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)
“Can’t believe the elders agreed to let a single fae set foot in this shithole,” the beautiful fae man said with his dirty potty mouth. “Just because they were shot out of hell’s oozing anus, those demons think they’re fit to walk the same halls as us? Ha. Give us a week. We’ll be running this place, and the rest of the inferiors and mongrels will be gone.”
Beside him, his fae brethren nodded in agreement.
I did not.
“Excuse me?” I tugged his sleeve. “I know it’s not right to refer to you as a limp fairy on an official sign for all to see, but please don’t make it worse by referring to anyone as inferior. You know as well as I that no one is inferior to another.”
A mess of wide, disbelieving eyes slowly turned on me.
“School—especially this school—is tough enough, so why don’t we all make an effort to get along and support each other?” My chirpy voice was spreading through the hall, because everyone in the hall was falling silent. “If we do that, I think we’ll all be pleasantly surprised to discover that our similarities outweigh our differences.”
The flaxen-hair potty mouth stared at me with a sort of frozen look on his outrageously handsome face.
“I’ll start.” I extended my hand to him. “Hello, my name is Charlie, and I like chocolate, fluffy pillows, and Gothic architecture.” I kept my answers to the stuff I’d actually seen in hell. I didn’t want to give myself away by naming an interest that didn’t exist here. “What’s your name?”
Potty Mouth gaped at me—horror darkening his expression with every word that fell from my mouth. “By the gods,” he croaked, “what is this thing? Why is it talking to me?”
I went rigid. “Well, that was rude,” I forced out. “I know I’m not the most attractive demon, but there’s no need to be—”
“Ugh, it’s disgusting!” Potty Mouth bellowed, making my cheeks catch fire. “It’s infected. It’s diseased! Get it away from me!”
His fae buddies surged around him, lunging at me.
“Get away from Prince Ravenscar!” High above the wings, a fist flew at my head. “You filthy—”
Crying out, I raised my hand to block—already knowing I’d be too late.
Wham!
The hit struck dead-on and rebounded through hard, solid muscle—but not mine.
Tristan filled my vision. Leaning over me like he did before, one solid, strong hand held me tight to his chest while the other clamped on the fae guy’s fist—stopping and holding it in mid-air.
My knees went weak. I felt the momentum of that hit rebound through his body and jolt me. Just how strong were fae... and how much stronger was the man holding me?
“Cool it down, fly boy.” Tristan tossed his fist away. “I know this one’s a freak, but he’s with me. Back off.”
I started, blinking up at Tristan. I’m with him? Really?
I’d never been interested in the roided-up, musclehead jock types who for some reason found it impossible to find shirts that weren’t two sizes too small for them, but then... none of those guys jumped in to defend me without a second thought. Even while calling me a freak.
Fly Boy clutched his hand to his chest, looking at it like he couldn’t believe any more than I could that Tristan stopped his hit. “How dare you?” he hissed, color leaking into his bronze cheeks. “How dare you touch me, you filthy mongrel!”
Anger swelled in my chest. Politeness and kindness were in short supply in hell, but everyone spoke slurs in the same language of hate, and that didn’t fly with me in any realm. “Hey! Don’t speak to him like—”
Tristan’s laugh cut me off, echoing in the crowded space. “That’s funny, man. Guess you knew this already, but your mama likes to call me a filthy mongrel too—when I’m fucking her up the ass.”
The faeman’s face flushed a nasty, mottled purple.
“Mama and son like the dirty talk, huh?” Tristan’s smirk was hellish. “How about next time you get in there and slap my ass while my thighs are slapping hers?” Tristan acted it out for the benefit of us all—pumping his hips and smacking against my backside.
If I wasn’t red before, I definitely was then. Red from the bottom of my feet to the top of my bald head.
Tristan took off, leading me away, before the shouting and cursing started.
I glanced up at him, my shoulder tingling from where he clasped it—his hand heavy and warm. “Um, thanks for that,” I said. “Stepping in and blocking that punch. It was nice of you to make an enemy of that guy for my sake.” I glanced back. There were still four fae guys on him, tearing his fancy clothes trying to hold him back. “Because he looks like he’s getting ready for a good, long grudge.”
Tristan laughed. “Fuck that winged piece of shit, and fuck you too,” he said almost good-naturedly. “I didn’t do that to be nice. I did it because even though you’ve got some impossible power over hellhounds, you’re still a weak, ugly little freak.”