Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“Because you’re naked and sweaty,” I point out.
“And how did I get that way?” She grins, tapping her fingers on my chest.
“By showing me your throat, calling me a vampire, and asking me to ruin you,” I growl. I give her ass a crisp smack that makes her squeak. The first time I saw her collapse against the town square, I never would’ve imagined she could be such a brat. “You’re okay?”
Talia blinks at me.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Damn. I guess I’ll have to be blunt.
“Woman, I just pinned you down, bit you to hell and back, fucked you hard enough to make you scream. I wouldn’t let you up until you were begging for more.” I arch a brow. “Most people talk about safe words before doing that shit.”
“Oh, y-yeah. Good point.” She gives me that cute little stammer when she’s startled and nervous. It gets to me, almost as much as the way she tongues her upper lip in thought. “But it was fun. I liked it. It was exciting. I never get to do exciting stuff that scares me. In the good ways, I mean. I never have, I mean.”
I frown. “You’re saying I scare you?”
“Well, yeah! But, like, it’s not the kind of scared you’re thinking.” She’s so serious, giving this her utmost attention, those pretty blue eyes focused. “I’m not scared of you hurting me, not for real. I’m scared of my body falling short. I’m scared of taking a risk with you and no matter how much I want it, my lungs give out and tell me I’m not allowed to just jump and see where we might land. I’m scared, yes. But I’m doing it anyway because I’ve spent my whole life avoiding living.” She smiles, soft and heartfelt. “I won’t be scared of being with you.”
The way she says it sounds like she means more than just sex.
That she’s not just risking her body with me and satisfying my need to hurt beautiful things.
She’s risking her heart and challenging my need to shut down. Anything that demands I be real, be present, be part of someone else’s life instead of an actor moving through their scenery, never intending to stay.
I don’t know what to do with that, what the hell to say.
I just know I’m going to break this girl’s heart.
Because I don’t know how to be with someone who looks at me the way she does.
Because being damaged makes me exciting, but not enough to be good for her.
So I reach up to brush her tangled hair back. It runs over my fingers like copper silk, reminding me of blood.
Silent, searching for words, I tuck her hair behind her ear.
I have to say something. Anything.
I part my lips, and—
Rolf’s head jerks up.
While we were going at it, he’d dozed off on the other side of the fire, the most tactful wingman ever.
Now his ears are up. His gaze snaps toward the site I scouted earlier.
He’s got that old tension that strips the years away from him until he looks like a police dog again.
I go stiff. Talia does, too, blinking at me harshly.
“What?” she asks, a note of hurt in her voice before she follows my line of sight toward Rolf. Then that hurt turns into understanding. “Oh,” she gasps. “Do you think…?”
“Only one way to find out, and it requires clothes.”
We glance at each other for a few more seconds—and despite the heaviness when I didn’t say the right words to shelter her heart, we can’t help how our lips twitch.
There’s a small snicker before we kiss and then scramble apart to grab our clothes from the near-wreckage of our campsite.
Her flannel shirt landed half an inch away from becoming kindling. She rescues it and wiggles into her jeans while I get dressed.
By the time we’re done, I hear what Rolf must’ve noticed first—the faint rumble of engines.
Multiple engines.
With a long look, we slip into the trees with Rolf trotting after us.
To her credit, she’s gotten better at stealth, crouching behind me as we speed toward a small break in the trees to look down over the new cook site.
It’s déjà vu as we hunker down, watching the old, grungy military trucks and pickups come rolling in.
No headlights tonight.
Their license plates are covered in black cloth or removed completely.
There are six of them this time, and they file into the clearing and circle around, forming a perimeter. Swarming like locusts, the Jacobin clan pours out and starts unloading, rolling out sheets of aluminum and tall wooden stakes and crates of equipment.
It’s almost impressive how fluid they are.
In minutes, their little stand of sheds start popping up like weeds.
But they don’t have my attention right now.
Because there’s one more car tonight.
A long black town car, glossy and clearly expensive.
I’d bet my bottom dollar that car belongs to the Arrendells.