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)
And then there’s Dominic. Dominic Park, who is chuckling under his breath.
I think I hate him a little bit.
Make that a lot.
“I’ve got a car waiting in the back,” Dominic says. “If we’re quick, we won’t be seen.”
I stop struggling then. If Dominic is concerned about us being seen, we may truly be in danger. From whom? The demons? My stepfather?
My father?
I never trusted my stepfather. Richard was a bad seed from the beginning, and he made it clear. My mother was blinded. On the rebound from my father, she believed every little lie Richard told her. Larissa and I knew better, but we were at an impasse. We wanted our mother to be happy. If I knew then that he was an actual demon? I would’ve moved heaven and earth to keep him away from my mother.
Damn you, Dad. Damn you for letting him near us.
The elevator stops and the doors open. Dominic exits first, scouting the hallway.
“All clear,” he says.
Then he shifts.
He shifts into a white wolf so quickly and so quietly I almost miss it. If not for the tattered clothes on the floor, I might think he’s been a wolf this whole time.
“Rogan?”
“I’m not going to change. Dom is changing to protect us.”
“But he said there’s a car.”
“There is. And there’s no better bodyguard to get us to the car than a huge white wolf.”
The wolf—Dominic—leads us through a quiet hallway to a secluded door. It opens into an alleyway. I’m still in Rogan’s arms, and he carries me to the black car that’s waiting.
“Keep in touch,” Rogan says to Dominic.
“He’s not coming with us?” I say.
“No. He has other things to do. I have to get back to The London and check in with Blaze. I’m concerned that…”
“Concerned that what?”
He doesn’t answer, and the car lurches forward. Our driver doesn’t turn his head and look at us. He simply drives, apparently aware of where he’s going.
“Rogan? I need to know why you lied to me.”
He doesn’t reply again.
“Rogan…”
“I didn’t lie, princess.”
“So you’re going to maintain that you didn’t cut those vampires’ hearts out?”
“Yes, I’m going to maintain that because it’s the truth.”
“Then who did?”
Silence.
Do I believe him? Part of me wants to so badly—that part of me that feels something for him, that knows in the marrow of my bones that I’m meant to be with him.
If I’m his fated mate, does that make him mine?
I’m fairly educated in vampire lore. Once I found out about my true heritage, I researched the heck out of it. We can procreate with humans and with shifters—even with demons—but we are not drawn to a specific mate. It’s not in our DNA.
“Are you going to answer me sometime this century?”
“No,” Rogan says flatly.
“You know. You know who cut out those hearts.”
He doesn’t deny it.
“If it wasn’t you… It must’ve been Dominic, right? You said he was with you that night.”
“Anything Dominic does, he does to protect the pack.”
“Damn it, Rogan. I get that. I get that you’re protecting your pack. I get that you’re protecting me. What I don’t get is why their hearts needed to come out when they were already dead.”
37
He doesn’t reply.
Big surprise.
Instead—
His mouth comes down on mine.
And up goes the screen between the front- and backseats of the car with a soft zip in my ears. Apparently our driver knows when to mind his own business.
God, Rogan calls to me. His big and angry kiss calls to me.
But damn it, I need honesty.
Still...I can’t help but part my lips for him, let his tongue invade mine. Is this what being a fated mate is? This pure physical lust?
Rogan doesn’t seem to have any emotional connection to me. Sure, he wants to protect me, but he doesn’t love me.
Do I love him?
I sure as hell love what he does to my body. This kiss alone is making me wet and ripe. I want him. I want him to take me in the back of this damned car, as if we’re two high school kids sneaking around with no place else to go.
Apparently he has the same idea. He grips my breast, squeezes it. Then he trails his finger under my shirt.
I break the kiss. “What the fuck, Rogan? We’re in a damned car.”
“Don’t care.”
Then his mouth is on mine again.
I don’t fight it. Do I have even any fight left in me? Yeah, a hell of a lot, but not where Rogan is concerned. Not where Rogan and I and our lust and desire and passion are concerned.
My gums tingle, and my canines descend, nicking the inside of his mouth and drawing tiny droplets of blood. Oh my God... The hunger... The pure, dark deliciousness of his blood...
I squeeze my legs together, try to control my own arousal, but I can’t.
Rogan and I?
We’re a force of nature. A chemical force. Something happens when we’re together. He grows new powers. Somehow he was able to shift to a different plane—or something that seemed like it.