Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
She was nothing more than a tool of revenge.
Without another word to the asshole, Echo strode out of his apartment, hurrying down the stairwell and into the open night air. She took in a lungful of oxygen. Vampires weren’t dead like the myths suggested. They breathed, their hearts beat, and they ate and drank human food. But they needed blood so they wouldn’t starve. Unless they were decapitated, staked in the heart with wood, or had their heart ripped from their chest, a vampire, like the fae, would live forever. Despite breathing, a vampire’s supernatural healing powers meant they’d never die of oxygen deprivation.
And yet, maybe because she knew that, Echo had never really experienced the joy of her lungs filling with crisp, fresh air since she’d turned. So many little things, so many big things she missed about being human.
That grief crawled across her, and she shoved it back.
No time for that.
Hitting speed dial on her cell, she called William.
“She lives,” he answered coldly.
“I fucked up. Got drunk. Hated it. I’m currently disgusted with myself and would appreciate a distraction.” She said all the words she knew William needed to hear.
“You do realize this will only make him hunt you for longer, and his financial resources are too important for me to kill him for touching you.”
Hearing the true anger in William’s words, Echo strode down the street toward her apartment. She was William’s possession. His to give to whomever he wanted. How was she only starting to see this now? “I can deal with Roark. Is that why you called? Or is there business I need to attend to?”
“Headquarters. Now.” He hung up.
Roark owned the entire apartment building he lived in, an art nouveau residence in the heart of Maxvorstadt. It was an impressive investment, his penthouse the height of luxury. But even it didn’t compare to The Garm headquarters, only several blocks from Echo’s apartment in Seeligerstraße. Pulling shadows around her body to hide her unnatural speed from the humans, Echo sped across the city, covering the hour walk in just ten minutes.
William had turned his €8 million townhouse and four of the neighboring houses worth millions of euros into The Garm headquarters after Eirik was killed. William’s was a modern house with Scandinavian influence, inspired by William’s friendship with Eirik. It was not at all what anyone would expect of a supernatural intelligence operation. Which was the point. William hired powerful witches and warlocks to spell the headquarters from attention from the human world.
Several vampires guarded the houses at night, while werewolves guarded them during the day. The two vampires guarding the main entrance to William’s recognized her and nodded as she moved past them and into the house. The place was always buzzing with supes. Nodding at folks as she moved, Echo could thank William for his training, at least. Without it, she’d never be able to face these people. She’d never be able to face him.
“He’s in his office,” Orla, a two-hundred-year-old vampire, promoted to second-in-command after Eirik died and William took over, gestured to the office as Echo approached. “He wants to see you alone.”
Trying not to worry about what that meant, Echo kept her expression placid and strode in, closing the door behind her. Bright lights illuminated the Scandi-designed space. Sleek, minimal, a hidden place for everything so it never looked cluttered.
William sat on the edge of his desk, staring at her expressionlessly. At just over five hundred years old, William was one of the most powerful supernaturals in the world. The son of a wealthy London merchant, William had wanted for nothing and thus grown into an industrious and handsome man. When he was thirty years old, married, a father himself, he’d gone on one of his many work trips to France to buy French wares to sell back in England. It was there he caught the eye of a French aristocrat who’d turned him.
He was tall, broad of shoulder, had thick dark hair, and ice-blue eyes.
Cold, emotionless eyes.
My God, I’ve been so blind.
“F-father,” she forced out in greeting.
He looked away, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Am I to brush off the last two nights of debauchery as youthful impetus that is never to be repeated? Or should I be concerned?”
“Youthful impetus. Believe me, no one is kicking my ass more than I am right now.”
His blue eyes seared right through her. “Why?”
Knowing what he asked, Echo shrugged. She’d already thought of an excuse that could be verified as truth. “Do you remember my friend Cassandra from boarding school?”
“The one who got you drunk on vodka when you were but sixteen?”
Echo shrugged again. “I bumped into her at a restaurant here in Munich.” She didn’t lie. She had, in fact, bumped into Cassandra a few evenings ago and spent much of the encounter evading questions about her life. “Here, of all places.” Their boarding school had been in Canada. “I … I faltered briefly. Forgot to be grateful for the gift you’ve given me.”