Total pages in book: 208
Estimated words: 207002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1035(@200wpm)___ 828(@250wpm)___ 690(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1035(@200wpm)___ 828(@250wpm)___ 690(@300wpm)
Aslan was a whirlwind in the centre of the scuffle. A black riptide, sucking them down, drowning them punch by punch.
I swiped on my screen; my fingers poised over the emergency number.
If I called the police, would they question Aslan?
If I begged them to come and stop this, would they arrest Aslan for public brawling?
I looked up and winced as one of the younger guys with his gym-bulging body screamed and flung himself on Aslan.
My heart hurt.
My breath caught.
Guilt roared. Panic stung.
One of the guys cried out as Aslan wrapped his arm around the guy’s neck. He twisted and flung himself backward, his eyes blacker than death as the guy scrambled and gagged in his hold.
With a violent twist, Aslan choked the guy into unconsciousness. The floppy body of his enemy tumbled out of Aslan’s arms, slumping on the ground in an unnatural way.
Alive.
But...not functioning.
Aslan didn’t stop to see if the guy would get up. He hurled himself at the other three assholes who roared with hate for what he’d done to their friend.
Aslan vanished again in the middle of a hurricane of fists and torture.
He absorbed so much pain, yet it never seemed to stop him. His fists landed square and true while the other men were sloppy and drunk. He kicked the ankle of one and sent him crunching to his knees while round-housing another. The guy went soaring backward to trip over the guy already down.
I backed farther away as the fight danced around the footpath, colliding against the building, tripping into the street, becoming increasingly violent.
Once again, I looked at my phone.
Should I call the police?
Think!
Make a damn decision!
Could Aslan actually win this? Or was I condemning him to being broken by doing nothing?
This is all my fault!
One of the younger guys suddenly screamed as Aslan grabbed his arms from behind and yanked him backward onto his uprisen knee. The guy’s shoulders wrenched back with a sickening crack.
Aslan let him go the moment his scream turned to pleas, dropping him beside the other man who clutched at his neck and vomited all over himself.
“You fucking cunt,” one of the older guys snarled. “You’re dead.”
Aslan didn’t speak. He panted hard. Blood rained down his temple. His hands were a mess of flayed skin, swollen knuckles, and smeared crimson. Not waiting for the two guys still standing to attack, he dropped his shoulder and ran straight into the one with a fish tattooed on his arm.
He drove him hard against the building.
The man snarled.
His head smacked against the bricks.
His eyes rolled back, and he fell face first onto the mound of his mates already writhing and crying on the ground.
Breathing hard, eyes wild, blood dripping, Aslan clenched his fists and turned to face the only bastard still standing. The bald-headed older guy. His face twisted with hate as he looked at his defeated friends, then embraced common sense by raising his hands in surrender. “Fuck you. I’m done. I’m done, alright. Back the fuck off.”
I expected Aslan to accept his white flag, but he was too far gone, too deep in that violence that he always ran from.
He stepped toward the guy.
He cricked his neck.
The air turned icy with intention.
“Aslan.” I darted forward, clutching my phone. “Don’t.”
His hands twitched, but he didn’t turn to face me. Didn’t halt.
A car careened around the corner. A red Mazda with the license plate TYZ129.
My heart leapt as I tried to get Aslan to look at me. “Our ride’s here, Aslan. Let’s just go home. Okay?” I stepped off the curb, trying to get in front of him as he stalked the guy who did his best to stay out of his way.
They danced around each other until the guy faced the building and Aslan had his back to the street. The Mazda kept driving far too fast, but I was grateful.
At least we could get the hell out of here.
“Aslan, it’s okay,” I murmured.
His eyes narrowed, but he still didn’t look at me.
True panic frosted my blood as the guy flicked me a look of pure fear. He could sense what I could. That Aslan was dangerous. In his current state, I honestly didn’t know what he would do—
“Seni seviyorum,” I whisper-shouted, willing my brain to turn words I’d learned into a sentence that hopefully made sense. “Geçti artık. Bitti. Güvendeyim. Artık bana zarar veremezler.” (It’s okay. It’s over. I’m safe. They can’t hurt me anymore).
Aslan flinched.
His head tipped up; he blinked.
The midnight shadows in his stare faded as he glanced at me and slowly left whatever mayhem he’d existed in.
I held out my hand as the Mazda came flying toward us. “Let’s go home, husband.”
“Husband?” the old guy hissed. “Fucking creep. He has you speaking his language and poisoned you against who you truly belong to.” He spat on the ground. “You’re both as bad as each other.”