Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 160578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 642(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 642(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Years’ worth of memories flood my mind. Times I’d see my mother worry, or father argue, or daddy snap. They’d tried to get me to do everything in Midnight Mayhem.
Aerials. Fire. Stunts. Tricks. Ringleader.
I watched their frustration and exhaustion mount after each failed attempt and saw how it increasingly worried Mother and Father. Even Daddy didn’t seem pleased, but he wasn’t as bad as Mother and Father.
Was this why? Did they know they would ship me off?
Of course they did.
I don’t bother asking deeper questions. Asking too many questions in this setting would only piss them off. “Where will I be for seven years? At this school?”
“Not a matter of where, Luna.” Nate’s eyes shift to Bishop briefly. If I blinked, I would have missed it. “A matter of with who.”
“Who?” It’s no surprise that River’s the first to ask, since she’s been around both men and this world a lot longer than I have.
A moment later, she loses focus, gazing off into the distance. Her mouth falls open, the color draining from her face. That familiar, hand-squeezing panic returns.
River shakes her head. “No. You can’t—!”
“We have to,” Bishop cuts her off. “And you cannot say no.”
She flinches, resting back in her chair, but it’s like watching the sunset after a hard work day. “He’ll kill her.”
“Who?” I finally ask, and when seconds pass and neither answer, I fall back against my chair, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. This is what it feels like being an outsider, yet I have been told I am more EKC than Kiznitch all my life. I’ve always felt that way too.
Until now.
“Get some rest,” Nate ends the conversation before he and Bishop turn to one another in hushed tones.
Chapter Three
luna
year one
It towers over me like a schoolyard bully, promising a tale of torment that will be told only after it has tasted you. As if I'd stepped into a colorless world of the dark and disturbed. With a raw Brutalist style of architecture and sable-painted concrete, the only hint of life comes from the woods surrounding us. Even the steps and patio leading up to the front door are black. I have no idea where we landed. As soon as the plane touched down, we were rushed out the back exit to a waiting city car. I could be anywhere in the world right now, and not a single person would know if I was alive.
I stop walking. Plump shrubs absorb an array of dark maroon tulips at the center of the rounded driveway. As impressive as they are, that’s not what stops me. It’s the scattering of flowers that have long stalks with sharp petals. They resemble sunflowers, only they’re—well—black.
I reach forward to touch the petal of one when the wind whistling through the trees catches me off guard. I snatch my hand back and clutch the necklace on my chest. Damnit. Where did they take River? Is she going to be here with me too, or were they being generous when they said I’d see her around often.
Branches struggle to cuddle the mansion in knotted vines as if nature has been reaching for it all its life. In the distance, waves crash against rocks, and birds chirp through the trees. I’m someplace near water. That could be anywhere.
Dark aesthetic aside, the front door bleeds hues of mahogany and vermilion. It’s what I imagine dying to look like.
I shiver at the thought, instantly regretting the dress I changed into on the flight over. Even with my puffy coat, every gust of wind is an intimidating reminder of how exposed I am. Snow-covered grass and Mom’s peppery perfume lingers through the strands of my hair. I don’t want to be here.
I step forward, my boot landing on the checkered pathway that leads to the door. Black and grey. Interesting choice. Not something you’d expect when looking at the cabalistic nature of the mansion. It looks like it came right out of a Tim Burton movie.
The wind picks up again, wrapping its cold arms around my body. I shiver, careful with my steps. The patio creaks when it catches my weight, and I reach out to steady myself on the railing, afraid to fall through. Smooth and shiny, it’s some sort of stone or marble. I’m no stranger to the luxuries of money, but everything about this house seems different. It's as if it’s trying hard to be the opposite. Buried among forests, hidden deep against mountains. It doesn’t want to be seen.
It doesn’t want love or appreciation.
I land on the last step. Do I knock?
With one last skim of hope, I turn, wishing to see the city car still parked in the same spot it dropped me. To see River, or any familiar face that will tell me it’s okay and that I will be safe. Even if they’re lying.