Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 156210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
It’s vaguely formed into my shape, and when I move my arm, it moves with me.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
I roll my eyes at myself, wishing I was home already even though I’ll likely start my evening by arguing with my mother about whatever she feels like blaming me for tonight.
A low horse whinny pulls me out of my thoughts, and I stop in my tracks, seeking the source of the sound in the dark parking lot.
For a moment, I’m sure I’m seeing things, but nope, it’s there.
A motherfucking carriage.
It has a round shape reminiscent of Cinderella’s vehicle of choice and is just as elaborately decorated, with wooden carvings covering every surface. But the comparison only works if Cinderella was going to a royal funeral not a ball. The carriage is black as if dipped in tar, so the thick red curtains are the only splashes of color. At the front stand four massive horses, black as ink blots, with massive plumes that quiver when the animals shake their heads.
I have no doubt this is the preferred mode of transportation for the Lord of Shadows munching on fries inside the restaurant.
Who he is and why he chose Best Burgers Bonanza as his new haunt will remain a mystery, because I’m sure as fuck not sticking around to find out.
A coachman, who had so far melted into the carriage with his own black attire, glances at me from afar. I won’t be taking my time assessing him or trying to figure out whether he has no eyes or if that’s just a trick of the light.
My car isn’t all that far away anymore, and very soon, I will be home, doomscrolling on my phone as I drink hibiscus tea until I forget all about this fuckery.
I walk faster with every step, painfully aware the stomping of my boots is loud in the empty expanse of the parking lot. Or I’m just overly sensitive to sounds because I’m terrified that I’m being tracked by a serial killer with a penchant for dramatic outfits.
I squeeze the knife, wondering if I would be able to protect myself with it if push comes to shove. And if Kyranis follows me or harasses me, should I attack before asking questions? Would that even be considered self-defense?
The squeak of the restaurant's door makes my blood cold, and I speed up, desperate to reach my vehicle before Kyranis can catch up to me.
“Luke! We made a deal!”
There it is. He won’t give it a rest. His voice has lost its charm and has become demanding.
What deal is he talking about?
I don’t know and I don’t care.
I break into a run, not bothering to check how far away he is, because each step might make a difference. I’ll be reporting this fucker as soon as I’m home. For now, I focus on reaching my car.
I’m panting out of fear, but a few steps later, my boots sink into mud—What mud? I’m on asphalt.
My eyes go wide, and I scream out when I notice that my shadow looks as if it’s boiling. Bubbles of darkness form within its borders, and I can no longer pull my foot up. Oh, how I regret that my boots are tied above my ankle, and I can’t just slip out of them.
I try anyway. Terrified, I scoot down to untie the laces, but the shadow is rising around me. Whenever the bubbles burst, they release little clouds of smoke, and I can only hold my breath for so long.
The scent overwhelms me with its dark sweetness. If there are flowers that only bloom at night, this must be how they smell—addictive and so rich it’s making my eyelids heavy.
I lose balance, and my knees drop onto the asphalt, which somehow feels velvet-soft.
The lazy clop of hooves behind me is the last thing I hear before falling face first into my own shadow.
Chapter 3
Luke
When I wake up, the rattle of carriage wheels resonates in my brain. Even before opening my eyes I’m painfully aware that what I experienced in the parking lot wasn’t a dream. But I’m still not sure what my new reality is as I look up to meet the eyes of the man who introduced himself as Prince but doesn’t act like one.
They’re a dark gray in the sparse light of the carriage. The red curtains are drawn, locking us in this casket, and the only illumination comes from an old-timey lamp. Or should I call it a candle, since that’s what it seems to be. Locked behind glass, the green flame is both unnerving because of its strangeness, and soothing because it means I can see my surroundings.
Kyranis is wearing a dark cloak with a fur trim and watches me as if I’m a bug he needs to keep under glass, not his dark-companion-to-be.