Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”
He lets out a breath, and with it comes a small smile. But the tone of his voice is different. It’s not that fake congeniality, but low, and deep, and serious. “I just… I can’t believe it worked. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to make this happen?”
“Hundreds of years?”
“Yes. Hundreds of years. It was Syrsee who made it happen. Well”—he sighs—“it was all of us. Me, Josep, the Darkness. And reluctantly, I have to give Lucia credit as well. She was the origin witch for Syrsee’s bloodline, after all. Of course, I’ve used the blood of every single Black witch I’ve ever tasted since landing in America for that purpose as well. But without Lucia, we wouldn’t have been able to create a new strain.”
“New strain of what?” He’s calm and sounding very rational. But I’m not. And this question comes out with a lot of anger and pent-up frustration.
“Of…” He pauses, like he’s struggling to find the right word. “Of… sustenance, Ryet.”
“Sustenance? What a gross word, Paul. She’s not food.”
Paul doesn’t even argue with me. Just kinda shrugs his shoulders. Then redirects the conversation away from Syrsee with another question. “What do you think of them?”
“Them? Could you be any less specific?”
“The wings, Ryet. What do you think of the wings?”
I look over my shoulder and find that they are complete and all the bones have been covered with a thin grayish-purple membrane. I raise one shoulder and the corresponding wing flutters a little. I can suddenly feel all the new muscles along my back that control this movement. Then I redirect my attention back to Paul. “What are they for?”
He tilts his head at me, like he doesn’t understand the question. “What?”
“Why do we have wings, Paul? It feels… cliché.”
Paul almost laughs. “Cliché? That’s funny.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve found that the human lore tends to leave the wings out in most of their fictions.”
He’s right, I guess. “Who cares about that. Why do we need wings?”
“For flying, of course.”
He says this like I’m an idiot. Which isn’t even fair. “I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve even seen your wings, so don’t act like I should know this.”
“Well, that’s because the flying isn’t for out there, Ryet. It’s for in here.”
I have exhausted my patience for Paul’s explanation of vampire wings. But at least he’s provided me with a logical segue between that subject and the more important one, which is where I’m currently at. “What is this place? Some kind of advanced dreamwalk or something?”
“No, Ryet. It’s not a dreamwalk. It’s reality. The reality that exists to feed the Darkness. The only reality that really matters, when you boil it all down to nothing.”
I close my eyes, shake my head, and force myself to be patient. I open them back up. Breathe. “Can you maybe explain that in a little more detail?”
“How about this?” As he talks the space around me changes from a snowy forest to a luxury hotel suite located someplace very sunny. It’s the hotel room where I woke up from being second-born.
We’re both on the bed now, side by side and leaning back against the headboard. Clothed—thank God—but close enough to each other that I have a compulsion to move over and put some distance between us. Which I do.
Paul chuckles. “You’ve always been so resistant, Ryet.”
“What are you talking about? There were times that I was begging you for blood.”
He turns his head, that fucking smarmy smile back. “You know damn well I’m not talking about the blood.” The smiles fades. “I’m talking about us, Ryet.”
“There is no ‘us,’ Paul.”
“See? This is what I mean. You say that and you know it’s not true. It’s always been us, Ryet. Us against… everything.” He pans a hand through the air, trying to give the meaning of ‘everything’ some actuality. “I understand that you hate me. I do. I don’t even mind that you hate me because you don’t understand anything about what’s happening to you, and Syrsee, and me, and Josep.”
I scoff. “How the hell did Josep get included in that list? I’ve never even met the guy.”
“See, this is what I mean. You don’t understand. But I do. I understand your hatred for me. I can’t blame you—not really. I was, after all, the monster that killed your family.”
“Oh. My God. Did you really just go there?”
“I did. For a good reason. You see, if I hadn’t killed them in that fire, Ryet, you would’ve taken them to Hell with you.”
I blink. “What?”
He puts up a hand. “Not Jane, of course. She was safe. But your children?” Paul shakes his head. “They had the Darkness in them because they were part of you. They were damned from the moment they were conceived. Burning them in that church while they were still young and innocent was the only way I could set their souls free. It was the best possible outcome.”