Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
A soft knock cut him off.
Both he and Bright turned as the door cracked open.
And then Noelle poked her head inside.
Burn’s breath seized in his lungs.
She stepped in fully, wearing the same frilly black dress with the stained lace from the day before. Her long dark hair was mussed, her eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion. Her brown skin looked too pale.
And she was limping. Just barely. But it might as well have been a knife in his gut.
Burn jerked his gaze away, staring at a point on the far wall because he couldn’t take the sight of her hurting like that.
“Sorry,” she said softly. “Am I interrupting?”
Her voice was hoarse…tentative.
“No, of course not, my lady,” Bright said quickly, since Burn remained mute. “Please—come in.”
Noelle did as he asked, coming to stand between the two of them.
“Wow, my head is pounding,” she murmured, putting a hand to her temple and wincing. “It’s like someone is playing a Mariachi band inside my skull.”
“We have the same problem,” Bright told her gently. “I think it’s from the pink drink that Thune forced on us.”
“You’re probably right.” She hesitated, and Burn heard her draw in a shaky breath. “Er…look, I know things got…kind of crazy last night. I just want you to know I don’t blame either of you for what…what we had to do together. And I hope you don’t blame me either.”
Burn’s chest tightened.
How is she comforting us? After what we—what I—did to her?
“Of course we don’t blame you,” Bright said at once.
“It’s nobody’s fault but ours,” Burn said sharply.
Mine. He meant mine.
Because it wasn’t just the fucking drink and it wasn’t just the circumstance. Deep down—shamefully deep—some part of him had wanted her like that.
And that was what he hated himself for the most.
“Burn…” Noelle’s soft voice tugged at him.
She placed a gentle hand on his arm.
His entire body froze…his throat closed and he couldn’t breathe.
But before she could say more, Cookie’s voice bellowed from down the hall.
“Breakfast! And you’d better be careful—if old Thune catches you all together, you’ll be in trouble!”
Bright sighed.
“He’s right—we’d better go.”
The three of them filed out of the room.
Burn hung back just a step, watching the way Noelle walked.
The tiny hitch in her gait…the tender shift of her hips…the faint wince she tried to hide.
She was clearly in pain and it was all his fault.
His heart squeezed until he thought it might crack.
I wish I was a Blood Kindred, he thought bitterly. If I made essence, I could heal her. Take away her pain. Do something useful for once instead of just hurting her.
But he wasn’t and he couldn’t.
There was nothing he could do except swear—to himself, if to no one else—that he would never, ever hurt her again.
Even if it meant putting himself between her and the huge Trollox…even if it meant dying in this nightmare of a house.
Tonight, they were getting out, no matter what the cost, he promised himself.
They were going to get out or die trying.
63
BRIGHT
Bright sat at the massive dining table, his stomach doing uneasy flips as he watched Burn silently push at something green and gelatinous on his plate with the edge of his fork.
The huge slab of dark rock that made up the Trollox’s “dining table” wasn’t just cold beneath Bright’s elbows—it felt like it had absorbed the misery of a hundred unwilling meals. Every scrape of cutlery against it echoed like a scream down a well.
Across from him, Noelle gave the table a wary glance before gingerly lowering herself into the booster seat. She winced as she sat, and Bright’s heart gave a painful twist.
Gods, she’s still sore—of course she is—Burn and I were so rough with her. Last night should never have happened.
He glanced sideways at the Dark Twin, who was studiously not looking at anyone or anything. His jaw was tight and his broad shoulders were hunched like he was expecting a blow.
Bright could practically feel the self-loathing radiating off his best friend.
He wanted to reach out—to say something, do something—but what could he possibly say?
There was nothing else we could have done. Thune would have shocked all of us. Noelle begged him to do it, for fuck’s sake—because she didn’t want all of us to suffer.
But Burn wouldn’t hear any of that. He’d already made himself judge, jury, and executioner and convicted himself of the worst thing a Kindred male could do.
Bright’s gaze drifted to Noelle. She was carefully cutting something that looked like purple sausage with blue specks into tiny, manageable bites, her face pale but composed. She didn’t seem angry—not with Burn, not with him.
If anything, she looked…sad. Tired. Bruised in ways no one could see.
She doesn’t blame us, he thought. But Burn doesn’t believe that. He’s convinced he’s some kind of monster.
Bright’s own plate looked like a nightmare.
There was something lumpy and grayish-beige in the center, steaming faintly and oozing a faintly iridescent slime that puddled at the edges of the huge plate like motor oil. Beside it sat three bulbous fruits—dark maroon with hair-fine fuzz. All three were pulsing slowly, like hearts.