is this? How did he get these? Is he trying to threaten—
“Come on, Wulfe. You can do better than that. Daphne is smart; she deserves someone to match.” He taps the papers. “She sent these clues.”