Total pages in book: 230
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
“Yes. I think so.” I felt myself up, searching for holes that shouldn’t be there. “What the hell just happened?”
“I do believe we were being shot at.”
Hands stilling, I lifted my gaze back to his. “Gee. Really? Let me clarify my question. Why do you think a fae shot at us and then sent his sniper ass back to the Otherworld? That doesn’t happen every day.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No. Not in my world. It happens in yours?”
“I’ve made a lot of enemies, sunshine. A lot who’d rather see me return to who I was,” he said, and my chest squeezed at the mere mention of him returning to the Prince who was an absolute nightmare. “Or see me dead.”
“That’s kind of scary—” Gasping, I jerked my hand away from my stomach. It was wet, and even in the poor lighting, I could see the dark smudges. “There’s blood on my hand.”
“You said you were okay.” One hand was suddenly wrapped around my wrist while the other was on my stomach, pressing.
“Hey!” I smacked at his hand, but he studiously ignored me. “I don’t think I’m bleeding.” When he still felt along my midsection, I caught his hand and squeezed hard. “I think it’s your blood.”
“I’m fine,” he gruffed out. “Are you sure you haven’t been hit?”
“Pretty sure I’d know if I’d been shot,” I said, squinting at him. He was wearing a dark thermal and pants, like he had the first time I’d seen him. I placed my hand on his right shoulder and felt nothing. I slid my hand down his chest, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice deeper, thicker.
My gaze lifted to his, and I thought I probably should pull my hand away, but I didn’t. I moved to the other pec, and it was me who sucked in air this time. Wet warmth hit my palm. “You’ve been shot.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” I exclaimed. He let go of my wrist, so I got both hands involved. “You’ve been shot in the shoulder, too!”
The Prince said nothing.
I didn’t know the biology of Ancients, but I figured, like the fae, they could survive mortal wounds. But a chest and shoulder wound? I stepped back, lowering my hands and wiping them over my jeans. Did the pant leg of his right thigh look darker? Shot three times? That… that was a lot.
My stomach pitched with concern I probably shouldn’t feel, but he had covered my body with his when shots rung out and he had paid for the crab cakes and crawfish.
“We need to get out of here,” I said, looking over my shoulder, to the entrance of the alley. “With that many gunshots, police will be on their way. Can you heal yourself?”
“Normally.” His voice was off. Not like it had been when I’d been feeling him up or Monday night, but there was something strained about it. “You should get out of here before the police arrive.”
Or more gun toting fae showed up since this was apparently an everyday occurrence to him. “What do you mean by normally?”
“Do you always ask this many questions?” he demanded.
“Yes. Is it annoying?”
“Yes,” he growled.
“Sorry, but you’re going to have to deal with it,” I shot back.
He’d moved back into the shadows, but I could practically feel his glare. “You know that the fae can heal from virtually any wound if they feed,” he said.
And rather quickly too. That’s what made fighting them so dangerous. You didn’t have a lot of time for what they’d consider flesh wounds.
“I know that, so you should….” Understanding dawned. “You… you need to feed?”
He let out a dry, racking laugh. “Something like that.”
“When was the last time you… you fed?” Those words sickened me, and a part of me didn’t want to know the answer.
“A while.”
I stared at him for what felt like a whole minute. “What exactly does ‘a while’ mean? A couple of days? A week?”
“Try longer than that.”
A frown pulled at my lips. “Longer than a couple of weeks?”
That didn’t make sense to me, especially with him being at a place like The Court where humans were happily on the menu.
He said nothing.
“A month? A couple of months?” I whispered. Knowing what I did about the fae, they had to feed on a regular basis to slow down the aging process and give them their preternatural abilities. The Prince might look like he was in his mid to late twenties, but he had to be hundreds of years old, if not older. The fae metabolism was much like ours. They might not need three square human meals a day, but from the Order’s research, they had to feed at least once every other day.
“You need to go,” he said as the faint sound of sirens could be heard.
“And leave you here to bleed all over yourself, the alley, and perhaps even on police officers?”