Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Jakob closed the rear door and climbed into the passenger seat.
Amazing thing was, Henrik did in fact have it under control—or what passed for control for him. The bloodlust was there, causing his fangs to throb so hard he had to keep applying the counter-pressure of his tongue against the sharp points to offer some relief. And the hunger was there, squeezing his gut and burning his throat. And the monster still paced at the gates of his mind. And all three threatened to pull him under the surface and suffocate him in the evil of the demon growing stronger within him.
So what stopped him?
She stirred against his chest, and he drew his gaze to her face. Young. Pretty, with her soft blond hair and high cheekbones and inviting pink lips. Beautiful, actually.
He stroked his hand over her forehead. Dry heat blazed off her skin. What was wrong with her? Had she been feverish when he’d drunk from her? Her succulent taste. The quenching of his eternal thirst. The way her soft body cushioned all his hard angles. These things came readily to mind. But not whether she’d had a temperature.
He frowned and concentrated. The memory of her appearance in the gallery paraded through his mind’s eye. The gown had skimmed over her feminine curves, framing enticingly appealing cleavage and the slim column of her throat. As intriguing, her gray eyes had held the wisdom and weariness of someone who’d handled her share of life’s downs and then some, despite her age.
He knew the look—and the feeling. How odd to find something so fundamental in common with someone so different from himself.
Realization washed over him.
She was what stopped him.
It had been her voice in the gallery that had snapped him from the fantasy of taking her right then and there. And it had been the squeeze of her hand and the sound of her pleading words that had given him the wherewithal to stop drinking from her when he’d been in so very deep—not to mention completely convinced he no longer possessed that kind of willpower.
Both times, he’d been about to drown, and she’d resuscitated him with merely a word, a touch.
Sharp tingles played under the skin of his palm. He rubbed it against the wool of her coat without realizing what he was doing.
Lars hung a hard left onto the nearly hidden rural road that would take them into the mountains overlooking the city and the fjords that led out to the Norwegian Sea.
Henrik braced his hand against the seat to minimize jostling her. When he looked down again, the top of her coat had sagged open, revealing the savagery that had been done to the silky material of her gown—and to her throat.
And not just by him.
He pulled the coat closed, giving her the modesty she deserved.
Jesus, it might almost be easier to tolerate if he’d been the sole cause of her misfortune. Even a moment’s entertainment of the thought that Soul Eaters had touched her, fed from her, and nearly killed her was enough to boil the blood where it flowed in his veins. The growl rumbled from his chest unbidden.
Jakob’s gaze snapped toward him.
“Don’t worry about me. Just hurry,” Henrik rasped. “She’s not well.”
The Rover shot ahead. Soon, they turned again, this time onto the gravel drive that twisted through a dense stand of trees. A rusted metal gate swung open as the truck approached and closed immediately behind them again. They’d been on security cams for the past mile. His warriors knew they were inward bound.
Jakob flicked on an overhead light as Lars swung around to the left, out of the view of the gate, should anyone ever make it close enough to satisfy their curiosity. The Rover entered a hidden tunnel. Blackness surrounded them and the wall of rock rumbled behind them as it re-covered the entrance. When the external door was secured, the one in front of them opened.
“Something you need to see, Henrik.” Jakob held up a rectangular piece of plastic.
He grabbed the card. Kaira’s ID. And he didn’t have to ask what had captured his brother’s attention. “Where’d you find this?” he asked.
He held up a denim sack.
“Mother of God,” he whispered. Kaira Sorensen of neighboring Denmark was twenty years old.
The age at which a human’s blood was most potent to a vampire.
The age at which the Proffered completed their training and attempted to be matched.
Was it a coincidence? Fate? A horrible trick raising his hopes only to dash them again?
“Get Marius on this immediately. I want a complete dossier. Everything he can find. And I want it five minutes ago.”
Jakob accepted the card and nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“And have Kjell meet us in the infirmary.”
His brother made the calls. Henrik battened down all the emotional hatches threatening to burst open. Multiple variables, innumerable obstacles, and insufficient information. Not a good basis on which to act or react.