Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Not just yet.
The air between us crackles with something I don't understand—electricity, danger, attraction?
Ne sois pas bête, Li. Don't be silly.
"You committed a crime in my property."
The king of the catacombs has finally spoken, and his voice slides through the air like a dagger wrapped in silk. Soft and smooth, but deadly as ever.
But even so...
I blink at him in sham innocence.
There is no way he is going to make me admit to theft, just like that.
"Désolé, monsieur," I whisper. "I don't know what—"
He holds his hand up, and of course I shut up.
"My people found this in your bedroom."
A nod, and one of the men flanking his side reveals one of the watches I've stolen.
Oh well.
Since there is no point playing innocent now—
"I planned to give it back," I say piously, going for broke.
A lazy smile slowly curves over his lips, and my heart actually races.
Oh dear.
"And I'm supposed to believe that, of course."
"Why shouldn't you? Is it too difficult to believe that I've had a change of heart? It's my first time to steal—"
His security team—every one of them actually coughs—but I pretend not to hear this.
Quelle impolitesse. Such rudeness.
"And I'm clearly not good at it."
"Clearly." He nods again, and another one of his guards steps forward, this time revealing the rest of my takings.
Unfortunately for him, I am really good at pretending not to notice what I do not wish to see.
"Please, monsieur. I just want to live a normal life from now on. I just want to...start fresh."
His eyes gleam, and its shade is truly just like mine that I'm starting to worry. What if...this man turns out to be some brother from another father that I never knew of? Stepbrother romances, I have no beef with, but real incest? Hard pass, for sure.
"Funny you should say that," he murmurs, "since it's exactly what I've decided to offer you."
He rises to his feet, unfolding like a dark promise, and he's so much taller than I feared.
"But first..." Blue eyes that are so like mine turn speculative. "You know who I am, oui?"
I don't say a word, but my silence proves futile.
"Your face is an open book, ma petite," he says gently. "So now, let me ask you again, and this time, donne-moi une réponse, s'il te plaît."
I taste fear for the first time.
Because like everyone else, I've heard all the stories about him.
And one thing they have in common?
It is never a good sign when Monsieur Le Dernier says 'please'.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Yes." I don't even know why I refused to admit this in the first place. Subconscious self-sabotage, perhaps? You can't live a life of crime in Paris and not know of Monsieur Le Dernier. You rarely ever see him, but you know he's everywhere. You don't ever hear his real name mentioned. But you know he's real because of the dead bodies that keep turning up. And the one thing they all have in common?
They thought they could handle him.
They were wrong.
Like me.
A heavy sense of numbness blankets my body as I watch him walk toward me. Behind him, his men are quiet and expressionless. Witnesses who don't give a whit even if they're about to witness me sacrificed or burned at the stakes. I think I'm already dead to them either way.
And as for their king...
His steps have come to a halt, and my eyes lift to his. I wait for my fear to devolve into terror, but it doesn't.
"You have two choices, ma petite."
He wraps his fingers around my throat as he speaks, but my pulse doesn't even race, and all I notice is how his accent has become more pronounced. More...old-money French than Parisian.
The fingers around my throat start to tighten, and I start thinking about the weirdest things.
Things like how his callused fingertips make me think of violence and elegance. Or how his proximity has finally started sinking in, and my pulse is now racing for all the wrong reasons.
"You pay for your life..."
How is that the same as starting fresh?
"Or—" His fingers tighten just enough to make breathing difficult. "You surrender it to me..."
He loosens his grip to cup my chin, and my breath catches as his thumb traces my bottom lip.
Dear oh dear.
My body is starting to feel weirder than ever, and the way I'm reacting to him is so, so wrong in so many levels. I should be screaming or shaking in fear right now. But instead I feel—
"Through marriage."
—like I should ask what he's just said.
"Make your choice, Liana."
Because surely, I couldn't have heard him right.
Right?
My lips part in confusion.
Which then turns into shock when he actually slips one finger inside of my mouth.
"Suck it."
No! Never! As if!
But instead...I actually find myself obeying him.
I'm sucking his finger like I was born to do this.
And when I look up and see the dark pleasure smoldering in eyes that are as blue as mine—