Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 171450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 857(@200wpm)___ 686(@250wpm)___ 572(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 171450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 857(@200wpm)___ 686(@250wpm)___ 572(@300wpm)
He slowly rose to his feet, dusting off his knees. “I understand.” He cleared his throat. “Would you like Edgar to drive you to Brooklyn?”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I want you to fight this darkness. I want you to choose the trials over stewing in your own misery. I want you to see what I see when I look at you. You’re not a corrupt, horrible villain.”
He laughed softly. “I truly am.”
“Maybe an anti-hero,” she amended. “But put it aside. I want the man that you think deserves me.”
“Ah, but see, there is no such man.”
“We’ve both fucked up. And there’s no way to fix the problem with Lorcan. I can’t escape this. Trust me. I know it. I feel it every day. But I just want you to fight. As hard as I’m fighting the bond. As hard as you fought not to use your powers. For me. For us.”
“If you give me a second chance, I will do all of that and more.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
A small smile cracked through. “And how do you plan to do that?”
“I’m going after the stone again.”
Surprise flickered on her face. “You think you can steal it from Amberdash? In one of the most guarded places in the city?”
“No,” he said softly. “I think that I can steal it from the convocation.”
She considered that. It would also be one of the most guarded places in the city. But it would be on neutral ground, and they had time at least. “It’s three weeks from now.”
“I know. I was going to do it with or without your help. If you want the bond broken, I was going to get it so you could make that decision.”
She sighed. “I want it broken. And I want to steal the stone. And I want to stop Amberdash.”
“Kingston will be there, too.”
Kierse ground her teeth together. “Well, I’d like to kill him, too.” She sighed. “But mostly I want us to figure this out.”
“I will win you as if I am wooing my own Etain.”
She laughed softly. “You know Niamh told me there are multiple endings to that story. That we haven’t written the end of it yet.”
He drew her in closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. “I promise I could pick you out of a fifty-person lineup.”
“Let’s hope that and not our daughter.”
He stilled under the word. “Our…what?”
“Hypothetical,” she said around another laugh. “You know, the really, really fucked-up version.”
“You terrify me sometimes.”
“Then we’re even.”
“You know my plan. You have my apology. You’ll come inside?” he asked, less a pleading and more a certainty.
“Yes, I’ll come inside,” she agreed.
Then his lips settled over hers, a promise, a treasure, a dedication. His tongue invaded her mouth with the careful precision of someone used to a pillage and plunder. And she settled against him, happily stolen for his own pleasure.
Chapter Forty-Two
The elevator didn’t open fast enough, and Graves had her body pinned back against the doors, his mouth a quick, furious theft. His gloved hands circled her waist, drawing her closer to his heated body. The sheer volume of magic coming off him was like a heatwave from an oven. And she wanted to bathe in it. Live in it. Fall headfirst into it.
The doors slid open behind her, and she all but tumbled inside. He caught her around the middle before she could fall, walking her backward until they crashed against the other side of the box.
“Floor,” she gasped against his mouth.
He pressed the first-floor button. “Satisfied.”
“I was hoping you’d help with that.”
“I certainly plan to,” he said, pulling her across the elevator and crushing their lips together.
Her arms went around his neck as he lifted her off her feet, turned her in place, and pushed her back against the wall again.
“I thought you might never come inside again,” he admitted as he kissed down her neck. “I want to savor every moment knowing that you’re mine.”
“I was never not yours.”
“I like the sound of that,” he growled. His hands slipped under her shirt, but he still had his gloves on. Somehow the feeling was still erotic. But he groaned against her collarbone. “Need these damn things off.”
“Can I do it?” she asked as he plucked at his gloves.
“Take off my gloves?”
“I’d like to. They’re your weapon. I love handling dangerous weapons.”
“Is that why I get so much pleasure out of handling you?”
Her heart constricted. His greatest weakness. The source of his own destruction. The words still heated her.
She took his hand in hers, pulling at each individual finger before dragging the glove slow and steady off his hand. His glorious fucking hands. They were perfection in every way. A pianist’s hands that were long and slender and controlled. These hands that could read minds and turn pages and blackmail and torture and interrogate and also worship her like a goddess. These hands.