Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
An offer I pray is too irresistible to refuse. The dress code is black tie, by the way, Tristan adds quietly.
Mance surprisingly cracks a smile at that. “I bet you don’t think I clean up good.” He smirks at Tristan, his eyes turning playful under the sinister shadow of his cowboy hat, his voice low and deep. “You think I’m nothin’ but a greasy scab under these clothes. Wait ‘til I get a comb in my hair and a razor on my cheeks, boy, I’ll have you swoonin’ like a lady with a fan.”
Does this mean you’re interested? Tristan asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes. Though I know you work alone, I’m sad to say there are no plus-ones allowed to this party.
Mance’s smirk deepens. His eyes sharpen delightfully into blades. “Who says I work alone?”
Tristan’s expression falters, for a moment confused.
Until shapes emerge from the darkness around them. A tall figure from around the corner, long black hair, pale naked body and wicked eyes. From behind a machine, another tall shape in a long red robe, bald, beady eyes. From directly behind Tristan, causing him to leap to his feet and spin around, yet one more tall figure makes themselves known, stepping out from behind an old ATM machine, long talon-like fingernails, pointy nose, chin lifted arrogantly, dragging a tongue over their teeth.
Tristan looks from one to the next, at a loss.
Ferals. Three of them. Maybe more he doesn’t even see, hidden, waiting, greedily licking their lips, yet to show their twisted, inhuman faces, their long bodies and limbs.
“No plus-ones, you say?” Mance chuckles at that, kicks his feet up onto the machine. “How about plus-a-clown-car?”
Tristan, always an expert in shielding his emotions from his face, turns to Mance. I’m not so sure I’m in on the joke, he muses lightly. Are full-blooded vampires not your sworn enemies?
“You know the sayin’. Your enemy’s enemy is your friend.” Mance tilts his head, smirking. “Or maybe it’s total bullshit and your enemy’s enemy is just another fuckin’ enemy. But this lil’ team I got is workin’ out for me so far, and if you’re here offering an invite to the party, I think everyone in this room has somethin’ to gain by roughin’ up that douchebag a’ dicks callin’ himself Lord.” Mance’s eyes narrow. “Including you, sugar bottom.”
Is that a gay slur? Tristan wonders. It sounds cute, but I don’t think it’s intended to be.
“Is it? Shit, we could be besties if you weren’t so stingy on the dicks you put in your mouth or the words that come outta mine.” Mance kicks away from the machine, drops his feet, and stands, towering over Tristan. “So that’s the final offer? You let me and my fangy friends into the party through the backdoor, and I get to do whatever I want, in exchange for your safety?”
Tristan peers up at Mance. It’s been so long since he dared to allow himself to stand so close to the necromancer, he nearly forgot how tall he is. And the humans’ safety. And me and Raya.
“Don’t seem like a balanced deal to me. You’re givin’ me an awful lot in exchange for next to nothin’.”
We both let each other down with our last deal, says Tristan. This is to make it right for both of us. Wreak your vengeance on your former best friend. Give me a chance to escape with my loved ones and the humans imprisoned there.
“Shit, boy, things have really gone south that fast for you, huh? Am I waltzin’ into the middle of a lover’s quarrel here? Honeymoon already over for you and hotshot Markadian?”
Do we have a deal?
“This is a lot easier than I expected. You’re just leadin’ me right on to the good water, ain’t you? And this isn’t even a trick,” realizes Mance, his eyes digging into Tristan’s in that specific way that feels like he sees more than anyone could ever suspect, like he knows how everyone dies, sees their end as clearly as he sees the colors of their irises. “You’re the real deal right now. You’re as horny for Markadian’s demise as I am. Itchin’ for it.”
Do we have a deal? Tristan repeats.
“How’s that dark blood doin’? Keepin’ it safe?”
Tristan is struck by the sudden, out-of-nowhere question. I keep it with me at all times, at all hours. It’s in a test tube, the only container I could find in a pinch in a hospital supply closet …
“Good. Because I’ll be needin’ it.” Tristan stares blankly back. “Collateral. So I got somethin’ to hold over your clever little head if you decide not to pay the piper. Or in this case: pipers.”
Tristan doesn’t need to look at the Ferals again—the other “pipers”. And he doesn’t want to, either. His insides are already plenty frigid in the presence of so many dangerous individuals in one small, suffocating space.