Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
On killing me.
Evan moves first. He’s fast—vampire-fast like the rest of us—and I don’t miss the flash of a blade from inside his jacket.
He goes for my throat, and I pivot and catch his wrist mid-strike, twisting hard enough that the blade drops to the ground.
It doesn’t stop him, though. He drives forward, pushing his full body weight toward me like a fucking linebacker, but I adjust my hips and use his momentum to slam his body into the stone column beside the front steps of the Windsors’ mansion.
The impact is heavy but muted.
He recovers quickly, getting to his feet swinging, but I’m too fast for him. It’s as if I can read his intentions before his brain can fully process them. In under a second, I’m behind him, his neck is in my hands, and I snap the life out of him.
I catch him before he hits the ground and lower him silently into the frost-covered grass of the Windsors’ yard.
Blair screams at the sight of it.
Fuck. I’m sorry, Blair. I’m so sorry. I almost tell her exactly that—want to tell her—but Mark snarls as he heads straight for me.
He’s older and stronger, and his eyes flash red as he lunges for me. He manages to tackle me away from the steps and the house.
Smart move, I’ll give him that.
We crash into a manicured hedge, and he drives his forearm into my throat so hard I cough from the impact.
“You should’ve stayed hidden,” he growls.
“And miss out on the chance to kill you?” I answer, my voice strangled. “Hell no.”
He reaches for the gun in his holster, but I don’t give him a chance. I hook his arm, reverse leverage, and slam him hard into the ground.
His head cracks against the stone edging.
He tries to recover, but I don’t let him. I grab his jaw and twist with all my strength.
At first, there’s resistance. But then, there isn’t.
The snapping sound is brief, contained, and I hold him there a second longer before I let him fall with a thud into the yard.
Silence settles back over the driveway. No alarms. No lights flicking on.
Just frost, exhaust smoke, and two dead gofers on Windsor property.
Blair is staring at me like the world just split open.
“You killed them,” she whispers, her hand going to her mouth. “They were supposed to take me to the airport! They were here to be my escorts, and you killed them!”
“You have no idea what these men had in store for you, Blair,” I say, slowly walking toward her with both of my hands held in the air. “They don’t give a fuck about you. Not them. Not Damien. Not any of the elites you know.”
“Oh my God!” Her face drains of color. “You’re insane!”
“You need to come with me, Blair.”
“Help! Someone, help me!” Her scream cuts through the morning air, and I just…act.
As quick as I can, I pull her toward me, toss her over my shoulder, and walk straight past Mark and Evan’s lifeless bodies lying in her parents’ yard, heading straight for the Suburban. Blair thrashes against me, silent panic flooding her system.
She’s kicking and screaming the entire way, her intentions clearly indicating that I’m ruining her big chance of being chosen. That I’m ruining her future. That I’m the villain.
Fuck. If you only knew what I’m saving you from. If you only knew, you wouldn’t be screaming.
Instantly, the screaming stops.
I don’t know why. I don’t care why. Because all I can do right now is toss her in the back seat of the Suburban. She’s fighting me the entire time, but her human strength and speed are nothing compared to mine.
I fucking hate that I have to restrain her with rope I snagged from the trunk to keep her secured in the back seat. Hate that I’m having to do any of this right now. Hate myself a million times over. But I’m doing it all anyway.
Because I don’t have a choice.
Because I can’t let anything happen to her.
Because I have to protect her.
Because Blair Windsor is mine, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
Blair
Oh my God, I’ve been kidnapped!
My wrists are restrained—not painfully, but firmly—with something soft, and no matter how much I thrash around in the back seat, I can’t get loose.
“You have lost your mind!” I scream. “Let me go! Let me fucking go!”
But he doesn’t flinch. He just keeps driving.
Long fingers, strong wrists, and thick, corded veins visible beneath the skin, his hands are steady on the wheel. Those hands just picked me up as if I weighed nothing. They look like they can crush on demand. Those hands just killed two men!
“Ahhh!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Oh my God! Stop the car! Let me out! I don’t want to die! I’m too young to die!”