Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
A hand hooked through my ruffles and collar, and started dragging me away.
“H-hey,” I croaked, twisting my neck around.
Ronin was pristine once again. While I was dry heaving, he obviously snapped away the knives and healed the wounds. There wasn’t a trace to say they were ever there—not even holes in his shirt. Unnaturally gorgeous once again, Ronin moved through a crowd that parted quickly for him, tugging me along the whole way.
“What are you doing?” I snapped. “Let me go! I did not tell that guy to throw those knives. I don’t have anything to do with him, or you!”
He didn’t even look down.
“Are you listening to me?” Outrage laced my voice. “Hello? Hello!”
Ronin walked up to a table of guys. They were up and vacating their seats before he even grabbed hold of a chair. Pulling it out, he lifted me up and plopped me blinking and stuttering on my backside.
I could only goggle at him in complete disbelief as he waved a hand, magically cleaned me of ichor and brains, pulled up a chair, stretched out, and dropped his head on my lap.
He was out and snoring within minutes, which was half as long as I stared at him—trying to make sense of the complete stranger who made me his pillow not once, but twice in the last twelve hours.
“Ummm...” I raised my head, looking around as if someone was going to help me.
Everyone, absolutely everyone, was staring at me—but no one made a move to help me. On the contrary, the tables nearest us emptied out quick—with all of the students moving to seats as far from us as they could get.
For the first time since I found myself in the company of demons, they were three things I never thought a demon could be—quiet, subdued, and behaved.
Everyone quietly filled up their plates, practically tiptoed to their seats, and then started eating in near silence. They weren’t messing on their phones anymore. They were even careful about scraping their forks across the plates. All of this they did while fixing their gaze on me and Ronin like we were a couple of bombs about to explode.
“Sabrina?” I whispered. “Sabrina, what’s going on? Why did everyone start freaking out when this guy walked in?”
She heaved a sigh from within the folds of fabric. “What guy, human?” She poked her head out of my ruffles. “Who are you referring—?” She looked down.
Flying out of my shirt so fast, Sabrina smacked me across the cheek with her tail.
“Hey!”
She hit the floor and kept moving, slithering away and out the door in the space of a breath.
I stared at the spot where she disappeared. Did that just happen? Did that really just happen? Sabrina didn’t try to ditch me when I was walking over a lake of lava, being chased by hellhounds, or under attack by a murder of carrion crows. But this guy...
I slowly looked down on the angelic face resting peacefully on my lap.
...sent her slithering for the hills.
Lucifer’s voice whispered through my head, crowding out my own. “Rulers and kings are for societies that believe in order and hierarchy, and demons believe in nothing but power.”
Just how powerful was this guy that he could turn a room full of howling jackals into meek little puppies, just by walking inside?
“Who are you?”
“Ronin Belphe, of course.” Two plates clapped down next to me, and so did six feet of hard, packed muscles and smoldering eyes. “How do you not know who Ronin Belphe is?”
The werewolf I bumped into not once, but twice raked me up and down as he arranged his food in front of him. He had two trays, and they were loaded down with meat, meat, and more meat. I clocked pork, turkey, lamb, goat, and venison just with one look.
“Every demon knows who Ronin Belphe is,” he went on. “So why don’t you?”
He picked up a turkey leg and his jaw elongated. Vicious, throat-ripping fangs erupted from his gums and fell on the cooked meat—shredding the meat from the bone with ravenous hunger.
“I... I...” I was too distracted by the head on my lap, and the turkey juices flying on my face to string my sentence together quickly. “I’m not—”
“You’re not a demon, are you.”
I stilled. Eyes wide, jaw hanging, muscles stiff—I stared in frozen astonishment at the gorgeous supernatural model covered in drippy meat juices who was gazing back into my eyes like he saw right through the warts and rotting teeth... to me.
“Wha...” I forced a laugh. “What are you... talking about—?”
“I didn’t catch it at first,” he breezed on. “I was too busy laughing my ass off, but after you walked away, I realized you said something after you walked into me”—his piercing eyes stuck me through—“sorry.”
I blinked. What?
“Never, in my whole fucking life, have I heard a demon apologize,” he said, making the sweat drip beneath my collar. “That, and you ride hellhounds, and you don’t know who Belphe is?” He scoffed. “No way you’re a demon, so spill it. You’re wearing a glamour, right? A real fucking ugly one. Why?” he asked, shooting me through the heart with question after question. “Who are you really?”