Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 107652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“I’m good.” I tried to give it back. “Thanks, though.”
He slammed both hands on the cupboards, trapping me against his body. “What if I insist?”
I clutched the tiny bottle, flinching at his closeness. “I still won’t agree.”
His head tipped down, his forehead almost kissing mine. “What if I held you down and poured it down your throat?”
I tried to morph into the cupboard, his presence burning me alive. “Then you’d probably end up wearing it because I’d throw it all back up again.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
My heart stopped beating.
The moment stretched on and on and on, but then he finally nodded, pushed away, and stepped back wearily. “Fine.” He raked a hand through his thick hair. “I won’t force you because I know what that’s like.” His eyes snapped to mine, his face filling with harsh command. “But you will keep it on you at all times. If you become borderline catatonic, then you take it. Do you hear me?”
My heart translated his order as concern, all while common sense tried to keep me in- line. “What are you up to? Why do I get the feeling something’s wrong?”
He sucked in a breath as if fortifying himself. “Nothing’s wrong. Not yet anyway.”
“Does that mean something is going to be wrong?”
“Possibly. That’s why I can’t have you being a hindrance.”
“A hindrance?” I frowned, studying him. He seemed so different today and not just because he was dealing with the aftereffects of blood loss. He almost seemed resigned to something but also tightly wound as if going to battle. “I can’t do this anymore. What aren’t you telling me? What the hell is going on?”
He shot me a look and moved as steadily as he could toward the desk tucked on the office side of this strange hospital room. Without a word, he ducked, wrenched out the bottom drawer, and placed it on the tabletop. Angling it sideways, he ran his hand beneath it and gritted his teeth as he found whatever he was looking for.
The sound of tape ripping filled the room as he pulled off a small silk pouch from the underside and pocketed it.
I stepped toward him, my ears ringing thanks to rapidly building stress. “What’s that?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Leaving the drawer on the desk, he headed toward one of the filing cabinets. His gaze flashed to mine. “Did you ever take that silver pill Whisper delivered to you that first night?”
“What pill...?” A memory of a tin case and an oversized glossy silver pill filled my mind. “Oh no...” I shook my head. “I didn’t.”
“Do you have it with you?”
“It’s on the bedside cabinet in—”
“Forget it.” Opening the top drawer, Lucien yanked out my rucksack.
“Hey.” My eyes popped wide. “You have my bag—”
“Catch.” He threw it to me.
I caught it as he strode to the door.
“Come along,” he barked.
“Where are we going?” I slung the familiar tatty strap onto my shoulder, tucking the vial of blood into the small side pocket.
“To kill someone.”
My feet tripped over one another. “Eh...shouldn’t you be going to bed? You need to sleep like you always do after an afternoon in here.”
“I can rest later.”
“Murder is that important to you?”
He looked at me as he yanked open the door and prowled down the corridor. “I thought you’d learned by now that murder is my favourite pastime.”
I shuddered as Whisper appeared from wherever he’d been, attaching himself to Lucien.
I chased after both of them, my nose wrinkling. I really, really didn’t like his energy. Didn’t like the overall tension or that Whisper kept flicking looks between us as if he sensed it too.
Why had Lucien given me back my things?
Who was he going to kill?
Hadn’t he already gotten rid of the assassins?
I really didn’t want to watch another woman die today.
Besides, it was daylight.
He was a creature of routine.
He should be returning to his window seat and a good book if he wasn’t going to bed.
Yet none of this made any sense.
Was it my fault?
Had I disturbed him that much by coming on his hand and then giving him the same release?
Because...that wasn’t entirely my fault.
It’d taken two to play—
Did he regret it?
Did he hate me for overstepping, and I’d destroyed whatever peace he’d found?
By the time we stepped into the impressive foyer, I was a wreck. A headachy, teary mess who really needed a nap.
Lucien groaned as he wrenched open the double doors and thunder rumbled. Clouds piled on top of one another, turning white to stormy grey.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “It can’t rain. Not yet.”
“Why can’t it rain?” I asked, coming to join him as he stood on the portico. Whisper padded into the garden, his hackles prickling at the incoming bad weather.
Lucien glowered at the heavens as if he could personally smite the weather god. “They won’t fly the drones if it’s pelting.”