Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure about that? Threatening Garen isn’t exactly smart. We need him.”
“We don’t.”
“But we both know we do. Even if we can beat him in the long run, what would the Brotherhood look like once half our numbers are dead or banished? Focus on what we need to do.”
I know he’s right. I just don’t like it.
No part of me wants to marry this girl. I don’t care who she is. Uncle Garen’s little quip about me being a fine husband only makes my fucking blood boil, because we all know it isn’t true.
That’s not the kind of man I am. Maybe in another life, in another world, I could have the kind of emotional depth necessary to sustain a real, loving, committed relationship, but all of those feelings were cut out of me a long time ago. I touch the scars on my arm and stare out the window.
I’m too broken to have a wife.
But the girl will just be a figurehead. Just a body to end this war. I’ll walk the aisle, say the words, and that’ll be the end of it.
I couldn’t kill Lena last night, even though I should have. My responsibilities as the patron almost demand that I finish her off.
But at least I can follow through with this alliance, because I know it’s the right thing for my people, even if I hate it.
Chapter 9
Lena
Mom squints at me over her morning coffee. “Did you go to work last night?”
“Uhhhh—” I say as I rack my brain for something to say.
Sorry, the scary murdery hottie a few doors down said I can’t go there anymore!
“Are you feeling okay?” She beckons me over and puts a hand on my forehead. “Any strange menstrual issues?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Don’t start doing the whole folk medicine thing on me again.”
“If you’d listen, you’d never get sick a day in your life.”
“I don’t think it actually works that way.”
She waves me off. “I’m the perfect example. I rolled my eyes at all the tricks my momma taught me, and here I am, sick as sick gets.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll put garlic in my shoes or whatever.”
“Don’t give me that.” She glares and gestures with her coffee mug. “Did you make an appointment to see your doctor yet?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
“I’m sure.”
She doesn’t press after that, fortunately. I hate lying to her. I didn’t have much of a problem with it back in my younger days when I was sneaking out to break into abandoned buildings and stuff like that, but these days it’s a lot harder. How am I supposed to live with myself if she dies believing some stupid lie I told her? It just feels wrong.
This whole mortality thing really screws up my vibe.
But since I don’t have a job anymore, I have time to clean up the apartment. I start with the bathrooms, move on to the kitchen, and only pause to tell Vadim to go to the grocery store.
“No can do. I have an important meeting.”
“Nothing you do is important.”
“Great chatting, sister.”
He disappears, and since I can’t go anywhere right now on account of the scary hot murder neighbor, I send Dad the grocery list and hope he can stop on his way home from work. Asshole Vadim.
I know all this cleaning and busy housework is just my anxiety taking over. Every time my phone so much as appears in my visual field, I start thinking about Arsen and the way he was looking at me last night before I got sick—like he wanted to wrap his hands around my throat and squeeze until I turned purple and my eyes popped like balloons. And the way he was looking after, like he wanted to shove his tongue down my throat and hold me and pet my hair until I felt better.
Really fucking bizarre, if I’m honest.
And I don’t know what to think anymore. I can’t tell if he’s going to kill me or try his awkward best to take care of me. The guy clearly didn’t know what to do once I started puking, but he was so earnestly trying to help that I actually found it endearing in a creepy sort of way. I mean, I saw him shoot someone in the skull. I saw him execute my boss.
And then I ralphed in his bathroom.
It’s all a mess. I clean the sink and scrub the oven. Mom scolds me for doing too much, so I fold all my underwear and vacuum every single corner I can find. Until finally, my phone lights up, and I yelp when a text appears from an unknown number.
Come over. We need to talk.
I’m trembling when I look in the mirror. My hair’s a curly, ratty mess, and the stupid little stud in my nose is slightly off-center. I’m in black Adidas sweats and a tight thermal top with no bra on. My nipples are hard for some reason.