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)
Which had clearly not gone well.
Not that there were any details.
So now they were here, with Whestmorel overcome with some kind of exhaustion, and no communication, no plan.
“How goes he?”
Conrahd sensed the remaining members of the inner consortium standing behind him, and in the silence, he weighed his options. He might be able to assume power now, if he killed Whestmorel by smothering him with a pillow. But his sense was that the coalition was failing, the gentlemales lined up behind him rightfully concerned that two of their ilk had been killed recently, especially last night.
This was getting far too bloody for their constitutions.
Their participation was required, however. Their money was needed, their support was paramount, their commitment the only way to make any of this plot work.
Though there were many others on the periphery, these were the core of the plot.
“He is just resting,” Conrahd lied. “The meeting went very well indeed, and the Omega’s son and he will be in touch promptly to coordinate the raid on the Audience House.”
There was a grumble that could have meant anything.
“We must bear up, fellows,” he said levelly. “We shall give him the day to rest, and come nightfall the next, all will be well.”
With any luck, Whestmorel would die of whatever ailed him and then the road would be clear to do this properly.
And if not? Then needs must and all that.
Conrahd pivoted around and smiled at his comrades. “Come, let us enjoy a bourbon by the fire.”
As he led them off to the study, he was certain they would follow him, for they wanted to be led out of this whole situation. Separated from their families, enemies of the King and the Black Dagger Brotherhood, they were in way over their heads and all they wanted was relief. So he would provide it to them—as he himself took solace in knowing that if Whestmorel did not die… Conrahd, unlike the others, was not above getting his hands dirty.
Very, very dirty.
“Worry not, gentlemales,” he said as he went over to Whestmorel’s display of rare, collectible bottles. “Everything is in hand.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Dev had always hated where he came from. Who his parents were. What they did, what they were doing, and what they would do in the future. He had recognized them by inches as he had grown up, his realization starting with the vicious little games they played with each other and then propagating properly to the dark magic that had surrounded all three of them, the evil that had seeped from their pores, the hatred they had shown the world and others.
In secret, he had developed his own powers.
And then when he’d felt like he was ready, when he was confident in his ability to mask himself in their presences, to hide in thin air, to disappear from their senses… he had gotten the fuck out.
There had been no big blowout, no coming to them hurt and in search of explanations he knew would just be lies to calm him down—and no looking back, either. In the aftermath? Just the dull, solitary life he had lived for so long, and been prepared to continue to endure, using only enough magic to make sure they never, ever could find him.
They would know he still existed, however. He was sure to leave just enough of a footprint so they were certain that he had chosen the estrangement—and was keeping it in place on purpose, not because he’d eradicated himself somehow.
Every day that dawned was a way to stick it to the pair of them. His existence, on the earth but not with them, was the payback they deserved, and he knew they were suffering. In their own fucked-up ways, they both loved him, and immortality being what it was, he was more than prepared to make them hurt for eternity.
Except then, one snowy night in Caldwell, New York, everything had changed.
And it was changing again now, as the blond female he had come to love in such a short time ceased to breathe.
The vampires clustered around her, all but one of them males, all but one of them armed, let out a collective explosion of grief as they recognized what had transpired—
“Come on, now,” the female medic at Lyric’s head urged. “We’re not doing this. No, we’re not doing this—”
She looked up to the dark-haired one who had not left Lyric’s side. “Chest compressions on your sister. Now.”
So that’s the brother, Dev thought.
Just as the male started pumping her chest, the vampires Dev had been in the closet with skidded back into the room.
“And I need someone’s vein—let’s try to get some blood into her!”
The ghost brought forward a syringe full of something, and she injected whatever it was directly into the vein at the side of Lyric’s throat. Then she pressed her fingertips in to check for a pulse—