Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“So, you’re human.” I stare at those eyes. What the hell is he talking about?
“So observant.” His tone turns even more snide. “Yes, I’m human, so I know the depths of our depravity. We need to go. Our time is done.” He sighs. “Think how nice things will be once we’re all gone. Peace and quiet. No more war. No more bitching and accusing and fighting. It’ll be like paradise.”
“The plague can’t kill every single person on the planet. Nothing can. It would take—”
“The vampires can.” The skin beside his eyes crinkles. He’s smiling. “They can ensure humanity dies.”
I realize I’m dealing with someone who’s either violently psychopathic or deeply mentally unwell. In either case, he seems to be quite pleased about it.
He disappears again.
“Just tell me where I am.” I groan and roll over onto my good side—if it could be called that—then push myself into a sitting position. Blood pounds in my ears, and everything hurts. I have to take slow, deep breaths just to make it through. I’m wearing a loose dress, more like a nightgown than actual clothes. I don’t recognize it. Being stripped and dressed while unconscious is the least of my worries at this point.
When I can finally breathe steadily again, I turn my aching neck slowly to see the man lying on the bed, his back to me.
“Where am I?” I grit out.
“Castle Dragonis. Obviously.” He tugs the blanket up to his neck. “You’re a blood consort. Just like me.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “But not like me. I’m first consort. Understand? You’re second. Unnecessary. A spare, if you will. Master won’t want you, especially not in that state.”
“Master? Do you mean—”
“Valen Aronov Danior Constantin Dragonis. Heir to the throne. The finest of his kind.” He says it all with warmth that quickly fades with his next breath. “Now shut up. I’m tired.”
“I—”
“Shh.” He holds up a hand and clamps it shut. “Close your mouth. Sleepy time, bitch.”
I gawk at him, but in what seems like an impossibly short amount of time, he starts snoring. “I don’t even know your name,” I mumble and grab the side of the bed. With more effort than anything should ever take, I get to my knees. Then, after doing more deep breathing, I force myself to my feet.
I hold onto the four-poster bed, my body staying together despite all indications to the contrary. Head swimming, it takes a moment to adjust. The man snores louder and flips over to his back. Even in the shadowy room, I can tell he’s young. Maybe around 20 or so. Perhaps it’s better that he’s sleeping. It’s not as if he’ll be any help.
I scan the room again, looking for anything that I can use as a weapon. But as I lift my one good arm, I realize there’s no way I could wield anything. Not like this. I’m thin, far thinner than I’ve ever been. My muscle mass is gone from my time spent in the cell, and I can barely stand.
I examine my splinted fingers. Who tended my wounds? Something tells me it’s not the young man in the bed.
There are two large, curtained windows on the wall to my right. The opposite wall has a door, and the wall in front of the bed has two doors, one of them open to a bathroom. The urge to pee hits me hard, and I wonder how long I’ve been out. With struggling steps, I make it to the bathroom. Marble floors and walls, it has a giant tub and a rainfall shower. I didn’t think anything could put my bathroom at the DC hotel to shame, but I was wrong. After relieving myself, I ease back into the bedroom and go to the window. Pulling the curtain back, I find nothing. No glass. Just a wood casing around a smooth black obsidian wall.
“Underground?” I move slowly, excruciatingly to the next window and try it. The same.
I have no idea if it’s day or night. It’s discomfiting. So much so that I move a bit faster as I make my way to the first door past the bathroom. Pulling it open, I find a mostly empty closet.
I keep going, my body aching in new ways as I make it to the third door, half expecting to find it locked. It’s not. The handle turns smoothly, and I pull it open as the man in the bed lets out an obnoxious snore.
A hallway stretches right and left. Doors line the paneled walls, and flickering lights hang from what I can now see is a stone ceiling. Goosebumps rush along my arms, and I stick to the golden rug running down the center of the floor, my bare feet quieter and warmer there.
Slowly, I ease along. I nudge a few doors open, finding empty bedrooms, each of them lavishly furnished. After the first few, I stop checking and continue toward what looks like a more open area ahead. I have to keep bracing myself against the wall, my head swimming, my heart pounding. A cold sweat covers my skin, the stink of stress and sickness hitting me.