Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
But there’s another part that feels like I’m betraying Devon if I just walk out of here. He didn’t want to be turned. That was his dying wish. But what can I do? He’s not going to recover. The only way to escape becoming a vampire is to die…and never come back.
Vomit bubbles up in my throat when I realize the only way to honor Devon’s dying wish is to kill him myself.
Chapter
Seven
Iwatch a bead of condensation roll down the outside of the plastic cup. It’s freezing inside this Starbucks; I don’t know why I ordered an iced coffee. I’ve yet to take a drink either and I think if I did, I might throw up.
“Are you all right?” the lady at the table next to me asks and I reach up, thinking I still have blood on my face.
“Yeah,” I reply and force a smile, pushing my shoulders back. “Long night. I’m a travel nurse and had my first shift.”
“My niece does that.” She smiles back. “It’s tough work. God bless you, honey.”
“Thanks.” I inhale, reminding myself to keep my expression neutral. It’s what I’ve been trained to do. But can you blame a girl? In the last few days, I found out my parents were murdered, I was kidnapped, who I thought was my found-family betrayed me, and my sister tried to kill me after she tortured my best friend.
And that’s on top of watching Devon get shot.
Now I’m sitting here with the letter from the Order in front of me, counting down the minutes until I need to go home. I don’t know why I don’t want to be there for the transformation. The process won’t take long at all, but it’s not me totally avoiding it.
I know what a letter like this from the Order means.
Sliding the coffee to the middle of the table, I pick up the envelope and open it. All that’s written on it is an address followed by the words one hour. It’s been nearly an hour already since I was given this. Pulling my phone from my bag, I plug in the address. It’s for a cafe, and it’s a six-minute walk from here. I bite my lip, thinking.
This could be a trap. I could be punished somehow for what the vampires did. The Order is a big blood for blood rule follower, though giving me an invitation like this is hardly the way they’d go about it.
Still, I know the risks. Yet something inside of me is telling me to go. I take a picture of the invite so it’s saved in the Cloud—just in case. Then I take a big drink of my coffee, use the bathroom, and head out.
The sun is just now starting to creep up, shining down on what should be a beautiful day. It’s the last week of May, and the weather is ideal for spring. Birds chirp and runners pass me by as I hurry toward the cafe.
There aren’t many people here, despite it being open twenty-four hours a day. I look around, not seeing anyone out of the ordinary until I get to the last table when I spot him: Marcus Henry. I almost don’t recognize him. He’s aged a lot since I saw him a few years ago, but he has the same smug arrogance about him that he did back then.
God, I want to fucking punch that smug look right off his face.
His face is turned down, reading a paper. He’s sitting alone, but the higher-ups in the Order are never truly alone.
“Guessing you’re here for me,” I say as I come over to the table.
Marcus looks up, gray eyes widening as I approach.
“Florence Russo.”
“Malus. It’s Florence Malus now. But before that, I was Florence Blackwood.” I take a seat in the booth across from him, watching just the slightest bit of panic flicker across his face. Was I not supposed to know my past? Oops. Too bad, motherfucker. I know everything. “What do you want?”
“Hello to you too, Mrs. Malus.” He holds out his hand and I cross my arms, raising my eyebrows. I’m not shaking his hand. “Fine,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I’ll cut to the chase.”
“I’m on the edge of my seat.” I stare Marcus right in the eyes and take in a slow breath. Sitting here, staring at Marcus fucking Henry, reminds me who I am: a hunter. I fight the bad guys, but in this case, they’re not demons. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you, Florence.”
“Then this could have been an email.”
Marcus laughs. “I heard you were quite the spitfire, and I like that, kid.”
“Great. That makes two of us.”
The waitress brings Marcus a piece of pie and a coffee. “Want anything, honey?” she asks.
“I do,” I start, looking sad. “But Grandpa says I’m chubby.”