Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Clearing his throat, he rubbed his thumb over his alert button—
Eyes that gleamed with menace stared out at him. And the fact that there was no struggling, no cursing, no threats or even movement was somehow more threatening than any of the alternatives.
This was one deadly entity, Whestmorel concluded.
And then the physical details were a surprise: Dark hair that was long and unkempt. Irises were dark as well. Skin tone was Caucasian, but certainly not the pasty white he expected. Then again, a slayer who had been in the Lessening Society long enough for the paling to occur would probably be sufficiently trained and experienced not to get ambushed and kidnapped. On a side note, the clothes were stained and ratted, and not, he gathered, due to the abduction.
“Do you know what I am,” he said to the thing.
The lesser sneered. “Yeah.”
Whestmorel nodded. “I have a message to give your master. And you will be released as soon as I am confident it has been received.”
The lesser frowned, as if that was the last thing it expected.
“You heard me correctly.” Whestmorel glanced at Conrahd, who had expeditiously extracted himself out of the van. “You shall be but a messenger in my favor, nothing more—and once the communication has been delivered, you shall be freed unharmed. If the message is not received, and trust that we shall know, we will not hesitate to maim you such that you shall suffer in perpetuity, never being released by a stab through the heart.”
As the brows lifted in surprise, Whestmorel flashed his fangs, a shot of aggression spurring on his sense of utter superiority.
“Or did you think we do not know how it all works,” he drawled.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
we embrace who we truly are, and accept no other above ourselves.”
As thousands of voices repeated the words in the purple-draped ballroom, Lyric looked around. She and Dev were seated up in the front, and she had to admit that, however much she had written off this whole convention, when you were in the room with Valentina Disserte addressing this adoring crowd…
There was a sense that the woman was making a difference.
Up on the dais, Valentina strode with grace and confidence, long, shapely legs terminating in black stilettoes covering the distance easily. “We understand that any piece of ourselves that we receive from someone else’s praise can be taken from us.”
The crowd repeated the words, and a few of them got to their feet—which led to a rush of women standing and putting their hands up.
“We further understand that any piece of ourselves that might be removed from us by someone else’s criticism is rejected as unnecessary to our core being.”
The Marco Polo aping continued, the words that were spoken trailing across the screens mounted all around the room, as well as the top of the purple backdrop of the main stage, the chorus repeating what the choir leader laid out.
“We take up the space we claim, and we stand alone, for we are our own foundation, and therefore all we build is owned by ourselves and no one else.”
Even more people stood up. And more.
Until everyone in the event space was on their feet and leaning forward, eyes rapt on the stage, on the woman in purple.
Lyric glanced over at Dev. He was sitting back in his chair, having watched the whole thing with an absolute patience that impressed the hell out of her. She could only imagine what her brother or Shuli would be like in this situation, rolling their eyes or laughing under their breath in places.
Not Dev. He just stared at the woman and seemed to be listening to what she was saying.
Maybe the message would help the two of them. Somehow—
Oh, what the hell was she thinking with that. Truthfully, she hadn’t been surprised when she’d arrived and he wasn’t waiting for her around back. No, the surprise had been when he’d appeared at just the right moment.
Saving her again.
“—next three days, a journey of self-discovery and affirmation! Give yourselves a round of applause!”
As applause erupted, Lyric felt compelled to get to her feet and clap as well. Meanwhile, a convention photographer swooped in on the side and took a number of pictures, most of them looking up from a wide angle so that he could capture Valentina Disserte and the adoring audience in the one-shot.
So now what, Lyric wondered.
Off to the side, on the wings of the great room, Marcia was waiting with the rest of the event staff, no doubt mining the convention and the larger national tour schedule for opportunities with her other clients. This was actually a good thing—made it less of a waste of time for her.
When the photographer backed off, Lyric leaned down to Dev, who’d remained in his chair. “Sorry about all this. I really did think it was going to be an in-and-out.”