Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
I stop brushing.
Surely that’s not the answer. It would be far too ridiculous a solution. If I managed to drink blood, surely I’ll throw it up just like I’m throwing up solid food. I’m not some heroine in a vampire novel. I’m not going from eating normal food and using blood for magic, pleasure, and healing, to being on a blood-only diet. It’s not going to happen.
I duck out of the bathroom to find Grace gone again. I think she feels trapped in the hotel room. I don’t blame her; I’m practically climbing the walls at this point. Or I would be if I had any energy at all.
This is a mess. Worse than a mess. It’s a fucking disaster.
I study the bed for a long moment. I still haven’t entirely dealt with the fact that apparently I met Wolf in my dreams. I don’t know what caused it, or what shoved him out of that space, but if I can reclaim it…
I miss them. I miss them so fucking much I ache with it. I wish I could blame the bond for the heightened feeling, but I suspect it’s simply that I’ve gone and fallen for this vampire trio. I desperately want Malachi to wrap me up in his big arms and say it will all be okay. For Rylan to make some snarling, snarky comment about the situation. For Wolf’s wild laughter and chaos.
If I can find them in my dreams…
I run my hand over the scratchy bedspread. I’m tired. Desperately tired. I should still be using this time to practice the magic as best I can.
Instead, I take a slow, careful breath, and lay down on the bed on my back. It’s too easy to close my eyes. I’ve been sick and beaten to the point where I’m not sure I’ll survive, and I’ve never felt tired like this. It would scare me if I had the energy to feel anything but exhaustion.
Maybe it’s the baby, but maybe that’s not it at all. Maybe it’s the seraph bond responding to too many days and too much distance between me and my men. If they’re suffering similarly…
Sleep sucks me under before I can finish the thought.
I open my eyes with a start. Disappointment sours my stomach—or maybe that’s just the baby—when I see the hotel room exactly as I left it. The only difference is the light gone from the windows, replaced by the faded rays of the streetlamp outside.
Grace still isn’t back yet, and if she was anyone else, I might be worried, but she can take care of herself. I saw how many weapons she packed away before she left. The woman is a walking armory, and she knows how to use them. She’ll be fine.
I sit up and rub my hands over my face. Maybe the dream with Wolf was a fluke. Maybe there are a dozen conditions that need be met before I can meet like that with any of the vampires. I just don’t know enough. I’m in the dark and attempting to feel my way. I don’t even have Malachi’s support at my back while I’m doing it.
“What the fuck am I even thinking?” I stagger to my feet and cross to the desk of Grace’s weapons. There are half a dozen knives in varying shapes and sizes, and I choose a small one that fits easily in my palm. “I am not helpless.”
I’m also speaking to an empty room, which might make me certifiable, but it’s better than letting the silence tick out. There are too many things that can go wrong with what I’m about to do. If I think too hard, I’ll talk myself right out of it. So I don’t. I act instead.
I slice a thin line on my forearm and hold it out away from my body. It hurts, but compared to how everything hurts these days, it’s barely noticeable. I turn in a slow circle, leaving droplets of blood behind me, until I’m once again facing the way I started.
My own blood smells savory, which is disconcerting in the extreme, and it only gets worse when I close my eyes and focus internally the way Malachi taught me. I can almost sense the magic there, lying in wait. It feels different than it did the last time I tried this, but I don’t know enough to guess why.
“Come on, you fucker.” I reach for the power with metaphorical—metaphysical?—hands, but it slips through my palms like water. I grab for it again, with the same result. Again and again and again. Nothing. Fucking nothing.
I open my eyes as I sink to my knees. My head spins sickeningly, or maybe it’s the room spinning. I don’t know what’s real anymore. Certainly not this nebulous power inside me. I can’t even access it without the men present. How pathetic. “Damn it!” I lift my voice, too loud, but I’m past caring. “Azazel! Azazel! Azazel!”