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)
I honestly don’t know, but I only see it as an advantage. Sure, I can’t deny I feel tiny swarms of butterflies flitting about my belly, but I will not let anyone see it.
Damien doesn’t speak much. He doesn’t try to engage me in small talk or ask me a lot of questions about myself. But so far, I’m finding that none of the men really do. That probably comes later, you know?
Eventually, when he excuses himself with a promise of seeing each other again, I move toward the base of the staircase, silently reminding myself to keep my chin lifted and my shoulders relaxed.
Be calm. Be confident. Be worth the attention.
Someone laughs abruptly near my shoulder, damn near startling me off my game, but I quickly pull myself together.
But when I let myself observe the room, my attention is straight up held hostage by a man wearing a black tuxedo. His green eyes sit beneath a black mask like the others, his hair is a gorgeous shade of blond, and his jaw is as sharp as chiseled stone. He’s not older, like the silver-haired elites. He’s younger, maybe a few years older than me, and incredibly tall, with muscular, broad shoulders and long, strong legs.
He’s Adonis-level handsome.
And he’s looking directly at me.
Instantly, the air feels heavy between us, and the room narrows as the strangest sensation washes over my body.
My stomach tightens, and I get the sense that I should know him. I feel like I’ve seen him or met him before, but at the same time, I can’t find a single memory in my brain to match.
But then, for one irrational flicker of time, I feel nine years old again, sitting cross-legged on my bed, holding a blond-haired vampire doll in my hands, tilting it toward the window so his eyes looked almost violet in the light.
My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass, and the green-eyed stranger keeps staring at me.
Who is he? And why does he feel so…familiar?
I’m tempted to walk over to him. I’m tempted to go introduce myself and ask him who he is, but that’s not how it goes. The women do not seek out the men; it doesn’t work like that.
If he wants to talk to me, he has to come to me.
I take a quick swig of champagne and work to regain my composure.
And when Damien returns, asking me if I’d like to meet some of his friends, I follow.
I glide. I flutter my lashes and smile. But I can’t stop myself from glancing over my shoulder once more.
Green eyes are still on me.
And I really don’t want him to look away.
Kane
She’s laughing.
And that’s the part that crushes my fucking soul.
Not the masks or the obscene wealth or the way the elite bloodsuckers exploit these women with their eyes. Trust me, all of that is pretty fucking awful. But it’s the fact that she’s enjoying herself. It’s the fact that her laugh is bright and flirtatious and completely devoid of the fear that laugh should hold beneath the surface.
Three elites surround her, taking her in, whispering hushed conversation in her direction. And all she wants to do is entertain them. She wants to play this game. But the saddest part of all is that she thinks the game is fair.
She thinks she knows the score.
She tilts her head just enough to give the man with black eyes access to her neck. My blood boils when he leans in and holds his nose just above her skin. He wants to claim her. He wants to possess her. He wants to breed her. He wants to fuck her. He wants to use her blood for his own power and pleasure and selfish desires.
He wants to take every ounce of life and vibrance from her, and he doesn’t care if her death would be the cost.
His hungry intentions invade my mind.
Her naïve ignorance breaks my fucking heart.
I want to murder him.
Visions of me striding right over to the vile piece of shit and slicing his throat infiltrate my head, and it takes every ounce of self-control inside me not to follow through.
I can see too much right now. This is the first time in my life that I feel like my gift is a noose around my neck. It’s choking. It’s clawing. It’s fucking suffocating me by the second.
I clench my fists when the two other men lean in to smell her neck too—smell her blood.
Her blood is one of the three. Even I can smell that from here. Hell, every vampire cock within a thousand-mile radius knows what those bloodlines smell like. It’s the only one we can breed with, and when you combine it with the fact that she’s a virgin—yeah, I can smell that too—her body might as well be a biological siren’s call.