Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 65167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
The crunch of dead leaves beneath my feet is all that breaks the silence surrounding me. I hear the gentle rustling of my clothes, the faint thump of my heartbeat. The quicker thud of his—my tiny son’s—inside me.
I feel his movements again, a small flutter that brings a smile to my face. Even in these dire circumstances, joy can be found.
So I cling to it.
To the joy in the love I have for my baby. For his father.
I continue my journey through the ether. Each step is measured, calculated like the moves on a chessboard.
The darkness within me stirs, whispers inaudible words of power and destiny. Its voice is seductive and bone-chilling at once.
And I embrace it.
I embrace my vampire side fully, perhaps for the first time ever.
I need every part of me to face the demon king.
I’m not the innocent girl who trembled before his wrath as a teenager. He holds no power over me. Not anymore.
If the loss of my mother is the price I must pay to protect my child, so be it.
You’ve become exactly what fate demanded of you. And more.
The words emerge in my mind in a voice I don’t expect.
Not in the gentle but powerful voice of my mentor, Alara.
No.
The dark, rich, and commanding voice belongs to my father, the vampire king.
Before I can determine the meaning of the words coming from him, I see it.
A shimmer.
A portal out of the ether.
And I walk through.
62
My bedroom greets me.
“Fuck,” Rogan says, nearly jumping off my bed. “You might warn a guy.”
“This is where the ether sent me.” I collapse into his arms.
He kisses my forehead and then pulls away slightly. “Damn, princess. You’re hurt.”
“I’m all right. Just surface scratches.”
Rogan tenderly inspects my body, tracing his warm fingers over fresh gashes and blooming bruises. I suppress a wince. Worry lines his handsome features, and anxiety radiates from him in palpable waves.
“I won,” I whisper, burrowing into his warm embrace.
A strained silence hangs between us for a beat.
Then, “Eris?”
I nod, fighting back the wave of exhaustion nibbling at the edges of my consciousness. “She’s gone.”
His breath hitches and he pulls back to look at me, emerald eyes wide with alarm. “You killed her?”
“I did what was necessary.” I hold his gaze without wavering.
“And the baby?” He drops his hand to my stomach.
The child gives me a hearty kick.
“Feel for yourself,” I say. “He’s fine. We’re both fine.”
“Thank God.”
He’s silent a moment.
Then his faces twists.
I expected that, in a way.
He’s mourning the loss of his fated mate. Of Eris.
“It’s all right, Rogan.” I lift my hand, ignoring the ache, and cup his cheek.
His eyes lock onto mine. Such a turmoil of emotions are reflected in them—guilt, grief, and stunned disbelief.
“I understand,” I say.
“Do you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand covers mine on his cheek and he leans into my touch. “Can you really?”
“Yes,” I reply softly.
The truth resonates in my heart, echoes through the bond that binds us together—a bond that defies laws of nature, transcends fates written in stone. Because if anyone understands Rogan’s loss right now, I do.
I feel everything he feels. We may not be fated mates, but somehow, the universe has bound our souls anyway.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Don’t be.” I release a shuddering breath and squeeze his hand lightly. “We both did what we had to do.”
He nods and then rakes his gaze over me again. “Come with me.”
He takes my hand and leads me into my bathroom, where he strips me of my sweat- and blood-stained clothes. He wets a cloth under the faucet and wipes the grime and blood from my face.
My fangs snap down despite myself.
“You’re hungry,” he says.
“It took a lot out of me.” I sigh. “You should know…”
“What?”
“I fed from her. From Eris.”
His hand goes rigid against the wet washcloth. “I see.”
“It was instinctual, Rogan. I needed the sustenance. But her blood. It wasn’t anything like yours. I could taste the demon in her.”
“And it tasted like?” Rogan’s voice wavers, the question hanging thick in the air between us.
“Like darkness,” I reply, still haunted by the odd and bitter tang. “It was…wrong. Unnatural.”
His eyes reflect a pain he tries to hide as he continues to clean my wounds. Silence stretches out between us, broken only by the soft hum of running water.
“You’re not her, you know,” he says after a while, his voice soft yet firm.
I look at him, blinking away tears that threaten to spill. “What do you mean?”
“Eris. You’re not her.” He takes a deep breath as if steeling himself for what he’s about to say next. “You never were. You’ll never be. Nothing about you is unnatural, princess. Nothing about us is unnatural.”
His words echo in my mind, their gravity settling around me like a comforting blanket. Somehow he knew what I needed to hear.