Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 41683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Unlike her companions, innocence still lurks in her gaze. She's younger, less hardened. Life hasn't been kind to her, but it hasn't honed her into a deadly weapon like it has her friends, not yet.
I can't put my finger on it, but there's something different about her friends. Just like those who took me from my bed, these men are far too other to be wholly mortal. They may wear jeans and T-shirts, but they don't belong in this world. It's like a sixth sense whispering the truth in my ear.
The man standing closest to the girl, one arm wrapped around her in a show of protection, seems the most human. With his olive skin, dark hair, and green eyes, he could easily pass for one…except for his unnaturally tall and muscular frame, anyway.
The man next to him, with pretty golden eyes, seems ancient. There's an air of authority about him that's unmistakable. He wears it well.
The giant leaning against the door exudes a sense of peace despite his intimidating size. Laugh lines have carved tiny grooves around his mouth. Little beads in his braided hair clink against the wood where his head rests against it. His pointed ears are a pretty obvious indication that he isn't human. His ochre skin and blue eyes are an unusual, beautiful combination.
The last man…he's different from the others. Darkness clings from him as he glowers at the man with gold eyes. A vicious scar cuts through the pale skin across his cheek, leaving him with one eye. It's as black as night and full of turbulent emotion. He isn't at peace. I'm not sure he knows the meaning of the word. It's as if he's been to hell and the taint of what he's seen lingers even now.
If ever there were battle-hardened warriors from another time roaming earth, it would be these men. I think they were born to maim and kill. Every single one of them could crush me with one hand if they wanted to do it. But I'm not afraid of them.
For as long as I can remember, I've been able to read people. With a look, I could tell almost on sight if I could trust someone or not. I've known when someone had a good heart and when they didn't.
These men may be dangerous, but they're good men. Even the one with the scar across the right side of his face—the one who has darkness clinging to him—is a good man. Nothing like the monsters who kidnapped me.
Fear whispers through me at the reminder of those men, slithering through my veins like poison. I shiver slightly. And that's when I notice him—the man crouched beside me, staring at me with a singular intensity that immediately commands my attention.
His amber eyes burn into mine—unyielding and fierce. He's breathtakingly beautiful, his skin a gorgeous, earthy brown. Every inch of him is hewn from rippling muscle; his body a masterpiece. Men spend thousands trying to look like him and only come away a sad replica. He's no replica. He wasn't crafted under a knife or in a gym. I think this man was forged in the cradle of war.
He knows suffering, yet he looks at me with a gentleness that stirs something deep within me. I recognize those eyes—they've haunted my dreams for longer than I can remember. At night, in my dreams, they were there, watching me. They promised safety in the darkness of my terror.
As they watch me now, I feel an inexplicable sense of calm wash over me. When I dreamed him, I thought he was just that: a dream. Yet he's here anyway, the embodiment of deadly grace and quiet power. He radiates a sense of security that eases the knot in my stomach. And, for the first time in days, reality feels far more welcoming than the oblivion of sleep.
I don't know who he is, but some part of me wants to crawl across the bed and curl up in his strong arms. Not merely because he makes me feel safe. And not simply because I feel a pull to him that I've never felt for anyone. But because I look at him and my heart races. No one has ever made me feel that way before. The sensation is new and exciting, offering a tantalizing slice of normalcy in a situation that's anything but normal.
"When are you going to admit that she isn't just a Seer?" the man with the scar growls at another of the men cloistered by the door, his raised voice startling me. "She's far too powerful!"
"What scares you more, brother?" The man with gold eyes scowls, his face falling into a mask of frustration. "The vastness of that power, or the possibility that she might not choose you if you are correct?"