Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
When he sees me, his entire persona shifts from controlled composure to something raw and hungry that makes my pulse pick up speed even though I’m trying everything I can to not allow it.
“Jesus,” he breathes.
“Is that good or bad?” I ask, smoothing the dress nervously.
“That’s dangerous.” His statement is rougher than usual. “You look like the type of woman men start wars over.”
Wren makes a satisfied sound behind me as she gathers her stuff. “I told you I do good work.” She then leaves the room so it’s now just the two of us.
Blue steps fully into the room, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of everything. The way he fills the space, the sound of my own heartbeat, the warmth radiating from his body. “Are you ready to meet all of Grimlock?”
My stomach does a little flip. “How many people is that exactly?”
“Every soul in town. Shopkeepers, artists, the old families up on the hill, even Jasper from the cemetery.” Blue straightens his cuff links, the movement casual but somehow deliberate. “When I send out invitations, people show up.”
“Why does that sound ominous?”
“Because it is.” His smile turns wicked. “Tonight isn’t just a party, Saylor. Everyone’s going to see exactly where you stand in this town.”
“And where exactly do I stand?” I ask, turning to face him fully.
Blue’s smile is enigmatic. “That depends on how you handle tonight.”
“Handle what, exactly? Small talk and hors d’oeuvres?”
“Questions. Lots of them. Grimlock’s residents will want to know who you are, why you’re here, how long you’re staying.” His eyes travel slowly from my face down to my feet and back up again, lingering on the way the silk hugs my curves. When his gaze meets mine again, there’s heat there that makes my skin flush. “They’ll be polite about it, but persistent.”
“Should I be worried?”
“No.” Blue straightens, offering his arm. “You should be yourself. That’s always enough.”
As we prepare to leave the room, I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror one more time. I look like someone who could survive in Blue’s world. Someone who deserves whatever protection he’s offering.
Most importantly, I look like someone the Crow should be very, very afraid of.
“Ready?” Blue asks, offering his arm.
I think about Dad, about how proud he’d be to see me holding my head high instead of hiding in my room. I think about the Crow, and how satisfying it will be when they realize they picked the wrong family to destroy.
“Let’s go show them what a Mitchell looks like,” I say, taking Blue’s arm.
I can hear voices and laughter drifting up from downstairs, the sound of a party in full swing. My party. A celebration of the fact that I’m alive, that I survived, that I’m here to stay.
When we reach the top of the grand staircase, I stop completely. The main floor has been transformed into something that belongs in the most exclusive gothic nightclub in Manhattan. Hundreds of candles flicker from candelabras, mantelpieces, and even the windowsills, their flames creating a living tapestry of light and shadow that casts across the dark wood paneling. The massive chandelier overhead has been dimmed to amber, bathing everything in honey-colored warmth that makes the floors gleam and that turns every guest into a figure from a romantic oil painting.
Musicians have claimed strategic corners. A violinist near the fireplace draws haunting melodies from her instrument while a pianist at the black Steinway weaves jazz standards into something darker, more seductive. The bass notes seem to vibrate through the floor itself, creating a pulse that matches my heartbeat. Servers in crisp black uniforms move between clusters of guests, offering champagne in crystal flutes and delicate hors d’oeuvres arranged on silver platters.
The guests themselves are a study in elegant darkness. Women wear rich jewel tones—emerald velvet, sapphire silk, deep burgundy that looks almost black in the candlelight. Men sport perfectly tailored suits in charcoal and haunting blue, their pocket squares and cuff links catching the light. Everyone moves with the unhurried grace of people who know they belong exactly where they are, their conversations creating layers of sound that rise and fall with the music.
It’s beautiful and mysterious and exactly the kind of place I would have killed to perform in back in New York.
“It’s perfect,” I breathe.
Blue’s smile is pleased, almost proud. “I thought you might appreciate the atmosphere.”
“Did you do all this just to impress me?”
“Maybe.” He adjusts his tie with deliberate nonchalance. “Did it work?”
“I’m standing here in a designer dress about to meet an entire town full of strangers who probably think you’ve lost your mind.” I glance down at the elegant crowd. “So yeah, I’d say you’ve made an impression.”
“Good. Because once we walk down there, there’s no taking it back.”
“Taking what back?”
Blue’s eyes meet mine, serious for a moment. “The fact that you’re mine to protect.”