Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
"You drugged me?" I hiss, jumping to my feet as indignation courses through me. "Oh, I can't wait to smother you with this freaking pillow!"
His gaze drops to the pillow in my hands, a lazy smile turning up the right side of his mouth. "I much prefer when you're sleeping on the pillow, elskan-ljós."
"Then you shouldn't have drugged and kidnapped me," I say, my voice saccharine. "Because I don't care what you prefer. I don't plan to be a good little prisoner."
Maybe I shouldn't antagonize a man who has already proven he's willing to drug and kidnap me, but I can't help myself. Being silent isn't in my nature. I learned a long time ago to stand up for myself. I've faced bullies before. I've survived the unthinkable. I'll survive this man too. He may be three times my size, but I'll fight him every step of the way before I just roll over and give up.
"I didn't drug you, Valkyrie. Nor are you a prisoner here."
"Really? Then you'll let me leave right now?"
His jaw clenches tight, giving me my answer before he ever speaks a word.
"I didn't think so," I say flatly.
"The man you set on fire in the alley drugged you, elskan-ljós. There are more like him out there."
"The man I…?" I stare at him in horror. "I didn't set anyone on fire!"
Good grief. Maybe he isn't a crazy axe-wielding murderer. He's mentally ill. It doesn't excuse him drugging and kidnapping me, of course. But it gives me hope that maybe he doesn't want to hurt me. Maybe he thinks he's helping me.
"Ja, you did. Last night."
"No, I…" Another flicker of memory resurfaces, even more incomplete than the last. A pale face surrounded by dark shadow. A cold hand around my throat. This man's face surrounded by a radiant light as the pale man screams a shrill, pain-filled sound and goes up in flames.
The memories are brutal, but the sudden, unshakable knowledge that he isn't lying is even worse. I killed that man. Worse, I wanted him dead. In that moment, with his hand around my throat, I wanted him howling in agony.
My God. He's not lying.
I fling the pillow, diving for the small trashcan beside the bed as my stomach turns. I land on my knees beside it, pulling it into my arms just in time to vomit up everything in my stomach.
My eyes water as the leftover alcohol and nachos reemerges, pouring from my lips into the trashcan.
"Skíta," my handsome captor says. "Forgive me, Valkyrie. I shouldn’t have told you that way." He says it as if there's some easier way to inform someone that they murdered someone.
God. I murdered a man.
If hell is real, I guess I will see my father there some day, after all.
I lower the trashcan, wiping my hand across the back of my mouth.
"Here." My captor appears at my side, taking the trashcan and handing me a bottle of water. "Drink this. You'll feel better."
That's unlikely. But I obediently twist off the cap and take a drink to rinse my mouth, too numb to argue. "Thank you." I hand it back to him.
He sets it on the nightstand built into the bedframe before holding his hand out as if to help me up.
I eye it for a long moment, half afraid of what he might do if I allow him to touch me…and half afraid of what I might do. I can't cry right now. I won't.
I carefully place my hand in his, jolting when a current of electricity rushes up my arm, plunging deep into my veins. His little corner in my soul yawns wider. I feel him as he pulls me to my feet, more strongly than I've ever felt anything.
I don't know what he's thinking. I can't read his mind. But it's as if I know what's in his heart. A pervasive, piercing ache. A sense of awe. Need so intense it makes my legs quiver. Dear God, it's so strong it's nearly overwhelming.
Desire surges through me in response, hot and fast, igniting me from the inside out. My core temperature rises, my gaze flying to his.
"Valkyrie," he groans, his deep voice guttural. The green of his eyes seems to swirl with light, growing bright. "Ah, Gods."
I jerk out of his hold, quickly putting distance between us. My God…who is this man?
Nei, lyseste lys. He was no man.
Oh. Are you?
The snippet of conversation floats back to me like a bubble popping. What was his response? I search my mind for the answer, but it doesn't come.
What did he mean, the man I killed was no man?
I'm almost afraid to ask.
"Rissa," I whisper.
"Hmm?"
"You keep calling me Valkyrie. My name is Rissa."
"Rissa," he whispers as if testing it out.
I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself.
"I'm Adaxiel. Everyone calls me Dax."
Adaxiel. Dax. The name fits him.