Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
It’s a city.
“You’re awake.” I turn and find Josep behind me. He’s wearing loose pants and no shirt. And my God, is he a god? Because he’s got the body of one. And the face—which is perfectly symmetrical, like it was meant to display those blue eyes of his like art. His hair is long and blond and a bit wavy. He looks like a… well, god really is the right word.
I blink. “I’m awake. Where are we?”
Josep smiles. “In my dream, of course. I don’t like to leave the cave. And why should I? I can go anywhere I want without ever leaving home.”
I look around, trying to see the blurry edges that might reveal the truth that this place is a lie, but I can’t find them. “It looks so real. It feels so real.”
“Reality,” he says, “is dysfunctional, Little Baby. It comes and goes. It’s all very here and there.”
I frown, pretty sure that this is not my definition of reality. “Shouldn’t reality be… like… you know, not very here and there but just one or the other?”
Josep laughs, crossing the room, coming right at me. I have an urge to back up. To get away. Because he’s a monster. I know this.
But he’s smiling at me, and reaching for me, and there’s really no time to get away, or anywhere to go, since I’m caught in some kind of trap. So there’s a moment here where my anxiety is through the roof.
It’s a very short moment, though. Because his hand comes up to my cheek and I feel his love. It relaxes me.
A trick. I try and make those words form in my head in Lucia’s voice. Because if she says it, it’s true, isn’t it?
But Lucia is definitely not here. Not even in my head. And the words are just me, looking for a reason to doubt him.
My maker.
My god.
“My Little Baby,” Josep says, looking down at me with adoration. His eyes flash purple. “What is going through that head of yours?”
Be his, my own inner voice says. Be his and he will give you everything.
I blink. Relax. Breathe. Smile. Then I bow my head, drop to my knees, and press my lips to the tops of his feet.
Which surprises me, because I don’t even know where this comes from.
“Oh, that is cute, Little Baby. What god doesn’t like adoration? We all do. It’s flattering.” But he’s leaning down. Far enough to gently grab my arm and pull me to my feet. “But all that is over now. You’re already mine. You made the promise when you drank me. And I made a promise back when I drank you.”
I frown, still looking down. Because his promise feels a little bit like marriage. Did I marry this monster when I drank his blood?
I can’t look at him. If I do, I might scream, and if I scream, he’ll know. He’ll figure out that this is a lie, that I’m using him, that I hate him. That I think he’s a demon from Hell and that I have no desire to be his plaything.
But there’s no reprieve for me because his finger is tipping my chin up. My eyes follow—reluctantly—until I am staring straight into his soul.
Or lack of one. A pit of evil might be a better way to describe what’s beyond those eyes of his. They are absolutely purple now. No doubt about it. “Do you need more blood?”
I exhale loudly. “Need, my lord?”
He laughs, and, to my surprise, so do I. “Do you want more blood, Little Baby?” His hand comes up to my cheek, caressing it like I’m his most cherished possession.
I do. I want to suck on him for the rest of my life. But I have questions. “If this isn’t real”—I pan my hand around the room—“am I really drinking?”
“Come,” he says, taking my hand. “You’ve earned a little baby peek.”
“A peek?” I don’t understand. I feel like I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole and all around me is a sparkling, shining, glittering, blood-covered Wonderland.
But Josep is pulling me now. Across the room, through a door, and then… it’s dark. There is nothing beyond this door but emptiness.
Josep stops in the middle of this emptiness then maneuvers me in front of him, his hands on my shoulders, his hips pressing up against my lower back, his hardness very evident. “Concentrate,” he says. “Look into the emptiness, Little Baby, and see what’s there.”
I lean forward a little, squinting, trying to do what he says. And I’m just about to say it’s not working when the space shimmers and a kind of fog appears.
A gasp comes out of my mouth. And at the same time Josep’s hands slide off my shoulders and down the front of me. His fingers fondle my breasts as the image in the fog resolves.