Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
The women circulate and smile and wave and giggle and flirt, while the men observe them.
It’s a slaughterhouse in silk gloves.
I can’t avoid the intention that seeps from the male attendees’ postures and movements and minds. I can’t read their minds, but I can sense their intentions—what they want, what they’re planning to do, and what their motivations stem from. It’s a gift—just like Cal’s hearing and Rook’s telepathy. I’ve always had this power, and it’s served me well, for the most part. But in a room like this, my mind is being throttled with disgusting selfishness, and, in most cases, downright evil intentions over and over.
Each man behind the mask, each elite vampire licking his lips over the females on display, is not here for love or romance. They are here to look at the inventory. And yes, that’s exactly what these women are to them—inventory.
Some have the blood of the three, and those are the most important to the elites. They give them the most power and the most pleasure, and they’re the only ones they can breed.
But they also just want human women with beauty and intelligence and whatever something special attracts the elites’ eyes. They can’t breed them because they don’t have the right bloodline, but they’ll use them in the name of keeping all the best for themselves.
Because that’s all these women are to them. Something to own. Something to use.
And trust me, what they do with that ownership is a thousand times worse than anyone can imagine.
Cal is still across the room, and because it’s who I am, I can’t stop myself from fucking with him a little.
“It’d be a damn shame if I died tonight, you know? Have you seen how good I look in this tux?” My words are almost inaudible, but from across the room, I don’t miss the way Cal rolls his eyes beneath his mask.
I take that as a good sign that he’s still relaxed. I’m relying on his ears to pinpoint any instant danger. If he’s still capable of getting annoyed with me, then we’re not seconds away from being dismembered.
When I say we shouldn’t be here, I really fucking mean it. Our names are being dragged through the mud as we speak. I have no doubt a witch-hunt is already being organized to track us down and kill us, and all the people who want that to happen are in this room.
Because we took Kylie Moon.
But sometimes it’s better to hide in plain sight. No doubt, this is the last fucking place they’d expect Cal and me to be. And with their current focused intentions—their minds and eyes and dicks fixated on the women—they’re not thinking about the three Slater brothers they still need to kill.
They’re probably saving that for later—a problem for tomorrow.
An older but very imposing man with pepper-gray hair and dressed in a sleek black suit walks past me, and for the briefest of moments, we make eye contact. His eyes are this bright, almost glowing, green, but I stay neutral and don’t let myself be the first one to look away. Looking away shows weakness. Looking away is suspicious. It’s a risk, making eye contact like this, because depending on this man’s powers, he might be able to see inside my head or read my mind or know I have a knife in my pocket that I’m prepared to use.
Eventually, though, he looks past me, a faint smile cresting his lips, and he crosses the room for a destination unknown. I don’t know him personally, but I know he’s an elite vamp. A very old, very rich, very influential one. I can see it in his eyes. I can smell it emanating from his skin. And I know he’s at least a shield like Holland Thorne because I can’t read his intentions at all.
Another elite vampire—much younger than the first—moves past me, just barely brushing my shoulder. But he doesn’t notice me at all because his eyes are too hooked on a blond woman across the room. My mind works to see if I can read his intentions.
Breed. Drain. Use up.
My skin fucking crawls.
In a room like this, it’s easy to read intention because predatory interest is different from desire or love or something that’s good. The mind whispers it efficiently and without complications. Predatory intentions aren’t clogged with overthinking or loose ends of doubts. They’re just there, clear and precise.
Fuck. I think I’ve had enough of this shit.
I meander over toward Cal, hoping he’s managed to listen in on enough conversations that we can get out of here, but something tugs at me.
It’s not physical or visual, but there’s a pull. It’s subtle at first, but then it becomes sharp enough that I feel it in my chest, and my feet falter back two steps.