Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“I say a lot of things.” Rogan steps toward me. “And there’s a reason for every one of them.”
“For someone who thinks I’m his fated mate, you sure treat me like a piece of shit.”
“And you, princess, have always treated me with the utmost respect.” Sarcasm laces his tone, and he scoffs.
I inhale, trying to calm my own blood racing through my veins while I can’t help but hear his, along with the racing of his heart. “I’m not the one who thinks we’re fated.”
“Don’t you?” He edges closer until my clothed breasts are brushing his bare chest. “Face it, princess. You feel it too. Don’t even try to deny it.”
Damn, his blood. I just fed from the bag in his fridge, but it doesn’t matter. Rogan’s blood calls to me like nothing else.
“I know you want it,” he says, his voice a sexy growl. He reaches toward my cheek— “Damn it! Not again!” He rushes out of the kitchen, out of the penthouse, and this time…
This time…
I listen.
And I hear it. The crunching of his bones, the tearing of his muscles.
And the howl… The piercing howl.
Such pain he must endure each time he changes. And with me, he can’t control it.
This is what it means to be a fated mate to a wolf? He has no control around me? It’s one thing to want me, to ache for me the way I ache for him. The way I yearn for his blood.
My God…
I rush back to the kitchen and drain the rest of the blood from the bag in the refrigerator. I tilt my head back, pour it down my throat, and it drips down my cheeks, my neck.
I throw the empty bag on the counter and look around.
Worry scratches at the back of my neck. Worry for Rogan. Damn it! I don’t want to worry about that damned wolf! I’m here for a reason.
I curl my hands into fists.
I can’t waste this opportunity. I’m alone in Rogan’s penthouse. If he has any information about the double vamp murder, it’s here somewhere. I must try to sniff it out.
I inhale and let out a slow breath, trying to calm my rapid pulse. The bagged blood fills me, gives me strength, but it’s not what I need.
Nothing will ever sate me like Rogan’s blood. Damn, his scent is still here, and it’s strong. Stronger than in the alley behind the hotel because it’s an enclosed space. Where he lives. Does he change here often?
So much I don’t know.
So much I want to know.
So much I don’t want to want to know.
“Damn it!” I yell out loud.
I leave the kitchen and pace through the penthouse, finding myself in a bathroom. The mirror above the sink tells the tale I try to forget. The image that is still difficult for me to face, even after all these years.
My fangs are descended, and blood streaks my face.
I’m an animal—an animal just like Rogan is.
And animals…
Animals act on instinct.
My instinct tells me there’s something for me to find in this place.
And I’d best hurry before Rogan hauls his furry ass back here.
19
I stumble slightly as I begin to search Rogan’s penthouse.
Get a grip, Hannah. The sooner you find what you’re looking for, the sooner you can leave this place. Leave Victor Rogan.
The thought immobilizes me, and I lean against a wall in the hallway leading to what I presume are bedrooms.
Leave Victor Rogan.
The thought seems so foreign. So quickly he’s become too important to me. I’m a loner. I have sex when I feel like it and then move on.
But Rogan…
He’s almost become…
Almost become a part of me.
Breathe in. Breathe out. My heart is thundering against my sternum, and I can actually hear my own blood pulsing through my body.
“Get a grip,” I say again, this time out loud, as I attempt to grasp the smooth wall holding me up.
A few more moments of deep breaths, and I finally feel able to move. I move away from the wall slowly, mindful of every step.
I know which room is the bedroom. Though I don’t recognize it from my time here before, I know it’s the door that seems to be pulsing with a heartbeat of its own.
I can’t go in there. Not yet. I creep to the door closest to me and open it.
Inside is a black lacquer desk and black leather chairs. The desk is empty. Does he do any work here? Or is this for show?
A modern oil painting graces the wall behind the desk. I look at it, mesmerized. I’m not a huge fan of modern art, but this one seems to speak to me. I get lost in the swirls of blue and black, only a touch of red here and there. I have no idea what it represents, or why Rogan chose it for his office.