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)
But it still was not enough.
God, nothing would ever be enough, would it?
He placed the glass next to the bottle and didn’t have to tell Jakob what he wanted. He poured and they drank again.
“What happened in there?” Jakob asked, falling into the seat in front of his desk.
“Just lost control.” Henrik topped off another shot glass and wished he had a human’s ability to get shit-faced drunk.
“Bullshit. That was the most controlled I have ever seen you in the middle of one of your rages. Hands down.”
The king shrugged and downed the akevitt. Heat snaked outward from his belly. Better.
“You like her.”
Henrik threw the glare before he’d thought better of it. He’d all but agreed.
“She obviously likes you, too.”
“No, she pities me.” He spun the glass in his hand.
“That’s not what I saw. Not even a little. She stood up to four warriors for you.”
Henrik’s mind resurrected the image of Kaira approaching him as he fought with everything he had to maintain a shred of his rational self. Holding her bloodied cheek, the neck of the johnny askew over the ruins of her lovely gown, wayward strands of blond hanging down from the remains of the stylish twist she’d worn the night before.
Beautiful. Brave. Fierce.
He’d been bone-crushingly terrified for her. “She has leukemia, Jakob. She needs her medicines, her doctors, her whole life around her.” He gestured with his hands, spilling a drop of liquor on his shirt.
Jakob flew out of the chair and loomed over the desk, hands braced against the hardwood surface. “Jesus, if that’s the case, you could heal her and you could both get what you need.”
He poured another drink. “There are no guarantees, brother. You know that. None at all. Except that enough of this fine spirit will cure what ails you, even if only for a few hours.” He raised the glass in salute and threw it back.
“This solves nothing.” His brother grabbed the bottle and marched it back over to the bar.
The office phone rang before Henrik had time to protest. He stared at it a minute and decided whatever it was could wait. As it continued to ring, he clomped his boots to the floor and shoved out of the chair, throwing a glare at Jakob for good measure.
At the bar, he set out a row of shot glasses and filled each of them to the top, not worrying about the liquor spilling into the spaces between. The phone stopped ringing.
He braced his hands against the edge of the marble surface and heaved a breath. “When you are king, you can decide what does and doesn’t work. Until that time—” He tossed back the first of the shots. “—I will make that call.” He slammed it down and reached for the next.
The telephone unleashed its screech again—at least that’s what it sounded like in his head. “Dra til helvete,” he muttered. Go to hell.
Jakob rounded the corner of his desk.
“Don’t answer it,” Henrik mumbled.
His brother ignored him. “What?” Jakob answered. Henrik rolled his eyes. A fat lotta good being king did him. “What? Put him through.” His brother held out the hand piece. “Kael MacQuillan for you.”
Henrik crossed the room, a strange foreboding crawling into his belly. Or maybe that was just the akevitt. First light marked the end of a vampire’s day, which made it an odd time for his royal counterpart in Northern Ireland to call. Unless somewhere in their world the shit was hitting the fan.
He pressed the receiver to his ear. “Kael, it’s Henrik. How are you, brother?” he said in English.
“I’m well. Sorry to disturb you at this hour.”
“I am always available to you. Are you well? Shayla? Everything okay at Dunluce?” Kael had mated with one of the Proffered three years before. And he wasn’t the only lucky bastard, either. Russia’s Nikolai was not only mated, but had a newling son as well.
“Aye. Thank you. My family is well. It’s not my news I’ve called to share.” Anticipation hardened into a rock in Henrik’s gut. “Yingjie Fēi is dead, along with half his inner circle of warriors.”
Henrik sank into his chair. The Warrior King of the Eastern Vampires dead? “My God. How?”
“Soul Eaters,” Kael spat.
Henrik nodded. He read the intelligence reports religiously. The war had been escalating all over Eurasia for the past two years. “Jesus. He wasn’t prepared for succession, either.”
“No. China’s a mess. They’re in hard-core damage control and right now just getting word out to their warrior outposts is a challenge. Which is why I’m spreading the word on their behalf.”
“Is the Electorate Council meeting?” Henrik knew this would send shock waves through the human world as much as that of the vampires.
“Yes. An emergency meeting has already been called.”
Nodding, Henrik thought through the ramifications, and damn it all to hell if that didn’t give him a headache. “Watch your back, brother. This is likely to incite those evil bastards to attack elsewhere.”