Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
OH MY GOSH.
An email has just popped on my screen, and I cannot believe what I’m reading.
RE: Query - THE INFERNALIS FILES
It’s a reply from a no-reply literary agent I emailed just yesterday. And when a no-reply literary agent does actually reply, it can only mean one thing, and it’s why my hand is shaking so bad when I click the email open.
Dear Ms. de los Reyes,
Thank you so much for querying me with THE INFERNALIS FILES. I absolutely devoured your sample pages and am thrilled to offer you representation...
A cry escapes me before I can stop it, but the sound is cut short when Zacharie blasts into my room a moment later, the door slamming against the wall hard enough to rattle the crystal chandelier.
“What happened?”
“I...I...”
“Is someone here? Did you—”
Realizing that he completely misunderstood my reason for crying out, but unable to speak because my emotions are still all over the place, I can only point to the laptop he’s lent me, and as Zacharie crosses the room to read the email that promises to make my dream come true—
Everything that’s happened in the past four days suddenly come rushing back, all at the same time.
Kidnapped. Almost auctioned.
Shot. Almost died.
Crushed on someone. Almost crushed by that same someone.
And just like that, I’m crying like there’s no tomorrow.
Did all of those things really happened?
And when I think of how this was all because of Trina—
Why does she hate me so much?
I find myself crying even harder because I still love my cousin, and I think I always will. I know she’s only taken me in so she can have access to the money my parents left. But even so. She’s my flesh and blood—
“Luc Infernalis...”
It feels so weird to hear someone say a name that used to exist only in my mind.
“He’s not real.”
I look at my rescuer uncertainly. Why does it sound like he’s gritting the words out? “If you’re asking if he’s based on someone real—”
“Is he?”
He doesn’t just ask this sharply, but he also faces me all of a sudden, and I nearly jump back at the way he’s glaring at me.
Um.
Okay.
Maybe he’s all about stories being authentic and there’s something in my query letter that ticks him off? Maybe he thinks the way I describe Luc is unrealistic—
“Answer me, Mira.”
This time, I do jump back...because every time I hear him say my name makes me feel I’m in danger. Of what, however...I don’t want to know.
“Is he based on someone real?”
I shake my head.
“So he’s entirely...made up.”
I nod.
He doesn’t say anything else, but a muscle has started ticking in his jaw, and that makes me feel worse for some reason. I’ve been living under his roof for four days now, and I...I still feel like a burden to him.
“This agent...you know her?”
“She’s legit.”
“And you emailed her just yesterday.”
I wish I could do more than nod.
But I can’t.
You see, I thought long and hard about my future once my head stopped hurting, and my rescuer, at my request, gave me undeniable documentary and photographic evidence of Trina’s betrayal.
She really did have me drugged. Kidnapped. And sold for $50,000.
And because of that, my rescuer was right when he told me there’s no going back to my old life.
But as to how I plan to move forward...that wasn’t as easy to figure out.
The one thing I was certain of was that I didn’t want to marry someone just for my safety. I didn’t want to be passed along like a package, handed from one man’s protection to another’s. I wanted to move forward on my own terms.
And that was what pushed me to face my fears.
I queried every literary agent I thought might be a perfect fit for the kind of stories I write and draw. I polished my sample pages until my eyes burned. I crafted query letters and deleted them and rewrote them and deleted them again.
All while convincing myself that no one would ever want my work.
Until now.
“Congratulations, Mira.”
It wasn’t just the words that startle me into looking at him, but the way he said it. His voice has changed. It’s no longer cold and hard. It’s gentle now. And dare I say warm—
Stop right there, Mirabella de los Reyes!
Don’t forget he thinks you’re ugly!
So just stop thinking him being nice changes things.
“Thank you,” I manage to say with a smile instead. “And if, um, all goes well with this, I think...”
Icy blue eyes narrow at my direction, and it becomes a challenge not to wilt under his gaze.
“You asked me before how I wanted to move forward—” The words tumble out in a nervous rush. “And this is it. I don’t want to be a burden to you—”
“I never said you were.”
His voice is back to being sharp, and yes, to be fair to him, he never said those words to my face, but he had to be thinking along those lines to want to marry me off.