Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
She barely resisted the urge to bare her teeth at the gloating motherfucker.
“Your magick will not work in this realm, by the way. You cannot use it—not even to conjure your precious sword. Your monster cannot help you here either. Nor can your deity. And no Ancients will be coming to your rescue. It is just you and me.”
“I wouldn’t be feeling so pleased about that, if I were you.”
“Because I will not be able to tap into my own power here, you mean? Oh, I already know that. I am quite certain I can take you down without it.”
He shouldn’t be so certain, but she wouldn’t tip him off about that. He’d find out for himself soon enough. Wynter shrugged and said, “All right, let’s get it over—”
He charged, sneering. His meaty fist crashed into her temple.
Pain bloomed in her head, hot and piercing. Dots filled her vision, and she almost staggered. Holy mother of fuck that hurt.
He blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes.
Positively cheered by his bafflement, Wynter smiled. “Oh, you’re wondering why your enhanced strength didn’t clean my clock. The thing is . . . battles that happen in the dream realm are mental, not physical. Here, neither of us are stronger or faster than the other. Neither has better reflexes or more stamina. Right now, for all intents and purposes, you’re mortal. Me? I’m used to it. You? Not so much.” She balled up her hand and pitilessly slammed it into his Adam’s apple.
His head snapped back. A choked grunt seemed to get caught in his throat.
She snatched a nearby lamp and hurled it at his head. He reeled back, dodging it. Awkward asshole.
His eyes lit with bloodthirst, he pounced. So did she, utilizing every bit of the combat training she’d been given growing up. They fought no holds barred, exchanging blow after blow. And it quickly transpired that the bastard liked to go for the face.
She blocked and weaved, evading most strikes, but one of his hits landed. Hard. She hissed through her teeth as a massive pain exploded behind her cheekbone, making her wonder if he’d shattered it.
He gave her a smug smirk. “Pain is so much more vivid in dreams, isn’t it?”
It would seem so, because even slamming her arm up to block his own hurt like a mother.
They went at each other again, both merciless and determined. Both going for nothing less than the kill. She kept moving. Punching. Ducking. Swinging her hips to kick at the piece of shit.
There was a crack as she landed a mean-ass blow on his nose. The word “ fuck” seemed to explode out of him.
Wynter didn’t even have a moment to gloat at the break. A fist caught her eye, almost dazing her, and split the skin beneath her eyebrow.
Oh, she officially loathed this son of a bitch.
Putting a hand to his bleeding nose, he began tossing things at her—plants, books, ornaments. Glass smashed. Porcelain shattered. Paperbacks thudded to the floor.
Then he was on her again, targeting her weak spots.
She sucked in a breath as agony rippled up her ribcage thanks to a solid body shot. God, it was hard to dissociate from the pain, though that was probably because there was no adrenaline to dull it.
She breathed through it as best she could as they once more locked horns. Warm, crimson liquid dripped down from the cut above her eye, obscuring her vision. Which was how the tricky bastard managed to catch her off-guard. A vicious punch to the face sent her head whipping to the side.
Shadows crept around the edges of her vision. Wynter blinked hard several times, battling the dark smudges away. She flexed her jaw, tasting blood in her mouth. Which only served to piss her off. She spat at him.
He spluttered as red-stained saliva spattered his face. Taking advantage of his distraction, she drove her fist into his throat and sharply brought up her knee, connecting with his balls.
The breath gusted out of his lungs. His face contorting with pain, he hunched forward. She hit him again, slamming her palm into his broken nose.
He swore harshly, shooting daggers at her.
Her fist clenched, she lunged—
And bolted upright in bed.
Her eyes widened as reality hit her. Oh, that cowardly motherfucker had retreated. Again.
Cain stirred, blinking rapidly as he focused on her. “What’s wrong?” he asked thickly, bracing himself on one elbow. “Bad dream?”
“You could say that.” She took stock of herself. She had no pain or injuries—that had all been confined to the dream realm, which meant that Saul had no wounds either. Ugh. “I’m gonna rip that prick’s cock off, I swear it.”
Cain lightly squeezed her hip. “What prick?”
“Saul,” she practically snarled. “He invaded my dream, trapped me in it, and then tried to kill me.”
Cain went utterly still, alertness creeping in fast. A familiar indefinable something moved behind his eyes. He fluidly sat upright, wholly focused on her in that intense way he had. “Say that again.”