Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“My acquaintance does not—cannot—do any of that. Once he has something, he must hold on to it.” A thread in her tone that Vivek was certain was empathy. “It is an illness, I have heard it said by both angelic healers and mortal physicians. Having witnessed the way he lives, inside a home stuffed to the gills and dank with the smell of rot, I must agree.”
When she rose, he rose with her, his bag on the side away from her and his hand braced atop his cane.
“That is all the knowledge I have been able to unearth,” she said as they began to stroll in the direction from which he’d come.
Vivek nodded, his nostrils flaring as he breathed her in, the cold night air no match for the scent of her. “If I can, I’ll tell you what comes of the hunt for the language.” Because if this ended up Cadre business, then Vivek’s mouth would be sealed shut.
Katrina stopped without warning, turned to face him. “Why are you breathing so hard?” An unreadable glint in her eye. “Is it your leg?”
He ground his teeth against the flash of annoyance. “No, the infusion of blood will stave off the degenerative effects for the short term.” That was another reason he’d bought the blood. He was far more mobile after a drink, at least for the next hour or two. “I’m breathing this way because I’m drunk on your scent.” If she could be blunt, then so could he.
They stood in the silvery light of the moon, close enough that he saw her pupils expand. “And what”—a purr—“do I smell like to one of the hunter-born?”
He’d had time to think about it, unravel the layers of complexity. “An indulgence of dark orchids twined with shards of musk, and beneath it all, a delicate whisper of flowers I can’t name, but that might be poison hidden within the most beautiful blooms. You smell of dangerous intoxication.”
Her lips parted, lush and pink. Her breath caught in her throat. And her eyes . . . the pupils expanded until they almost took over her irises. When she spoke, her voice was husky with an edge that told him he talked with the predator beneath the sophisticated skin. “You are either a very brave or very reckless man, Vivek Kapur.”
Unable to predict her next move, his shoulders rigid and his hand tight on the head of his cane, he didn’t so much as take a breath.
Katrina leaned toward him, her breath against his throat as she said, “Be careful how far you push me, young one.” She’d turned and walked away into the darkness before he could snap back a response, a woman who was at home in the night, and who had no fear of the shadows that lingered within it.
37
He stirs but does not wake.
It will take him time. He has Slept longer than eternity itself.
You were ever fascinated with him.
Do you blame me? I was a child, and he was . . . a monster, beautiful. The last one of his kind to walk the earth.
My memories of him are not as clear as yours. I was but a babe when he declared he was done with life and that the time for his final Sleep had come.
Ah, my love. I forget that you are the younger. My fresh-faced lover whom I seduced.
Will you forever remind me that I am the younger? We are so old that they call us Ancients of Ancients in the waking world.
But to me, you are simply my Qin.
The earth shakes again.
Yes, he stirs again. Each stir brings him closer to breaching the veil of Sleep.
I pity those who walk the earth.
You are just jealous because he was the first man to make my heart skip a beat.
He is not a man.
No . . . no, he is not. He is something quite apart.
38
“I found it!” Jessamy’s cheeks were flushed pink on the screen as she waved a piece of paper in the air, her braid fuzzy and strands of hair around her face.
Unused to such exuberance from the serene and composed mate of his weapons-master, Raphael hesitated. But Elena took it in stride. “What, Jess?”
His consort’s face was no longer as worn—she’d had several nights of restful sleep now that her father was out of the ICU, with the doctors cautiously talking about a full recovery rather than possible complications.
In hunter-black today, her hair in a practical braid, she looked both alert and strong.
“The language!” Jessamy beamed. “In the book!” She waved the piece of paper again. “It’s a tongue marked as Old Angelic in our records.”
“That can’t be correct.” Raphael frowned, crossing his arms over his worn-in brown leathers. “We all learn Old Angelic and it’s not the tongue in the Book of Marduk.”
“The Book of the First Marduk,” Jessamy corrected. “That’s what we’re calling it for the time being, because it can’t belong to the Marduk we know. And yes, I agree about the confusion with Old Angelic.