Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
He cast a glance at the witch. He’d be damned before hers was. Rök’s ability to defend her from mystical shit like this had been called into question, but who was here now? Who was protecting her?
Me.
Just a couple of hours ago, he’d been downing mugs at Erol’s. One word voiced in that noisy bar had turned him onto a completely different trajectory, one name.
Poppy.
FIVE
The demon readied for trouble, shoulders squared, his longsword reflecting the low light. His eyes were a brilliant gray, his fangs and horns sharpening. Smoke spun a hazy aura around his towering frame.
Magnificent male.
She might’ve expected the smoke to fill the room and choke her breaths, but it was more like shaded air. Over the years, she’d learned he could turn it thicker, using it for camouflage and even for travel.
Yet not in Raven’s Murk Castle.
She struggled to stay focused on the incoming threat and to ignore her attraction to this demon. Why was he so protective after all this time? Why’d he have to talk about doting on kids with that devoted smile on his face?
Shake it off, Poppy. Rök Kours simply wasn’t an option for her. She reminded herself of his reputation. He got off on the fact that paramours summoned him, like repeat customers who ranked him five stars.
Even if he weren’t a player, he and Poppy still would have no future. Though she’d once suspected she might be Rök’s fated one, he had convinced her otherwise. Male Loreans went berserk if denied their mates.
Cadeon had held a siege for Holly; Rök hadn’t even rung Poppy’s freaking doorbell.
Somewhere out there, his female existed or would exist. Until he found that partner, Poppy would be a walk-on in the movie of his life.
And that was assuming he even wanted more than a one-night stand. That was assuming they lived through this night—
A pair of skeletons breached the dungeon’s doorway, their bony feet clattering on the stone landing. Their menacing skulls craned left to right to scan the area.
Stray question: How can they see? Or think?
Stray answer: They just fucking can.
“That’s messed up.” Rök passed his sword from one hand to the other.
“You spooked yet?”
“Nothing in the Lore spooks me—except things that come back to life when they should be at their rest.”
This unexpected admission only endeared him to her. He wasn’t flawless; yet he was full of courage to face these creatures.
Damn it.
The skeletons descended the steps, then another two followed. Then three more. In the past, her family’s house had crawled with illusions of them.
They teemed into the dungeon as if they’d been poured inside, amassing in front of the demon. The rattle of their bones and snapping of their teeth grew into an agitated din. Scythes scraped the brick walls, sending up sparks.
She yearned to fight, but she had only three battle-magic pouches left. What she wouldn’t give for an innate power!
Rök bared his lengthened fangs at them, his face growing harsher with aggression, the planes more demonic. “Come on, I’m waiting for you!” he said, taunting them. “Come to demon.”
The gang of skeletons charged, their scythes raised. Rök dodged strikes with uncanny speed and cut through the first wave. Bones flew. Femurs, clavicles, and skulls somersaulted through the air to clatter to the floor.
But they rolled back together to reassemble.
He fended off another wave. They rushed; they fell; they reassembled. So he swung the flat edge of his sword even harder for the next blitz, grunting with effort. He pulverized bones to dust, and the other skeletons held back.
Rök glanced over his shoulder. “See? Just have to hit them hard enough.” He winked at her, not knowing that behind him the dust was reforming into bone. “I don’t want to label myself a hero of old, but when the shoe fits—”
“Uh, demon?” She jerked her chin in that direction.
He whirled back around. “Huh. New plan.” His sword flashed out, crumbling another foe. Before it could reassemble, Rök booted its bones toward an oubliette. The force sucked them down. Whoosh!
Clever demon!
He sheathed his sword as another pair charged. Barreling into them, he hoisted one over his shoulder and tossed it to the waiting trap. Dodging another scythe, he grappled to take hold of his next opponent, chucking it in as well.
Bogey after bogey went hurtling toward the oubliettes. Only half a dozen remained.
Yet then a scythe arced toward Rök’s face; he blocked the staff with his forearm, just as another scythe caught the backs of his bootheels. He fell backward—right across an oubliette.
“Rök, no!” Would he tumble into nothing, lost forever?
He stiffened his body like a plank. Muscles straining, he resisted the suction and still defended against blows. “I’ve got this, witch!”
“Hardly!” Poppy snared one of her pouches, power infusing her again. She aimed a beam at the skeleton closest to him, knocking its bones out like bowling pins.