Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
The farm kept them safe. Although immortality implied eternal life, accidents happened. Dane was trying to figure out what kind of accident could kill an immortal because the one locked in the cell below needed to die. Not his sister, of course, but the one who killed his mother.
“We now move to the discussion of Isaiah Hartzler.” Speak of the devil.
Dane sat up and listened through the wall as another male delivered a report. “It’s been seven hundred seventy-two days since Brother Isaiah entered captivity. He shows faint signs of aging, but his astonishing strength remains unchanged. Since reinforcing the cell bars and fashioning chains, he shows fewer signs of aggression but he’s still gravely dangerous.”
Voices mumbled as conversation broke out. Dane didn’t need the recap the way others might. He knew exactly when that bastard came to the farm. It had been two years, one month, twelve days, and—he pulled out his windable pocket watch—eleven hours. In his opinion, the fucker had stayed long enough.
David, the bishop’s right hand, took the brunt of Isaiah’s last attack, but even that didn’t convince the elders to end him. Dane had been visiting Cybil at the time. The horrific sight had tortured him for weeks, triggering old nightmares of his mother’s limp, gutted body and his sister’s last screams. He then decided that he wouldn’t kill Isaiah until he had a sure-proof plan.
The vicious prick was ancient, his already impressive strength reinforced by decades of adrenaline-laced human blood. Dane knew his first attempt would be his last. He’d either avenge his mother and kill the vile beast or die trying.
“Get that foolish plan out of your head,” Adriel hissed. “Bands of elders have tried and failed what you're considering. It took decades just to capture him. Be content with knowing no other women will be harmed.”
“That’s not enough.” He hissed back, adamantly married to his plan.
They all mourned the lives lost at the hands of Isaiah, but no one really saw those women as anything more than statistics. Humans were less valuable to them. And even among their species, females were little more than property. The human women Isiah killed died because they were lower on the food chain, and, therefore, prey. To immortals, it was just nature doing what nature does.
Just as a lion has the natural right to take down a gazelle, immortals had the right to devour mortals. Only The Order forbade such practices, but they were not the norm. According to Cain, immortals roamed the entire earth, and very few ever stopped to consider morality when hunger struck.
Social order was only loosely maintained by their Christian faith here on the farm. It amazed Dane how much the immortals on the farm abided such constraints. Cain seemed the only male brave enough to disregard The Order’s threats, but he always claimed to be a bit of a black sheep.
Isaiah was considered a full-fledged vampire, a term saved for those intoxicated by human blood and driven by bloodlust. According to The Order, vampire was a derogatory, offensive word, but Dane knew they all had it in them. Even sweet, beautiful Gracie possessed a darkness that could kill, which she had done when the witches attacked her father.
The moment his thoughts turned to Gracie his pulse quickened. What was she doing right now? He missed the days he could wander into her kitchen, and she’d happily offer him a piece of pie. Gracie was an incredible cook, but he never visited for the pie.
Adriel scoffed, her head turning from her work so she could eye him with an incredulous stare. “With Abigail’s bread in your pocket and the scent of Magdalene still on your breath, one might say you have enough females in your life.”
He grimaced, wishing Adriel would stay out of his head. “She’s different.”
There was no need to specify who she was. Adriel read his mind and saw his deepest fantasies. What he did with Maggie and what he shared with Abigail was nothing compared to the love he felt for Grace Hartzler. From her magnificent dark hair to her dulcet laugh, she fulfilled every inch of what he deemed feminine perfection.
“Must we?” Adriel grumbled. “Bad enough I have to suffer through the self-important thoughts of every male in The Order, but do I need to suffer through your ongoing romanticized fantasies of what will never be?”
“You could just stop eavesdropping on my thoughts.”
“You know as well as I that some things cannot be controlled.”
Dane, like Adriel, often gleaned unwanted details from people’s minds, but his telepathy was limited to young, unguarded minds. Most immortals were blank to him, including the children. Despite their innocence, the young immortals on the farm only spoke and thought in Pennsylvania Dutch.
Cain once explained to him that the language barrier was another form of protection from the outside world. Children were less disciplined. Speaking Dutch created another layer of protection in case the children made youthful mistakes and spoke of their species in mixed company. Only once they were school-age and old enough to understand the importance of secrecy and consequence, did they learn to speak, read, and write in English.