Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Yeah, I know, Rook, I open up my mind to him once more.
It’s all the confirmation I’ll give. The only concession I’ll make.
Because like it or not—Romy is the reason for my every move now, and saving this group of women from the fate of all the women before them is even more important.
She’s the key to my personal drive, and in all likelihood, the reason I’ll succeed.
The universe designed it that way.
Because when it comes to Romy Spencer, there’s no other option.
I won’t fail. I can’t.
Romy
With my makeup removed and my dress discarded to a pile in the corner of my room, I pick up the schedule Abigail gave me on the way to our rooms from my nightstand and take it with me to the high-backed, floral-upholstered chair to read through it.
It’s not that I don’t know the gist—flounce around so vampires can window-shop, hit the auction block while vampires purchase, lie down in a skimpy outfit while said vampire uses blood supply and maybe my body, and then perhaps, or maybe not if I’m lucky, die.
It’s the detailed layout I’ve been avoiding up until now on the premise of stupidly maintaining some semblance of sanity, but after being surprised tonight by the montage and Cal and the skimpy wardrobe selection, I think I have to switch tactics to a more knowledge-is-power approach.
After clicking on the floor lamp at the side to combat the moody lighting—the decor in general is very Dracula’s lair coded with dark colors, creepy florals, and low visibility—I tuck my bare knees into the front of my oversized T-shirt and stick my nose inside the collar for comfort. It smells like me and home and life before the world tilted to the vampire-centric axis.
Slowly but carefully, I read through the itinerary, shivering lightly as each item gets more frightening than the last.
Arrival Day
6:15 p.m. Welcome Mixer in Ground Floor Ballroom (Dress to Impress)
8:15 p.m. Return to Rooms for Rest and Recharge
Day 2
8:30 a.m. Room Service Breakfast
10:00 a.m. Individual Fitness/Meditation Time
12:00 Lunch Buffet on South Terrace
2:00 p.m. Mini Spa in Multipurpose Room
6:15 p.m. Co-Ed Mixer in Ground Floor Ballroom (Dress to Impress)
Day 3
8:30 a.m. Room Service Breakfast
10:00 a.m. Individual Fitness/Meditation Time
12:00 Lunch Buffet on South Terrace
3:00 p.m. Hair and Makeup in Ground Floor Ballroom
6:00 p.m. Official Selection
8:00 p.m. Couples Ceremony
10:00 p.m. Bonding Night
My hand trembles as I set the schedule down on the side table next to the chair, marveling at their ability to make it sound like an expensive retreat or spa experience rather than what it is—a freaking wholesale market for humans.
“Unbelievable.”
Desperate for a distraction or, perhaps, a hidden pickaxe like the one Andy Dufresne used to escape in The Shawshank Redemption, I thumb through the spines of the books they have stacked next to the lamp, settling on one halfway down when the title stops me in my tracks.
Vampire Servitude: Destiny or Dynasty
Okay, yikes.
I flip open the front cover to a picture of a man and his biography—a vampire, obviously—and roll my eyes as he starts mansplaining a woman’s role in their relationship before the book even starts.
Harrow Rostakov is an award-winning vampire-human relations specialist with sixty years of experience decoding the human woman’s mind. Known for his accomplishments in the Selection acclimation space, Rostakov has successfully transitioned over a thousand women into their new purpose of servitude and unlocked the power of their family’s dynasty as the game-changing motivation.
It’s the epitome of narcissism to think you know best about an experience you haven’t actually lived and reminds me of the arrogant male gynecologist my mother took me to for my first appointment at fifteen years old. He negated pain, belittled the woman’s cycle, and presumed to know more about my uterus from reading a book than I did by living with it.
Don’t get me wrong; there are men out there who aren’t like that, but they’re few and far between at best. I highly doubt they’re congregating in record numbers at a market for blood-appropriate women.
Slamming the book shut and picking up the next, The First-Time High, I select a paragraph to read about the bonding night.
As soon as the words fang and blood make their debut, I toss it back to the pile, turn off the overhead light, and head for the bed.
There are no tools inside these books—only horror stories.
Conversely, one of the only boons of this little adventure is the luxurious bedding, so I may as well get some rest and relaxation while taking advantage of it. Clearly, tomorrow’s got a full damn schedule, and I doubt they take kindly to the idea of skipping it to stay barricaded in your room. My guard, in particular, looks as though he’d delight in dragging me around the mansion by my shiny red hair if needed.
Flopping hard, I roll to my side and tuck a hand under my pillow before exhaling dramatically.