Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
“If someone is constantly yapping about how much prettier, happier, more successful, or more accomplished they are than others, it’s a dead giveaway that they’re actually miserable inside and trying to convince themselves of the things they keep saying. The lion doesn’t need to remind the sheep they are above them on the food chain.” I take in a breath, not looking away from Devon’s blue eyes. “And a vampire doesn’t need to tell a witch he’s a vampire. We already know.”
CHAPTER 5
It has to be close to sunrise, though I wouldn’t know because the windows in the car that took me from my Asheville home were completely blacked over, stopping any sunlight from getting in. I still remember when “vampmobiles” first came onto the market and the outcry that came from a majority of the public, saying it wasn’t safe to have window tint that dark yet they somehow failed to understand that only the back was blacked out. The driver, obviously, had to be able to see.
And, more obviously, the driver wasn’t a vampire.
Yet people complain about anything they can and will enjoy it all the more if who they’re complaining about are different than they are. Which goes into the whole debate of considering vampire people…or monsters.
The Order defines them as monsters. But the Order defines witches as monsters too, and I thought I’d proven that wasn’t the case. Vivian found me locked in a closet after demons ripped my parents to shreds. She didn’t know I was a witch and brought me home, raised me as her own, and yet my powers still came out. It should have shown everyone that witches aren’t evil. We don’t make deals with the Devil or sell our souls in exchange for the ability to cast spells. We inherit our abilities, just like I inherited green eyes and dark hair from someone in my family.
Devon has been quiet most of the ride. He didn’t know what to do once his plan of pretending to be a vampire fell through. There was some paperwork “to go over” but I didn’t pay attention because I’m trying to tell myself this doesn’t matter. I’ll figure something out.
And really, for the last two or so hours, I’ve been trying to hold it together. Because my family sold me out as if it were nothing. I’ll never forget the smug look Larissa gave me as I was marched out of the house, or the look of relief on Marco and Vivian’s faces. Not just relief that Larissa was safe, but relief they won’t have to deal with me—the witch—ever again. I was someone else’s problem, though giving a witch to a vampire definitely wasn’t part of their plan.
I can’t hide who I am from real vampires. They can sense the magic and are drawn to it. I’ve had little training from other witches, but I know enough to never trust a vampire. They are inherently jealous of us and our ability to walk in both light and dark. Vampires are made from dark magic, magic we possess on some level, and they hate us for it. Plus, I assume our blood tastes better or something.
The car comes to a stop and the engine cuts off. The divider separating the back comes down, and the driver turns, eyes glazed over, a telltale sign that his brain is basically Swiss cheese from being held spellbound so many times.
“Take Miss Russo to her room,” Devon tells him. “I’ll let my brother know the latest hunter arrived.”
“And you’ll let him know you picked a witch,” I poke. “Good luck.”
His eyes narrow but he can’t hide the apprehension behind them. He doesn’t want to believe I’m a witch, and I didn’t show him anything to prove that I actually am. Humans can’t sense magic the way witches and vampires can. I know there’s a part of him hoping, desperately, that I’m just being a pain in the ass and his brother can come in, hold me spellbound, and make me behave like a good girl.
But the joke is on him because witches cannot be held spellbound.
Devon just grunts and gets out of the car, slamming his door behind him. Real mature, buddy. I wait for the driver to open my door for me and then collect my things. We’re inside a garage, and all the windows are sealed off, keeping natural light at bay. The lights are on above us, and I look around.
The garage is big. Impressive, if you’re into cars, I suppose. There are two sports cars to my right and a G-Wagon to my left, along with a few motorcycles. Everything is tidy and the gray epoxy floor is clean enough to walk on with white socks. Devon has already gone inside, leaving the door ajar behind him. I turn around, memorizing everything so I can make my escape. I need to see where the driver puts the keys, since these new cars can’t be hot-wired.