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)
Silence. I don’t regret my words.
Nate exhales, the leather of his chair protesting when he leans farther back, unbuttoning his jacket. “You’ve always been admired, Luna. Whether you’ve seen it or not, but your position alone within the society should be enough to prove that.”
He wants me to answer, so I let him speak.
“When we found out that your mother was pregnant, there were reservations of what side of the two families you’d fall in. Kiznitch and Midnight Mayhem, or the Kings. We all agreed that we’d wait for you to be born, feel things out, and decide. It was apparent the day you were born that you were a King, and as you grew, we watched your interactions. How you blended with the rest of them, with the exception of Priest…” Nate’s lip twitches again.
My blood turns cold for the second time since walking in here.
“But as we all know, there have been tribulations surrounding you.” He pauses.
I’ve never been inside this office, but I’ve heard each generation has a meeting place. Maybe that is the whole point of Bishop having it here. No one is bold enough to attack a King in his own home.
“Oh, I’m aware.” There have been a few times that I’ve been reminded of my age, and sitting here with the three of them is one.
“You weren’t raised like the others were, Luna.” Bishop’s mumble has me turning to him in time for his eyes to swoop from mine to Nate’s. “They’re tough and street smart.” He’s back on me, and I feel like a little girl again, trusting him to take my hand and lead me to a place far, far away. “…but the girls haven’t been exposed to the same things you have. The boys, yes, but not the girls.”
Good for them.
Bishop reaches for his drink and rests it on his leg. “You aren’t going to like this favor.”
“I can openly admit that whenever Nate has said those exact words to me, I’ve not liked it. Drama aside…” The corner of my mouth ticks, and Nate chuckles from beneath his breath.
Bishop studies my face. My pulse slows as I stay focused on him. Not a single flinch. “How did you find your final years?”
My fingers twist together, exposing the scars of crescent moons in my palms. “Challenging yet rewarding. I do owe you all.”
“You don’t owe us anything, Luna.” Brantley is a man of very few words, so when he uses them, people listen. His head turns slightly as he looks at Nate from behind his shoulder. Relaxing back in his chair, he sips at his whiskey. “None of us owe the other anything.”
He’s wrong. He knows it. I wouldn’t be alive right now if it weren't for the Fathers. I owe them everything, and I owe Priest nothing.
“Make no mistake, Luna,” Nate adds, and being the opposite of Brantley, I want to tune him out. “What we’re about to ask you is something we may never be able to repay you for.”
It hurts to blink when my eyes dry. “I don’t care. Ask.”
Bishop flashes a black envelope but doesn’t extend his hand further. “You’re going to be joining the rest of them—”
I bury my fingers into the leather of my chair. “I—don’t think…”
Bishop’s glare cuts me off. “It was a request before Priest took the gavel. He knows you’re back for good.” He places the envelope on the table, sliding it across to me. “This is different. The girls have their allocated duties that they’re partaking in, as do the Kings, but as you know, yours in particular…is, well…different.”
With a finger pressed over the sleek black paper, I pause, blinking up at all three. I feel like a kid in the principal’s office. Bishop's resemblance to his son is terrifying, but in the mellow ambiance of his office, it's like staring back at future Priest.
Bishop continues as I slide it over. “You can’t tell anyone what is inside this, Luna. What you will be doing.”
My smile doesn’t reach my eyes. “Consider your favor accepted.”
I close my apartment door, resting my head against the wood. You can’t tell anyone what is inside this, Luna. His words ricochet off the walls as I reach to the back of my hair and untie the ribbon. Soft strands of blonde hair fall around my shoulders as I kick off my boots and pad my way through the living room. Sensor lights flicker above, tracing my steps as I open my phone on my way to my bedroom.
My finger taps on the Instagram logo, and it opens onto my feed. The first photo tastes like sour milk when Corbin’s smile fills the frame, where he’s perched over his KTM. Tattooed, his tongue out, and his middle finger flipped. I miss my best friend in him. The one who I thought would understand me and this life more than anyone, but ended up being the one who judged me the most.