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)
Trying to welcome the old, familiar sight of ordinary people, he waited for a sense of belonging to return. It didn’t.
He’d grown up in the modern world, but it no longer felt right. Everything was loud and chaotic, very different from his life on an Amish farm over the past several years. Despite being a refuge of sorts, he’d accepted that strange place as his home. The homesickness he currently suffered could only be the result of some twisted mind-fuck refugees knew. That, or Stockholm Syndrome survivors.
They were not like him. These people were not like him. He was completely and utterly on his own. Figuring out where to go next wasn’t a simple thing.
Having immortal bloodlines came with some perks, but nothing that would help him survive. Unlike the full-bred immortals on the farm, he couldn’t compel others, and he could only read the thoughts of children or adults who thought in the purest form. A lot of good that would do him.
He wasn’t Dane the teenager anymore. Nor was he Amish or like the immortals who lived on the farm.
Aside from the erotic jolt of energy blood-drinking brought, he saw no gains to his half-bred existence. He might be part-blood-sucker, but that part of him only added to his lonesome status as the outcast.
He had no clue who he was supposed to be anymore.
After learning his parents weren’t even his real parents, he lost any pre-determined factors about his genetics. His biological father was a psychotic immortal, and a deranged vampire murdered his adoptive mother. Not something he could easily share in a grief circle or with his old friends.
Since learning immortals existed, he saw unthinkable things. Death, resurrection, insanity, violence, abductions, blood lust, and more. But worst of all, he saw the limitless power of a cult that flourished under centuries of indoctrination. The sheltered existence of The Order was perhaps the scariest truth of all.
Immortals were hiding in plain sight, but their blanketed crimes hid beneath the laws of their faith. To think religion could hold more power than instinct.
Such illusions of peaceful domestication didn’t fool him. They were still dangerous when it served them. They merely had to pretty up their actions by proclaiming their behavior was sanctioned by God. Such ideology had been ingrained in them since birth, propagated by older generations, and anyone who questioned their Amish ways or opposed The Council was shunned, like him.
Dane peeled back the damp label of his beer. His thoughts once again returned to Grace. She could have come with him. He would have asked her if he thought she might say yes, but she’d made it clear she would not abandon her faith.
Amish life was all Gracie had ever known. She feared the outside world, but he could have protected her and helped her acclimate. If she had just trusted him, they could have lived a normal life together. He could have shown her that the modern world she feared was not as scary as it seemed, but her innocence left her imagination limited. And it was such innocence that made him fall in love with her.
Gracie loved him, too. Or so he thought.
It no longer mattered. She would never be his. She would never set aside her beliefs and choose him over the so-called destiny her faith promised.
Grace…
Even now, his heart called to her despite the endless ache. Would that ache ever go away?
He turned his beer, wondering how he would go on, never knowing how her day was or if she was safe and happy. How would he make it more than a few hours without thinking of an excuse to see her?
He should have said goodbye. But then it would have been impossible to leave, and he simply couldn’t stay, not when the bishop himself had exiled him for breaking their laws.
Dane’s jaw locked, his hand balling into a fist tight enough to make his knuckles pop. Fuck the bishop and fuck The Order.
None of this would have happened if they would have killed Isaiah. The monster not only murdered his mother, the fucker now had his sister, Cybil.
Yet he was the one sent away.
That was what Gracie chose over him—an order that refused to see justice and masked atrocities by labeling them ordained acts of God.
Maybe she deserved them.
He gripped the bottle, chugging down the beer as he breathed through his bottomless rage. He wanted to break something. He wanted to watch that sadistic fucker bleed out until its eyes glazed and the life left its lungs once and for all. How could he have let that fucking beast get away with his sister?
His mind shied away from assumptions and images of what Isaiah might do to Cybil. He had no idea where she was or how to save her. It was over. He needed to let her go and accept that he’d lost—both his sister and Grace.