Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Something scrapes behind me—a footstep, maybe, or a can rolling across pavement.
I freeze. Listen. Nothing.
Only my imagination. Too many horror movies as a teenager.
I keep walking, faster now. My breath comes a little shorter, a familiar tightness building in my chest. Great timing for my lungs to remind me they’re garbage.
The sound comes again. Definitely footsteps this time, then silence when I stop.
“Hello?” I call out. “Is someone there?”
No response. Just the distant crash of waves against the harbor wall and my own breathing.
I should run, but running isn’t really an option with my crappy lungs. Instead, I walk as quickly as I can, pulse hammering in my ears.
There it is again—the quiet shuffle of footsteps on pavement, closer now.
Oh god. What if it’s Viktor? What if he followed me from The Vault, figured out I had something to do with Liam?
A movement reflects in a darkened shop window. A shadow, taller than mine, keeping pace about twenty feet behind me.
I dig in my pocket for my phone. Dead. Of course it’s dead.
The alley where I parked is just ahead. I pick up speed despite the burn in my lungs, ignoring the way spots dance at the edges of my vision from lack of oxygen.
I turn the corner, plunging into darkness so complete I have to feel my way along the wall. The alley smells like rotting fish and seawater. My Jeep is parked at the far end, a barely visible shape in the gloom.
What was I thinking, parking here? This is literally how every bad horror movie starts.
Keys. Where are my keys? I pat my pockets frantically, eventually encountering the hard metal outline in my right pocket. I pull them out with shaking hands.
A scrape of boot on concrete echoes through the alley. He’s here. Whoever’s following me has turned the corner.
My trembling hands refuse to cooperate. The keys slip from my fingers, hitting the wet pavement with a metallic clatter that seems impossibly loud.
“Shit!” I whisper, dropping to my knees to feel around for them.
My fingers scrabble across rough concrete, finding nothing but puddles and cigarette butts. The footsteps are getting closer.
There! My hand closes around the keys just as a reflection catches my eye.
A face in my car window, not my own. A man’s face, features blurred by darkness and fog, but unmistakably watching me.
I open my mouth to scream, but my lungs seize up completely, cutting off the sound before it can escape. I stumble backward, keys clutched in my fist like a pathetic weapon.
“Briar.”
The voice is so familiar it takes a second to process through my panic.
“Damiano?”
He steps forward, becoming solid in the darkness. “What the hell are you doing out here alone?”
Relief floods me, quickly replaced by anger. “What am I doing? What are you doing, skulking around in the dark, scaring me half to death? Were you following me?”
“Yes.”
No excuses, no explanations. Just that one word, delivered in the same tone he might use to comment on the weather.
“What the fuck, Damiano? You can’t just follow people!”
“I followed you from the estate. You shouldn’t be out here at all, especially not alone.” His words are tense, controlled. “Viktor has men watching the grounds, the house. They would’ve reported that you left. Now he knows you’re in town.”
“So you decided to stalk me? That’s your solution?”
“I decided to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed.” He moves closer, and I can finally see his face clearly. He’s furious. “What were you thinking, going to The Vault while Viktor’s looking for his brother? While your face is fresh in everyone’s minds from your party?”
“I needed information about The Hunt.” Even to my own ears, the excuse sounds weak.
“From Flint.” It’s not a question.
Heat crawls up my neck. Does he know? Did he see us? No, he couldn’t have. He was outside, but something in his tone makes me think he suspects.
“Yes, from Flint. He works at The Vault.” I try to remain steady. “Who better to ask about it and if there is a way to keep the hunters off my land?”
“Be careful with him.” He softens slightly, and I catch something in his expression. Not jealousy exactly, but concern mixed with experience.
But why isn’t there jealousy? We haven’t even spoken about last night once? It’s almost as if I dreamed it. We fucked multiple times, we got interrupted and then… nothing. Nothing at all. Did we even have sex, or have I finally lost my mind and am having fevered dreams?
“Flint isn’t... he consumes people. Pulls them into his gravity until there’s nothing left,” he adds.
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
He glances at me, then back at the road. “I am. He’s not a bad person, but there’s something dark in him. Something that needs and takes and doesn’t know how to stop.”
“You make him sound dangerous.”