Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
I secured everything, then took my place on the pedestal. A whirling sound preceded the emergence of rounded bars from the pole. Those bars circled my waist. Multicolored lights flashed over the glass walls, a picture forming. A spacious bedroom with a massive bed, buttery-soft-looking sheets, and a nightstand with a decanter of amber liquid.
“What the—” My body moved of its own accord, directed by the bodysuit. It felt as if someone pulled my puppet strings. I couldn’t stop and soon realized I was acting out the motions of putting a gun together.
“Hello, Pink.” The familiar voice brimmed with amusement, spilling through the room from speakers instead of the disks behind my ears. “You’re early.”
“Cyrus?” Oh no I did not. I walked in place, a tread rolling beneath my feet. “I obviously meant High Prince Dolion,” I said as I mimicked turning a knob. On the screen, a door opened. Because of the contacts, I saw the whole thing as if I were right there with him.
“Obviously.” He didn’t comment about my slip of the tongue any other way. Not giving me permission to use his name again but not issuing a rebuke, either, and I wasn’t sure what to think.
He paused at a full-length mirror, giving me a glimpse of his reflection. Oh my. He wore all black, with tactical gear anchored in place. A vest loaded with weapons and a belt heavy with even more. Two swords crisscrossed on his back, the handles rising over his broad shoulders.
“Unlike the other soldiers,” he said, “I’m not guarding pritis mines or fighting feeders. I’m on a special mission. There’s a plant growing in a field that occasionally produces a bundle of red berries. Most maddened ignore the fruit, but a rare few flock to it. On three separate occasions, a feeder has eaten them and recovered from the Madness within seconds.”
Talk about a major game changer. I must see this plant! “What happened to them after they healed?”
A prolonged silence only added fuel to my curiosity. Finally he said, “One made it through a nearby rift but two were killed by feeders.” He refocused the conversation. “We’ve never managed to obtain the berries for testing, but we hope to change that tonight. There’s a cluster in bloom, and I’m tasked with retrieval.”
And I got to accompany him. Me. Wow. Excitement quickened my heartbeat. “Are you planning to bring back a soil sample, too, and if so, may I log a formal request to smell it?”
His husky chuckle thrilled me in ways it shouldn’t. The images on the glass changed rapidly, gliding from the bedroom to a hallway to an elevator. Cyrus was on the move. “Be honest. You wish you’d accepted the job as my assistant.”
Here and now? “Not even a little.” I walked with him. “An assistant wouldn’t be linked up for a special plant-and-soil mission, in the running for top lady.” Surely a special assignment meant extra points.
Another chuckle sent waves of pleasure through my veins. “Where’s your concern for my welfare?”
“Concern is fear’s ugly cousin, sir. As someone surprisingly brilliant has taught me, I resist fear; I don’t encourage it. Let’s do this!”
He snickered. “When you go all in, you go all in. I like it.”
The elevator doors opened, and we—he—entered a heavily guarded arena. Recalling my own mission, I took in as many details as possible. Searching, searching for something, anything, that might demolish Ember’s suppositions. But everything I saw just looked like more of the same.
Barons, the rank above knights, and viscounts, the rank above barons, approached Cyrus, seeking instructions. He barked out orders, staying on the go.
“We’ll be in a vehicle as long as possible,” he explained, entering an empty room with built-in cannons protruding from small wall cubbies. Another door loomed ahead. There, he paused with his hand on the knob. “This is the entry to a garage, where a team is waiting for us.” He engaged his lens, covering his eyes and therefore my own. “Do you remember the sensations caused by RVM?”
“I do.” And I still wasn’t a fan.
“My lens will activate when I step beyond this final checkpoint, correcting everything. You’ll experience what I experience.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
“Ready?”
A seed of worry sprouted. While I was tucked safely inside, he would be out there, risking his life. “Be safe.”
“Always.” Amusement returned to his tone. “Take notes.”
“I’m drafting my report as we speak,” I quipped.
He snorted. “Forget the paper. I intend to give you an oral exam.”
My cheeks blazed at the sudden, unexpected, and completely inappropriate thought that followed his words. He had not meant to sound so sexual. The man was on a mission, and it wasn’t to get into my pants. So. Moving on. “I’ll ace it, guaranteed.”
“I suspect you’re right.” His low, husky tone kept the illusion of carnality alive, but I ignored it. Then he was pushing into the garage.