Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“Aren’t we all?” I tease.
The horn honks, making us both jolt. The fact that my father managed to reach toward the front and honk means he’s beyond irritated.
Rowen inclines his head. “To the other side, where there is no war.” He lifts his hand to the right side of his face, then brings it down his cheek until he hits his chest, flipping it over in an ancient offering of the Gods. “No war with them.”
Mouth dry, I whisper, “Only life for us.”
“Only life,” he whispers. “Hunt well, daughter of—”
I shake my head.
I don’t need his damning words cast into the world. I don’t think I can bear the weight of them. Everything already feels heavy. Everything already feels wrong.
Maybe because it is.
“Everything will be fine,” I say.
I hate that I lie so easily now.
I hate that I actually want to believe the lie even more.
Chapter Three
Aric
My jaw aches from clenching it, and I drag a hand over the day-old scruff, as if I can rub the tension out. I should go for a run. Shower. Shave. Pretend I’m ready for the onslaught of new and returning students about to flood campus.
I stay where I am.
I’ve been standing at this window, staring down at the loop in front of Endir’s gates, long enough for my breath to fog the glass.
Watching. Waiting.
For her.
The absolute last person I ever wanted to see again.
Two years ago, that day on the beach, I made the mistake of doing her a kindness. She went straight to her father. And by the end of the week, my parents were dead.
I hoped she rotted in hell.
When I saw her name on the enrollment list last week, I froze. My brother, Reeve, was reading the roster over my shoulder, and I knew the moment he saw her name, too, because he took a few steps away like I was going to throw something.
Which only pissed me off more. I’m not violent. Usually.
My grandfather is a cunning bastard. Nothing happens on this campus without his permission. So if she was coming here, he’d allowed it to happen. He wanted it to happen. Only question is, why?
I brace one arm across the window casing and continue to wait. There was no point pushing the old man for answers. He’d give them only when they served him. For now, I just needed one look at the woman responsible for ripping my family apart. One look to confirm I feel absolutely nothing for her except hatred.
Then, like I’d summoned her myself, a long black car glides to a stop. And Rey Stjerne steps out, rain catching in the dark shine of her hair.
I only get a brief look at her before she turns away from me—but it’s enough.
The last time I saw her, she had wild, dark curls, ripped jeans, and an oversize NYU sweatshirt with a mustard stain on the sleeve. Odd, the things that stick.
Now? Everything’s different. Sleek bun, hair yanked back so tight it looks painful. Wide sunglasses. A mouth set in a line that makes her look carved from ice. Long black coat, dark-wash wide-legged jeans, high-heeled boots, soft gray sweater. Every piece deliberate, calculated.
I let out a long breath, the tension in my jaw easing for the first time in more than a week. This version of her will be easy to hate.
I continue to watch as the trunk closes, Rey and her father hugging before he heads back into his car. Then she and her driver walk over to stand on the sidewalk. Too close.
I reach up and clear the fog from the glass again, imagine I can hear her voice in the air, drifting through my second-floor window. Even though we haven’t seen each other in years, I’d never forget a voice like Rey’s.
It’s a complete and total contradiction, soft and airy when it shouldn’t be and extremely sharp when it needs to be. The kind of voice that slices through you like a knife, cutting you to ribbons but making you thankful for the pain—until you realize it’s too late and you’re already bleeding out.
I shudder. I may not survive this semester.
I don’t even know why I keep watching them. I shouldn’t care, and I really don’t. I’m just curious.
From up here, she looks smaller than I remembered. Almost fragile.
She’s angled slightly away from her driver, like she’s already halfway gone. He says something, but she doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smile, either. Just nods once and keeps her hands in her coat pockets.
Other students are starting to arrive—parents dragging suitcases, hugging too long, laughing and snapping family photos on their phones. But she doesn’t move like them. Doesn’t carry that awkward, wide-eyed energy everyone else has. She’s composed. Still. Like she’s going to a funeral instead of her first day of college.
The driver shifts closer. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t lean in, either.