Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
We finally slow, then stop as the music continues behind us. I don’t look, but I assume the dancers are back to their perfect twirls, skirts swishing across the floor in dramatic arcs.
“Stay here.” Valen’s hand disappears from my arm.
A word of refusal catches in my throat, too late. He’s already gone.
I clutch my hands and look around, hoping to see Melody. She’s not here. Instead, the vampires approach, their precise movements predatory and graceful. So many of them, their eyes glinting as they stare me down.
I back up a step. Then another. Where the hell is Valen?
“It’s the Specter’s pet.” A man strides up to me, his green bowtie telling me he’s part of some faction, though I don’t know which. “Left alone, are you? I’ll keep you company.”
“Charles.” Coal steps between us, his black wings obscuring my view. “I didn’t realize Tantun had such a problem with boundaries.”
His wings are black, bat-like. I can see the veins in the webbing, like lightning streaking out from the bone that runs from the taloned tip all the way to the bottom of the wing. They aren’t fully extended yet are still massive. Strong enough to carry the hulking Coal through the air, though I can’t imagine the sight.
“I was simply welcoming her to the ball,” Charles murmurs.
Coal turns his back on him, a clear dismissal, and the vampire slinks away into the crowd.
“You.” It’s all I can manage to say.
“Valen is speaking with High Lord Dragonis. I’ll keep you company until he returns. Come.” He leads me away from the dancing area and into an alcove along the side of the ballroom. There are still plenty of vampires around, but it’s not quite as oppressive. Coal stands ahead of me, his stance tense.
I press my back to the wall, giving myself that small bit of comfort that no one can creep up from behind me. Coal is a babysitter, a welcome one given the way the other vampires keep eyeing me.
The music swells again, the vampires dancing as I watch the crowd. I catch a hint of pale blond hair. Through the throng, the white-haired vampire who took me from the cell sways toward me. She’s wearing a deep green dress tightly fitted against her body. A snake covered in scales. Her eyes seize on me, and she smiles, her fangs showing. She has something in one of her hands, a buckle or something shiny. She yanks it.
Someone screams. No one looks. No one but me.
“Vince.” My insides go cold as Vince, Juno’s head of security, falls forward at the monster’s feet. He’s naked and bloody, his body emaciated.
I dart from the alcove and kneel beside him. “Vince!”
“You’re alive.” He grips my forearm with a wizened hand. Blood runs from a collar at his throat, the edges of the metal covered in twisted barbs that dig into his skin. She’s parading him around, showing him off. His suffering is their entertainment.
“Oh, no. No, no, no!” I grab the collar and try to find a way to remove it.
He cries out the moment I touch it. “You can’t.” His sunken eyes meet mine. “Georgia, it’s really yo—” He screams when the white-haired vampire yanks on his chain again.
“Stop!” I push to my feet. Even with my heels, I have to look up at her, into her cruelly beautiful face. “Let him go.”
“I don’t take orders from vermin.” She snaps her teeth at me.
“Now, now, Carlotta, is that any way to treat Valen’s spoils?” Coal chides from beside me.
“Don’t, Georgia,” Vince says faintly. “Not for me.”
“Silence!” She kicks him hard with her stiletto, and he falls to his side.
On pure instinct, I swing at her. Coal catches my fist, pushing it back down to my side. “No,” he warns.
“Let her try, Coal. We could have so much fun,” she taunts, her pale eyes flashing.
I go back to my knees and help Vince to a sitting position. I don’t ask him if he’s all right. I know he isn’t. He’s bleeding from the collar and now from the hole in his side from Carlotta’s heel. Pressing my hand to the wound, I apply steady pressure.
“It doesn’t matter.” His yellowed eyes are desperately tired, infinitely sad. “None of it matters.”
“We’re still here.” I grip his shoulder with my other hand.
“I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I should’ve stopped her. Should’ve—” He coughs, a hacking, dry sound. “I should’ve put my foot down. But I was weak.” His eyes are almost pleading. “Do you, do you think I’ll be forgiven? Do you … Do you think …” He trails off, his gaze going distant.
I don’t realize I’m crying until my vision blurs. Vince’s breathing is labored, his breath putrid, and his skin is covered in bruises and scabs. My brittle soul cracks, hairline fractures destroying me as I look on his ruined face.