Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
At the thought of him getting hard, my body immediately tenses, heat pooling between my legs in a sudden burst of need.
Jesus. I can’t be thinking about that.
But of course, I need to be. How the hell else am I supposed to get close enough to Valtu in order to kill him, let alone learn the whereabouts of the book? That’s part of my job. Sometimes in order to vanquish vampires from this world, you need to do things you don’t want to do. I’ve done it before. Done things that people would view as shameful, degrading. Hell, even some witches outside of the slayer’s guild pity us for the things we sometimes have to do.
I guess the difference is, now I find myself wanting to do it.
I decide to take a step back. To let him be. I’ll never get anywhere if I keep coming on so strong.
“I really should go study,” I tell him, rolling off my gloves.
He looks up, his brows together in puzzlement. “Already?”
“It’s why I came here,” I say, placing them in the trash can under the table and adjusting the purse on my shoulder.
“If it’s for my class, the essay isn’t due for a few weeks,” he says.
“I like to get a head start,” I tell him. “I’ll see you Monday.” Then I’m turning around and walking out of the glass room of rare books and artifacts and into the darkened stacks of the library. I half-expect him to come after me and feel a twinge of disappointment when he doesn’t.
I sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of my face and wishing I had brought a cardigan with me. It’s been so hot and muggy here, even at night, but in the depths of the library there’s a deep chill that makes my bare arms erupt in gooseflesh.
I spend some time going through the stacks, pulling out a few books, then work my way to the tables. There are students occupying most chairs, so I go to the back of the room, where the light gets dimmer, until I spot a long empty table, thankfully with a couple of desk lamps to illuminate the work area.
I sit down, my eyes drifting over to a metal door at the wall, complete with a keypad, then the arched stain-glass windows above it. Where could that door possibly go? Perhaps that’s where they keep the really valuable stuff. After all, it wouldn’t be too hard to smash the glass cases that house the books the professor was working on.
After flipping open a book, I bring out my pen and notepad and attempt to make notes. We were given free range for our essays and I don’t really know where to start except that I think I’m most intrigued by Modest Mussorgsky, a Russian composer who was suspected of being involved with witchcraft and the occult back in the day. I start going through the books I have that feature him, trying to find something that speaks to me. Though I’d only graduated from university six years ago, it feels like a lifetime ago and the idea of constructing an essay feels foreign to me.
But I love research at heart. I could spend hours doing it and it seems I’ve done so, by the time I’ve breezed through two books, made a heap of notes, and my phone is telling me it’s nearing closing time.
“You’re still here,” Valtu’s voice comes from behind me, his words rough and elegant at the same time. I suppress a shiver and twist in my seat to glance at him over my shoulder. He shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on me like that, but I was hyper-focusing on my work, my senses are dulled, and he is a vampire after all. They can be as silent as snow.
“I must have lost track of time,” I tell him. I quickly get up and start slamming the books shut and suddenly Valtu is at my back, peering over me at the table. His scent overwhelms me and my knees threaten to buckle.
“Mussorgsky,” he says quietly as he notes the books. “He’s an interesting man.”
“Was,” I correct him, since he died in the 1800s.
“Of course. Was.”
I swallow hard. For the first time since I met this vampire, I feel afraid. Not terrified, but the prickle of fear is distinct. If he knows who I am truly am and what I have been sent here to do, he could kill me right here in the back of this dark, emptied library and I wouldn’t be able to stop him. The blade of mordernes is tucked away in my closet. I am completely defenseless.
“How about I walk you home,” he goes on. “It’s late.”
I blink at him and then turn away, gathering my books. Perhaps I wasn’t wrong. The moment I put distance between us and back off, the more he feels compelled to chase.