Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
And what awaits me if I leave this abandoned house—
Abruptly, I frown.
Wait … am I dreaming? Is this real? I glance around again, noting the horse in the corner—and brace for the chestnut to turn toward me with its eyes glowing red from an evil possession. Even though the steed does no such thing, I think of the old wives in the village, who always warned that however frightening the dark of night can be, it’s nothing compared to the dangers of the dream world. There, the demons are not alive so they can’t be killed when they come out of the shadows—
“Merc, where are you,” I beg the silence.
Unable to stay where I am, terrified of what I’ll find outside, I start for the door, the toes of my slipper shoes hitting objects that rattle as I kick them out of my way. I don’t care about the noise. I want something to come at me, so at least I can stop worrying about when it will—
The door swings open, and lunar light streams in, blinding me.
I gasp. Or wait … someone else does.
“Merc?”
By the width of those shoulders and the scent of cedar soap, I know it’s him. Except he just stands there in the jambs, his one hand on the door’s handle, his other raised with that broadsword in his grip.
“Where have you been?” I say hoarsely, my breath coming out in clouds that pass through the moonbeams.
The tip of the broadsword slowly lowers. Then he continues to stay where he is, staring at me, even though he should shut the door.
Not that that flimsy wood can protect us from much.
“Are you all right?” I take another step forward, kicking something else that clangs. “Are you injured? What happen—”
He wrenches around, ducking his head and putting his free hand out to stop me. “Your veil.”
“What?”
“Veil! Your veil.”
I stop in confusion, and that’s when I hear the thud for a third time. It turns out to just be the horse, stamping a hoof as he repositions himself in the corner. That’s what woke me up.
And in a similar way, the sound brings me fully to my senses.
With a squeak, I reach up to my head. The length of fabric that I draped over my face is back on the floorboards where I ripped the thing off.
“Did you put it back,” Merc demands in a rough voice. “Can I turn around.”
My eyes return to the heft of him. His torso is twisted about on his hips, the leather surcoat stretched tight across his shoulders, his thighs thick with leashed power. In the moonlight, his black hair gleams in shades of navy blue and brilliant silver.
Hide.
Suddenly, I feel as though I’m back in the water of the moat, my body flailing and weightless, my lungs burning with suffocation: For all my life, I’ve listened to the voice in my head, I’ve heeded the warning. I have … behaved.
But now I’m here, in the night. In this burned-out village.
In danger from whence I came, facing only danger to which I go.
I’m done with the hiding.
“Sorrel, is your veil back in place?”
“Yes,” I whisper, as, for reasons that make no sense, I suddenly feel more calm than at any other time in my life.
Merc exhales a long, deep breath, and the tension in him eases as he uncoils and turns back around—
He freezes once more.
I can tell nothing of his expression, for the illumination that streams in from behind him turns him into a shadow, and blinds me where I stand.
“You lie,” he says in a voice so deep, it’s nearly inaudible.
There’s a long moment, and I have the distinct impression he’s giving me time to reconsider and re-cover. Keeping my eyes on his boots, I lift my chin, by way of answering.
Merc continues to stare at me as he reaches behind himself and shuts the door. The moonlight is cut off by inches, as if it’s a living thing and being slowly killed, and when the darkness consumes us both, I find myself shivering again.
But it’s not from the cold.
I’m ashamed.
I know how odd I look. I kept a shard of mirror in my nook beneath the stairs, and from time to time, I’d take a glance at myself, expecting something to change: Colorless, wavy hair, that I have never cut, not once, and keep pinned up in a knot at my nape. Skin that is freckled. Features that are unremarkable. Eyes that are such a pale gray, only the rim of them defines the iris.
Never have I seen anyone who resembles me. Clearly, that’s the same for Merc, and as things remain silent between us, I regret revealing myself. Did I honestly think that my attraction to him meant he’d feel the same as soon as he saw me? As if there aren’t enough undercurrents in our awkwardly constructed partnership—