Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
She’d fought her battle alone because she was that brave. She’d won that battle because she was that strong. But at what cost?
Though I was ignorant to a lot of what she’d conquered—a fact that infuriated me, even though I understood why Calliope hadn’t told me everything and likely never would—I understood the basics. Jasper had introduced her to something, and had some kind of power over her. Whatever that was would never go away.
And he was dangerous. Immensely fucking dangerous. Beyond what I could comprehend. She’d known that the only way to end it was to end him.
Again, beyond my comprehension. Killing.
But I knew that it needed to happen. With just the scant interactions I’d had with the man, I understood that the only way to get him out of Calliope’s life was to put him in the ground. It was unmistakable based on the way he looked at her, like he wanted to bring her inside his fucking soul.
And then there was the information that he’d killed Naomi. To get to Calliope. He wouldn’t shy away from laying more bodies at her feet. She’d known that. She’d kept that in this entire time. That’s what the wrinkle in her brow was when she stared into space, that’s why she was on her laptop, tapping away at all hours as if her life depended on it. Why whenever I told her what to do, the weight rolled off her shoulders, and she looked like a different person.
So yes, she made the right choice. She made the only choice. She had gone into the lion’s den, alone, wearing white and fucking heels, drenched herself in the blood of predators then returned to Jupiter, only letting herself break once here.
Alone.
Because she didn’t want to lean on anyone. She didn’t want to fall apart in anyone’s arms. She would’ve sat there all night, covered in blood, fucking catatonic.
When I’d been sitting with Rowan and Kip, the one thing they’d suggested was to put an alarm on her place, so if she did come home, an alert would be sent right to my phone.
I’d been furious at that being the only thing to do, thinking it wouldn’t help anything. I needed to both thank Rowan and Kip and apologize to them.
That was way down the list, though.
I’d been powerless before. Yet it was now my job to do everything in my power to bring my woman back to me.
Twenty-Seven
Ceilings — Lizzie McAlpine
CALLIOPE
Ididn’t wake delicately.
I never had in the past, so why would this morning be any different?
My body wasn’t going to reward me for conquering my demons, for slaying my dragons because I’d had to become a villain myself. And that wasn’t without consequences.
My head was pounding. My muscles screamed from overexertion, even though I hadn’t done anything physical beyond stabbing Jasper in the neck. My chest heaved at a flashback of that moment, the sound of his blood, the smell.
Pushing past that, I focused on the pain in my muscles that didn’t have a truly logical reason for existing. I reasoned that it was the tension I’d been holding in every inch of my body for the past year—fuck, for the past decade—finally releasing with the vanquishing of my enemies. Though I didn’t feel relaxed nor victorious. I was waiting, preparing for something I hadn’t thought of to come and best me, ruin everything.
I sucked in a painful breath and forced myself out of my pity party into the physical world. My bedroom. It smelled faintly of perfume and laundry detergent but mostly of spice. The ocean.
Of the man who had come to me in the middle of the night, while I was at my lowest, who had washed the blood from me, carried me like I was a child, dressed me, then held me until I fell asleep.
Elliot.
I was encased in his arms. His warmth permeated the ice I’d been sure had replaced my bones, brittle, cold, unyielding. The sound of his gentle breathing and the contours of his arms worked to anchor me to the moment so I didn’t slip through the cracks in the present to the terrible events of yesterday.
I didn’t want to leave his arms ever, yet my bladder had other plans. The need was urgent, my body reminding me that my mind might’ve gone catatonic, but I was still a flesh and blood creature.
My intent was to slip from his grip without waking him, having inflicted enough on him in the middle of the night last night. And knowing Elliot, I was sure that he had barely slept. Surely, worry had kept him awake.
It was awash in every contour of his being. Despite my state last night, I had noted it. But then there was also fury, a glint in his eyes that cut through all the fuzz in my brain.