Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“It shouldn’t have been.”
“Oh no? That sounds like a normal day where you come from?”
He was quiet as they reached the top of the stairs and made their way to the new art hall, which was actually just a large room. Naomi had deemed “art room” an unworthy title, though.
“It wasn’t just what happened today,” he finally said. “Maybe it’s the generosity of this place that’s throwing me off. I can show up at any time, at any hour, and Mr. Tom will be there to offer me food, or a drink, or an expensive car to drive like it’s no big deal.”
She tried the handle and found it wouldn’t budge.
“Really, Ivy House? I’m not going to steal anything and he knows better.” Nessa tried the handle again, and this time it turned. “I’m appalled that you would even question.”
“I feel like I’m being setup or something,” he said. “Like this is some sort of trap. It’s too good to be true.”
She laughed. “Guilty conscience. Jessie and Austin are as above board as you’re going to get. They don’t play games. Most of Austin’s shifters don’t either. Some of Jessie’s crew? Yeah, maybe. Depends on if you mind your manners. Where’s that shirt of mine you took, by the way?”
Nessa, Sebastian and the basajaun Phil had taught some shifters a lesson for picking on Ulric. Tristan had smelled the blood on her and taken the shirt, incriminating evidence. The guy was morally gray at best—she worried how he’d use the blackmail.
“Next to my bed with the blood stains cut out and your smell still lingering. Want to know where the body is buried?”
She paused as the door swung open, looking back at him with surprise. “You didn’t.”
She hadn’t asked about Ulric’s attackers since then, but she hadn’t seen any of them in the bar since. She’d hoped they’d had a decent enough scare and knew to stay away. But maybe…
Tristan pushed past her and into the room. “Dead men tell no tale—“
The breath left him as he surveyed the room. A statue stood in the middle with benches positioned around it, the actual statue nothing of consequence but the position of it lending the room a little je ne sais quoi—or so Naomi said. The room had been painted just slightly off-white with crown molding lining the ceiling and floor. The floor had been sanded, stained, and polished, and the whole place smelled new.
Each painting had been looked up, cataloged, valued, and put in a better or different frame. After that, it was hung in whichever way Naomi thought best. Little chairs and benches had been arranged around the room so visitors could sit and view the pieces.
At waist level around the room, old books were displayed in temperature controlled glass cases. All of them had some significance other than their age. In the front corner stood a coat of arms, which was old and rustic and super cool, and a sword was positioned in the back. Whence they came, Nessa couldn’t say, but Naomi was pleased about their authenticity.
Tristan started forward immediately, ignoring the statue after a cursory glance and heading instead to the first painting on his right.
“Hello?” she asked, not able to help her fascination at the emotions flickering across his face. “Tell me you didn’t kill him.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Don’t lie.”
He shrugged, offering no comment this time.
“Why?” she asked, shoving his arm.
His voice was subdued, reverent. “These pieces are incredible. I didn’t get to see many of them before.”
“You were too busy staring at the gold in the closet downstairs. Why? That could put Ulric in danger.”
“Ah. So you were doing it for Ulric? Hmm.” He moved on to the next. “I initially sought him out to see if he had endangered you in any way, or if he would talk about your altercation with him. I killed him because he insulted you.”
“Okay. Well, that was on you.”
“I didn’t get rid of the bloodstains from that shirt. I did cut them out…but I put them somewhere for safekeeping. Shifters have a very keen sense of smell. Your delicious fragrance mixed with his blood won’t look good for you.”
She ground her teeth. “Look at me,” she demanded.
He dutifully turned and did so. In a moment, he bent with an infuriating smile.
“You’ll do the most damage if you hit me in the jugular,” he offered. “Or maybe go for your knife. I’ll let you attempt to get it into my heart.”
The fact that he could tell she wanted to punch him enraged her further. “I’m going to bring Cyra to your house, or wherever you live—”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know where I live.”
She froze.
His smile was knowing. His voice dropped an octave. “Don’t pretend you haven’t peered into my windows. Why do you think I leave the blinds in my bedroom open now? Peer inside any time you like.”