Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
He's beautiful in the way dangerous things often are—like the perfect stillness of a viper before it strikes. The moment of collapsed time when the danger is as clear as the impossibility of escape.
His features are carved perfection, sharp and soft in all the right places. He has a strong jaw, a mouth that looks made for both cruelty and pleasure, and those eyes—gods help me—they're the deepest shade of amber I've ever seen, almost molten gold in the fading light.
He turns to look straight at me, and everything else fades. The world narrows to a tunnel with him at the end of it, and my heart forgets to beat. Even across the distance, those eyes burn into me with an intensity that makes my chest tighten and my throat dry. Heat rushes through my body unbidden—a reaction I can neither control nor understand.
The left side of his face is twisted with burn scars that begin at his temple and disappear beneath his collar, yet somehow they only enhance his dangerous allure, like veins of fire frozen beneath his skin.
It's impossible not to hold my breath as his attention lingers on me.
Looking at him reminds me of how I used to feel back home on our fishing boat when a storm was about to roll in. Some instinctive part of me knew I needed to drop the oars and row for the docks—to save myself from the raw power coming my way. And yet all I ever wanted to do was stand there and stare. I wanted to watch the dark clouds gather and morph as the wind blew them straight for me, even when thunder shook the air itself.
Maybe that’s why I can’t look away. I’ve spent the last three years going out on our boat, secretly wishing those same storm clouds would roll in and wash me away, too. To urge the waters that took half my family to take me, too.
The scarred volunteer seems to offer the same kind of deadly promise—total annihilation by proximity, as if all it would take is to drift within his orbit to be torn to shreds.
I realize he's staring right back at me still, and I'm suddenly aware of just how fast I'm breathing and how hard my heart is beating. As his gaze drops to the "V" on my chest, something in his expression shifts. His eyes narrow, and his jaw tightens. For a split second, I see his fingers curl into his palm, knuckles fading from a deep tanned color to pure white.
He stalks toward me with purposeful strides, his movements fluid like a predator's, and the crowd parts before him without hesitation.
Oh shit.
"Who is he?" I whisper, not taking my eyes off him.
"Not sure. Scary bastard though, isn't he?" Nolan murmurs. "With burns like that, I'd bet he's from the border regions. Maybe even lived in Red Kingdom territory before Empire reclaimed it."
Mireen's posture stiffens beside me. "I heard the guards talking about a volunteer from the Red Kingdom border. If he's from there, you can't trust him, no matter which side he claims to be on."
Before either of us can say more, the burned volunteer stops directly in front of me. He's even more imposing up close, towering at least a foot above me. The burn scars on his face tell a story of pain and survival, the tissue rippled and angry against his bronze skin. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he stares down at me.
"Volunteer," he says, his voice deep and rough, like stones grinding together. "Let me guess—here to serve the glorious Empire?"
The contempt in his voice when he says "Empire" tells me everything I need to know about where his loyalties lie—or at least where they once did. Mireen might actually be right about him.
"I have my reasons," I answer, lifting my chin to meet his gaze despite the way my heart hammers against my ribs.
"I'm sure you do," he says. "Someone probably fed you stories about honor and duty since you were a child. Made you believe sacrificing yourself meant something."
His words sink into me like barbed hooks, drawing blood as they tear at wounds that haven't even begun to heal. They sting because they're a reminder that the only thing my sacrifice will have bought back home is relief. Relief that I'm gone and can't cause any more pain and suffering to the ones I love.
But I push the pain down, eyes hard as I stare up at him. "You volunteered too. Are you speaking from experience?"
Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe, that I'd challenge him. "My reasons are my own."
"What a coincidence. Mine too." There's more ice in my voice than I expect, but I'm glad for it. This guy is beautiful, but he's a complete asshole.
He studies me for a moment, his amber eyes searching my face as if looking for something specific. "So eager to die for a kingdom that sees you as nothing but a weapon."