Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Tears sting at my eyes and I know I should shut up, that I’m ruining everything, that I’m saying too much and to the absolute worst person, but I can’t help it. I always thought it was because I was a witch, and that’s what people saw in me, that they saw I was different because of the magic in my veins and it scared them. And if that was true, well that I could understand. But then I was raised around other witches when I went to live with Bellamy, and then went to the academy for slayers, and it was the same thing. It was the same damn thing. It had nothing to do with being a witch at all, people just didn’t want anything to do with me no matter how hard I tried to be nice or to be funny or smart or relatable.
So I just stopped trying.
I chose to shun the world and be alone. Spent my days with only good books for company.
And I became the only person I could rely on.
But I still don’t know why it has to be this way. What is it about me that makes me so unlikeable? Am I really that awful, really that broken inside?
“I was a good kid,” I go on, tears now flowing down my face, and I can’t stop them, can’t stop talking, “before my parents died, I was a good kid. I could never understand why me? Like why…you know once, when I was like eight, I was so lonely and just so desperate, I took out the phone book and called every single kid in my class and asked them if they would play with me. And every single one of them said no. They all said no.”
Oh god. Now I’m really crying. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I look at Valtu through my tears and shake my head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why the fuck I’m telling you this.” I glance around, trying to see if people are paying attention to us, and there are a few curious looks thrown my way to see why this girl is crying on her date. I’m making a fool of myself for no reason. I could be enjoying a drink on a night out in Venice, but instead I’m crying over shit from my childhood in front of my teacher, who happens to be a fucking vampire, who I was originally sent here to kill.
Everything is just such a damn mess.
“Don’t be sorry,” Valtu says, reaching forward and placing his hand on mine, his skin cold but electric. “You’re telling me this because you need to tell me. You want to. And you know you can trust me. You know that I am the same as you.”
As much as vampires are different from the average human, there’s no way he can relate to all that I’ve just spilled my guts over, I don’t care who he was in his past.
I shake my head, wiping my tears.
“Can I kiss you?”
I go still, staring at him in surprise. “What?”
Did he just ask to kiss me?
“I would like to kiss you,” he repeats, intensity burning in his eyes.
“Now?” I practically sputter, blinking at him. “While I’m crying?”
He doesn’t answer. He just moves, leaning across the table in a flash of black.
His hands go to either side of my face, fingertips pressing against my cheekbones, going into my hair, and his lips come to mine, soft and sweet. I can taste the salt of my tears as our mouths open against each other. His kiss is gentle, delicate, and yet there’s something foreign and primal about it, something dark and rough swirling at the edges of his lips, eliciting a strange response from deep inside me.
I feel my body weaken at his touch, melting into him, and I moan softly into his mouth as our tongues meet, the sweet bitter taste of negroni mixing with the salt of my tears, and it’s unlike any kiss I’ve had before. It’s as if something inside me is opening up, my body reacting to every touch, every movement of his tongue against mine.
And then he gently pulls away, leaving me breathless, like I might just slide down my seat and under the table into a puddle.
I open my eyes and blink at him, discovering my fingers are clenching the edge of the table as if to hold on.
I can’t believe he just kissed me.
He’s sitting back in his chair, running the tip of his tongue over the edge of his lips, his eyes so deep in thought as he stares at me, I feel like I’m on fire.
“Do you know what I tasted in your tears?” he says in such a low, rough voice that the skin on the back of my neck prickles.