Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Sensible.”
Kierse sat up, stretching out her neck. Then she looked at Graves. So somber, so angry, so much like her. They’d reacted to circumstances differently. But like called to like. And right now, she could feel him draw her in.
“You never brought up the spear,” Kierse said.
“No, I did not.”
“I would think you would want your mentor involved.”
“Would you want your mentor involved?”
Kierse recoiled at that thought. Jason was not a welcome thought in this conversation. He’d taught her everything she knew. He’d been her mentor and her worst nightmare. She was glad that he was gone and she never had to see him again.
“No,” she said stiffly.
“Kingston and I have a rare relationship among warlocks,” he continued. “We’re still something like friends with separate territories. I don’t always approve of his methods, and he doesn’t always approve of mine. He would not approve of this.”
“Why not?” she prodded.
“The spear may be valuable, but it is also dangerous to possess. He thinks it’s a waste of effort. And I wouldn’t put it past him to intercede. He likes to collect things as I do.”
She nodded in understanding. She would keep her silence around him. They didn’t need another complication to add to the mission. But at least it explained why Edgar had packed up everything before Kingston gotten to the library.
She decided to change topics. “You were training me this whole time?”
“Yes. I’ve assumed you were a warlock from the start. We have to wait for proof, but I like to go ahead as planned anyway. My methods are . . . unique.”
“They appear to be exactly what you were taught.”
“Similar, but what happened to you was not part of my plan.”
“Which part?”
“Your illness,” he said, his eyes skimming down her body. “I did not like to see you hurting.”
“I recovered.”
“You did, but not as fast as I would have liked. Nor did you see yourself when you passed out.” He tipped his head. “You were so . . . delicate. So fragile.”
She nearly laughed. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
“No, that is why I didn’t like it. You were hurt, and there was nothing I could do about it.”
His eyes bored through her, letting her see into the depths of him. Something she was certain he very rarely let anyone see.
“I do not like to be out of control.”
She swallowed. She knew that about him. And about herself as well. Control was what held her life together. It had been predictable even in its villainous qualities. She had grown to expect them. Here, she was not in control. She had carved a small corner into his world and pried at every instance where she could grapple more power from him, but that was as much control as she could have with Graves. He was the apex predator.
A part of her shivered at the thought. She had never been with someone before where she was not the highest on the food chain. It made heat pool in her core, and she shifted her legs. Her head was still woozy from the alcohol. She had no idea how much she had consumed. Only that it was enough to loosen her tongue and her body.
The simple fact was: she wanted him.
Why shouldn’t she have him?
Kierse pushed the fur blanket off of her lap as she came to her feet. Graves’s eyes landed on her, carefully neutral.
“Going to bed?”
“Not yet.” She took the glass out of his hand. There was a knuckle’s worth left, and she tipped it back into her mouth like a shot.
His eyes tracked the bob of her throat as she swallowed the liquid courage. Heat flared as their gazes met once more, and he leaned back on the couch, spreading his arms wide, abandoning his book.
“I was going to drink that.”
She set the glass down on the coffee table and grasped the bourbon bottle. She shook it back and forth, the dregs sloshing around in the bottom. “Just enough for one more.”
He reached for it, but she grinned and tipped back the bottle, letting the last bit slosh into her mouth. He growled in the back of his throat. Something primal. Something uncharacteristic of Graves. Perhaps he was also a little drunk from good conversation with his mentor, from the booze, and from the ounce of relaxation in this maddening timeline.
“That’s coming out of your expenses.” He leaned back in his seat once more, watching her with those calculating gray eyes.
“I think I can afford it.” She dropped the bottle back onto the table. “Though it’s not what I want.”
His answering gambit was to tip his head up and raise his eyebrows. He must have known what she wanted. Sensed it. How could he not? It had been circling between them since the night of the party.
“What is it that you want, Wren?” he responded with that edge of desire on the final syllable.