Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 53212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
But the elites have made damn sure that alignment stopped happening.
As long as they control the bloodlines—auctioning women, hoarding the rare ones, blocking fated bonds before they ever take root—no new female vampires are born. Just more males. More soldiers. More pieces on their board. More worker bees to control.
Vampires outside the elite bloodline? We can only produce sons. A design flaw—or maybe a design feature—depending on who’s benefiting.
And the vamps who were turned from humans? The old, reckless ones from centuries back? They can’t reproduce at all. But that’s not technically a bad thing. Turning humans has never been a good idea. All it does is create unstable, blood-hungry monsters who need blood to survive instead of choosing it. It’s basically been outlawed for generations now.
So here we are. A world full of male vampires. A shrinking number of human women with the blood that matters. And elites who’ve figured out how to choke the system just enough to keep their power intact.
If it weren’t all so damn stereotypical, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but unfortunately, it’s exactly as you’d expect. The rich get richer, and do whatever the fuck they want, while those of us at the bottom of the pyramid have to play the hand we’re dealt.
The middle of the pile, though—that’s the real problem.
I hate the elites, but I really hate their fucking gofers, the fucks in the middle class. They’re tail-grabbers, hanger-on-ers, and wannabes with no sense of their pathetic nature.
They think they’re something, their egos inflating to the stratosphere like Holland’s clearly has, but they’re really just a tool. They’re in charge of the dirty work, the bidding, and the day-to-day snobbery, while the elites keep to their penthouses and fancy mansions. They’re clean—without even having to wash their hands.
And now, it’s not just theoretical. It’s not tangential.
It’s mine. My problem, my mate, my fucking law to break.
Cal steps onto the porch beside me, his tanned hand running through still-wet hair as he pulls a T-shirt over his head.
I don’t balk or turn or move as I whisper, “I’ve got a really bad feeling. I think it’s happening before we thought.”
Cal snorts. “All of your feelings are bad, bro. All of them. Since the moment we’ve been old enough to talk and walk and cogitate, I’ve not gotten one good feeling off you, period.”
He’s not entirely wrong—I am a grumpy asshole with a whole cesspool of bad feelings and angry outbursts—but it’s not easy being the one with the weight of the whole Slater world on my shoulders.
We grew up orphaned, and as the oldest, I fell naturally into the role of duty and worry. As vampires without parents, we were forced to grow up in a world we didn’t understand, with people who didn’t understand us, all the while trying to figure out how the hell to keep pretty much every facet of our differentness a secret.
I carried the weight of both myself and my younger brothers on my shoulders. Ironically, this is the first selfish thing I’ve done in our whole lives—and it might just be fucked enough to end them.
“This is different, Cal.”
“A connection thing?”
I shrug. “I guess. I feel like I’m being eaten alive from the inside out.”
And then, I say the one and only thing that’s circling my mind. “They’re not waiting, Cal. They’re moving in.”
That’s the thing about gofers like Holland—they don’t circle unless the outcome is already decided.
Cal leans forward, forearms on the railing. “You want to tell me what you’re thinking?”
I close my eyes.
Because if I say it out loud, it becomes real.
“They won’t ask,” I say finally. “Not today.”
Cal doesn’t argue. He’s tall enough to reach the soffit, and he puts his hands to it to lean forward. “So…what do we need to do?”
The answer sits heavy in my mouth.
“You’re not going to like it.”
He chuckles, his big white teeth shining in a sardonic smile. “Yeah, well, what else is new? There hasn’t been a single thing about this phase of life I’ve liked yet. And, I imagine, there won’t be for a long time. Doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”
I nod. “Yeah. I guess you’re correct.”
“Okay, so…what? What’s the plan?”
I turn to face him. “We go for a drive.”
“A drive to where, Rook?”
“Kylie’s house.”
Cal goes still. “You mean—”
“Yes,” I cut him off before he can question. Before he can waste any more time with nuances. “I take her before they can.”
“Fuck, Rook.” He swears under his breath, but then he laughs. “Well, fuck.”
“I know.”
“That’s certainly crossing a line we’ve never crossed. A line we won’t be able to uncross.”
“I know.”
He searches my face. He knows I’m not wrong. But he also knows that if I don’t do anything, if I don’t make a move, she disappears.
Cal exhales, long and slow.
“Cal, I’m asking you to help me make sure she’s still alive tomorrow.”