Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“And you think you know me?”
“I know your lips taste like vanilla and fear,” he continued mercilessly, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “And I know that whimper you made wasn’t entirely from protest. And I know, whether you like to deny it, that if I were to kiss you again, you’d let me.”
I opened my mouth to protest but his sardonic, humorless chuckle cut me off.
“Go ahead. Tell me more lies, Serafina,” he mocked.
My jaw snapped shut and I shot him a glare.
There he was.
The Adrian I was more familiar with.
The one with ruthless words and taunting laughs.
Whoever I glimpsed earlier… on the back of Azrael as we rode through the woods, he had been a stranger.
My fist clenched at my sides. “You know what, I think this conversation ends here. Goodbye, Mr. Salvatore.”
I stomped past him, leaving him and those beautiful creatures behind. Adrian had given me a taste of freedom for a moment before he had reminded me that I belonged in a gilded cage.
His voice called out behind my retreating back. “See you again, Ms. Morelli.”
See you never, asshole.
CHAPTER NINE
Adrian
There was only darkness.
My eyes were open, I knew they were… but I couldn’t see anything.
The metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils, coating the back of my throat.
The darkness pressed in from all sides, suffocating and mocking… consuming… an absolute evil.
I was on my knees, blindly reaching for something, but I didn’t know what for.
Blood.
Thick and viscous on my palms.
I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, couldn’t make out where the walls ended or began. I couldn’t see a fucking thing, but I could feel it. Warm and slick between my fingers.
It was everywhere. The blood seemed endless, pooling around me, seeping into my clothes, tainting my flesh with it.
My heart hammered against my ribs, fear slithering through my veins like poison.
“Help…”
The whisper sliced through the silence—female, broken, pained… barely audible. It was so faint I almost missed it.
“Help…”
It was hauntingly familiar in a way that made my chest constrict painfully. My lungs seemed to cave in on themselves until I could no longer breathe.
“Where are you?” I called out, my voice echoing in the void.
I reached forward blindly, fingers groping through the darkness. My hand connected with something. A fabric. Soaked through with what could only be more blood. I followed it, feeling the contours of a body and then my fingers touched skin.
Cold flesh. Too cold.
“Help me…”
“I’m trying!” Panic rose in my chest until breathing seemed impossible. It felt like every organ in my body was failing me. “Stay with me. It’s okay.”
Why couldn’t I fucking see?
A sudden cry pierced the dark void, high-pitched, insistent.
A baby’s wail.
The sound sent a jolt of fear and horror through me.
My heart faltered and then lurched into my throat.
No, there shouldn’t be a child here. Not in this place that smelled like death. Putrid, decaying, rotting.
A freezing coldness seeped through my veins, into my bones, paralyzing me.
The cries were desperate, almost accusatory.
My stomach heaved, acid burning the back of my throat as I forced it down. Bitter bile coated my tongue and I could still taste the blood in my mouth.
“No,” I whispered, the word catching in my throat. “No.”
Please, no.
I knew whose blood this was, whose voice had begged for help…
The baby’s cries intensified, becoming a piercing wail that stabbed mercilessly, endlessly into my skull, my ears echoing with it.
“No, no, NO—”
I jolted upright, gasping for air. Sweat drenched my body, my heart hammering violently into my chest, bruising against my ribs. For a moment, I couldn’t place where I was, my eyes darting wildly around the room.
My bedroom. My bed. The sheets twisted around my legs like restraints.
“Fuck,” I rasped, running a shaking hand through my sweat-soaked hair. My chest heaved as I tried to slow my breathing. The nightmares were getting worse.
I glanced at the clock and the time glared back at me.
3:15 a.m. The witching hour. How fucking ironic.
I squeezed my eyes shut, dragging my hand down my face. My skin was clammy with cold sweat.
The phantom scent of blood still filled my nostrils, though I knew it wasn’t real. Just like the voice. Just like the baby’s cries.
None of it was real. It wasn’t.
It. Was. Not. Real.
“Goddamn it,” I muttered, throwing off the covers. Sleep wasn’t going to return tonight; it never did after that.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. The chill shot up through my legs, but I barely registered it. The dream clung to me like a second skin, suffocating. Clawing at my insides.
Unadulterated rage filled me. Raw. Frightening. Consuming. Poisonous.
With a growl of frustration, I dropped to the floor. My palms slapped against the wood as I positioned myself, muscles coiling before I began driving my body up and down. One push-up. Two. Three. The movement was vicious, punishing.