Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Lucy smiled. “You’re going to marry Caramel Macchiato Cutie.”
“I am definitely not marrying Caramel Macchiato Cutie,” Pandora said, catching a glance at herself in the windows as she passed, her stormy blue eyes looking a little too sad at that declaration as she actively tried to ignore the way that her words caused a pang in her chest.
2
The first rays of sunlight pierced the horizon, golden and amber shards slicing through the indigo of the fading night, like the day itself was unfurling, when Pandora finally made her way out of the coffee shop.
The rain had finally relented, but puddles dappled the pavement, making the orange, red, and yellow leaves too soggy to step on and get that satisfying crunch.
Pandora sighed as she took the stairs down to the Tube, her footsteps sounding as sluggish and heavy as her spirit felt right then.
It was bad enough that her parents had dropped this bomb on her right before her shift, but then Lucy had spent hours gushing about her happily ever after with Caramel Macchiato Cutie. A future that Pandora knew she could never have.
First, because he was a human. While Pandora was very much a modern vampire who thought the world was ready for vampires to “come out of the coffin”, the fact of the matter was that wasn’t the reality. There were vampire laws and stuff. Most of them having to do with the fact that vampires couldn’t let the humans know they existed.
The Council wasn’t exactly clear on why. And everyone was too scared of getting in trouble with them to question further. Word on the street was that the Council members were ancient. Almost primordial. With crazy powers. Sure, all vampires were super-fast and strong, and had acute senses. But the rumors were that the oldest vampires could turn you to dust with their bare hands, could practically hear the whispers of your internal thoughts.
Though it was impossible to tell if that was just hearsay or based on any kind of truth.
Still, the rules existed. Humans couldn’t know. Or, at least, they couldn’t know for long.
If, for some reason, someone needed a human to know about vampires – for blood donation, for example – they had to be glamoured again afterwards. Which, basically, was some weird trick done with the eyes to make a human do or think whatever the vampire wanted.
And the Council wanted humans to only know about vampires momentarily.
Anything else was against their laws.
Caramel Macchiato Cutie could never know she was a vampire.
And, second, because, well, he had never shown any interest in simply interacting with her, let alone any desire to ask her out.
That idea, of course, brought with it a barrage of insecure thoughts. She couldn’t help but pick herself apart. The way her deep-auburn hair was always either frizzy or in a tangle; how her curves weren’t quite as pronounced as her mother’s were; how she was always kind of awkward and shy when she longed to be extroverted and bold.
“Enough,” Pandora mumbled to herself as she felt the vibration of the train making its way toward the platform.
She’d always liked the Underground in the wee hours of the morning – full of serious early risers ready to head out and seize the day, rubbing shoulders with the night owls who were stumbling home from clubs or parties in their short dresses and smudged make-up, all bleary-eyed yet punchy from lack of sleep.
“Repent!” a voice bellowed, making Pandora squeeze her eyes shut as she tilted her head back.
Not again.
“The day of reckoning has come!” His shouts startled the nearest commuters, making them scurry away from the man with the unruly beard and tattered clothes as he threw his arms in the air. “The wicked must be cast into the fire! Demons walk among us. Do you hear me? Demons! You!” he hissed, his voice dropping to an eerie whisper.
Here we go, Pandora thought, pulling her jacket more tightly around her. She wasn’t cold. She couldn’t feel the cold. But she attempted to feel less exposed in the face of the man who saw her for what she really was.
“I see you, demon. How dare you wear the skin of the living?” he snarled at her. “You will burn in the fires of judgment.”
A ripple of discomfort passed through the small crowd, every one of them averting their eyes and pretending not to notice. Londoners were practiced in the art of avoidance.
Pandora set to ignoring him as well.
But the man kept approaching, holding out a Bible toward her that was making her skin start to crackle at its nearness.
“I see you, demon. You can’t have my soul!”
Like she wanted his soul.
Though she was getting hungry enough to want a little nip and sip.
But she didn’t eat people. No matter how ravenous she felt.