Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Adriel tipped her head back, closing her eyes, pretending for a moment that she was safe in a place where neither history nor gravity could touch her. Wind teased the short strands of her uncovered hair as the present moment sank into her bones.
This was her life. Hers.
Freedom was a luxuriously terrifying privilege to wear, one she hadn’t tried on since reaching adulthood. The idea, alone, fit awkwardly and flooded her with self-doubt.
What would her last hours look like? Would she show courage or fear?
A sense of urgency surged through her as the invisible shackles she’d worn for centuries fell away. Her choices were now her own. Her heart leapt with uncertainty as the extraordinary pressure to decide her future weighed her down like gravity. Her path ahead was genuinely unknown.
CHAPTER 5
The fragile nightingale chirped and trilled from the branch below, uttering the same cheerful refrain until Cerberus snatched it in his fist and snapped its neck. Eyes on the freeway, he bit into the small songbird, spit out the head, and guzzled its blood.
She got away. The bitch somehow evaded him.
It didn’t make sense. She was weak and injured. Her fear alone should have left her lame, but she escaped.
Tossing the feathered carcass aside, he stared over the morning traffic, fanning out his senses for any trace of his mate. She was older now, so she would know how to block her thoughts, but she was no match for him. He’d been in her head before. He would get there again.
Kicking a small nest of fledglings from the branches, Cerberus settled into a comfortable crook and tipped his head back, closing his eyes as his other senses went on guard.
He’d rest for a while, then find her. His body exulted at the impending hunt, the thrill of gaining on her. He would torment her like a weak little mouse, alerting her as soon as he was near but never letting her gain the upper hand.
Licking his lips, he recalled how delicate her body was in his arms. How she cried and screamed. How she broke under his will. Those memories had been long overlooked until he caught a glimpse of her forgotten beauty.
However, her attractiveness did not titillate or excite him. On the contrary, it enraged him. After all of these years, after centuries of being apart, she still resembled her mother.
His eyes narrowed as he gazed about the forest, once more checking that he was alone. She might look like her mother, but she was no replacement for Lilias. She was merely a fee, taken as punishment for her mother’s despicable deceit. But now, the girl had her own personal debt to pay.
Oh, what he planned to do to her once he had her…
Adriel… he taunted, reaching for her mind. Girl…you can run, but I’ll still find you…
He closed his eyes again, recalling the years of pain he’d suffered underground because of her. For decades, his flesh hung loosely from the bone, and his muscles withered away while she escaped him.
His limbs still twitched with a phantom burn. The memory of dirt corroding every abscess, driving his mind to madness as he waited for his body to heal and his limbs to regenerate, still haunted him.
Those recollections were now seared into his soul far more profound than any bond they once shared. His desire to find her existed only to serve his need for vengeance.
The years of waiting, entombed underground without proper food or water, were excruciating. The tightness, the pull, the itch, and that unreachable, phantom ache that existed where his limbs had been ripped away…
She indeed had a debt to pay.
He’d spent lifetimes plotting his revenge. When the putrid stench of his decomposing body became the only thing he knew, he calculated a million ways to punish her.
She left him to rot and starve, buried underground for centuries. The girl knew nothing of pain compared to the hell he survived—a hell of her making—but he would gladly teach her all that she did not know.
He could still feel the prickling throb of his limbs regenerating at a glacial pace. Ten, twenty, fifty, more than one hundred years of starvation and suffering as he waited for his body to heal. He spent an eternity inventing endless ways to make her suffer.
Marbleized by time, he existed as a wasted bag of cold, blue flesh, condemned to an unknown sentence of suffering that he feared would never end. His lungs repetitively seized, and his heart continually ruptured, shutting down his mind for the briefest moment of peace only to awaken in agony once more in that encapsulating hell.
The ungodly pressure of the settling earth built with time and modernization, forcing his capillaries to harden and his organs to fail without access to proper nutrition, killing him over and over again. But as a draugr, a skull warrior, a Viking of the undead, he could not die.