Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Where the fuck was he?
And how many hours had he been here?
Forcing his eyes to focus, he… got nowhere with that.
Shouldn’t he be cold?
As his addled mind struggled to assess his body temperature, he let his head fall back into the snow, and as it lolled into an uncomfortable position he realized he had a far more pressing problem.
The first tip was the subtle whirring sound.
The second was the shifting all around the house: Shutters. Coming down because daylight was like a freight train gunning for Caldwell.
Phone. He needed to get his phone—
Good plan, but he didn’t have gloves on and his fingers were stiff as claws.
“Help…” he croaked out. “Heeelp…”
His voice was so weak it didn’t carry over the wind, and all he could do was watch as the glow through all those windows was gradually reduced.
Until it was gone.
The utter darkness was a shock, even though it shouldn’t have been, and he looked up at the night sky. Clouds had rolled in, and he felt cheated that he couldn’t see the stars or the moon—which was probably proof that he wasn’t thinking right. He needed to get to that house, somehow, not worry about what his last sight was.
Forcing himself to roll over, he threw out his dagger hand and shoved his frozen fingers into the snowpack like they were a grappling hook. Using what felt like the last of his strength, he tried to pull his body forward, but he just brought snow to himself—and the same was true when he tried with his left reach.
He wasn’t a fucking quitter, though.
So he paddled uselessly for a while, packing the shit around his head and shoulders.
Time for a breather.
Turning his head to the side again, he laid his cheek down on the snow, his breath whiffling the flakes—
The light of dawn arrived faster than he expected and he closed his lids. His vision was so bad, it didn’t really matter if they were open, and glaring to the east sure as hell wasn’t going to stop the sun from rising and doing what it was going to do to him: Up in smoke. He was gonna be up in smoke.
Not dissimilar to those fucking lessers—
Wrath.
The sound of his name was such a surprise, his eyes opened again. For some reason, the sun’s brilliant, blinding light seemed to be right next to him, and this was confusing on so many levels. But also, why would the great glowing ball of death be saying his—
Worry not, son of the King. I shall send her. But in return, you must tell them the truth.
Okay, not the sun as it turned out. And what the fuck was this? “Tell… who,” he wheezed.
All of them.
Lifting his head, he glared at the apparition. “Don’t know… what you’re talking about.”
A wave of such intense cold came at him, he felt his heart stop, sure as if he were being freeze-fried on the spot.
You are your father’s son, and that is a curse upon my species.
Justlikethat, the light was gone, and all he could do was shake his head. He supposed it was so like him to fight with a savior showing up at just the right time—then again, it was undoubtedly just a hallucination—
Another light now, far dimmer. The actual sun popping up over the horizon this time?
“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Heeeeeeelp!”
Okay, now that was how you yelled for assistance.
And as L.W. drew in a breath, the scent that he woke up to on so many days courtesy of his dreams ran through his nose and went directly into his blood.
“Bitty…”
“Help! Yes, help—we need to move him! But gimme your belt—your belt!”
There was a moment of pause, and then a searing pain in his right thigh.
“Lift his leg up higher—I need… to get… this around his—”
“Fuck.”
“I’m sorry.” Bitty’s voice came close to his ear. “I need to get the tourniquet on. You’re bleeding out.”
L.W. tried to focus on her face, he truly did. When he couldn’t manage that, he had to be satisfied with memory playing a patch job on all that he couldn’t bring out of the darkness. She was wearing red, he knew that—oh. No, that was his blood on her sweater.
“Hold on,” she said. “We’re going to bring you inside—”
“Can’t. No males allowed—”
“When it’s life or death, it’s allowed. Now, hang on.”
That leg of his proved to be a fucking nightmare, especially as they rolled him over onto his back, and someone propped his injured leg up at what felt like a seven-thousand-and-eighty-degree angle. Then there was tugging, tugging, tugging—followed by a pinch that went right through his whole body. When shit settled, the constriction was set very high up his thigh, right under his groin.
Helluva way for her to learn his anatomy, huh.
And after that? The single worst transport of his life.