Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 24966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
The small, greasy-spoon diner was just a few blocks from where I fed my beast. Even though the rush of murdering a man still claimed me, I’d revisit the place once this feeling left me and I needed a jolt of remembrance, a rush of energy, to remind me of how I felt in this exact moment.
The old diner on the corner beckoned, its fluorescent lights flickering like a heartbeat.
The metallic stench of blood still clung to my hands, a permanent mark of who I was and what I’d done. I looked down at them to make sure I’d gotten it all off but saw some splatters along my wrist and my exposed forearm.
Oh well.
Although there was a chill in the air, my temple was damp with sweat. I entered the restaurant, and the door swung shut behind me with jangle of bells. I stood still for a moment, my body buzzing, my skin prickling, but not from the temperature inside.
It was because of my murderous aftermath.
My boots thudded against the cracked and discolored tile floor, each step measured, controlled. The place was nearly empty, just a few rough-looking souls scattered about. For many, this place was a place to spend the night, to sip on fifty-cent coffee with free refills, and eat day-old apple pie.
I took a seat at the counter, barely aware of my own movements as the adrenaline from the kill lessened. But that rush would hold me over for a while—until the beast set his sights on someone else and the urge to rid them from this plane of existence built all over again.
The sound of pots and pans clanging together coming from the kitchen broke up the few conversations filling the diner. I stared at my hands, at the spray of blood from Brandon’s jugular, and smirked as my cock throbbed because my dark beast got what he wanted tonight.
A coffee cup was placed in front of me, the ceramic making a dull thud on the chipped and yellowed counter. I wasn’t asked what I wanted to drink, but coffee was poured into the cup and a menu set in front of me.
I stared at the printed list of what food they offered. It was one-sided and laminated with greasy fingerprints smeared over the plastic. There were only four entrees and the same number of desserts.
I looked up, but the waitress had her back to me as she grabbed plates off the warmer.
And then she turned around.
My pulse began to hammer in my ears, louder than it ever had even after taking a life. She moved out from behind the counter and delivered the plates to a table. I tracked her with my gaze, never taking my eyes off of her, because truthfully… I couldn't.
I felt my muscles clench, tightening like those of a predator about to pounce on its prey. She wiped off empty tables before coming back to stand behind the counter and in front of me, her pad and pen in hand as she waited to take my order.
Her scent hit me like an inhaled drug, and it made me more curious and confused than anything else. Because it was… new.
I froze. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She smelled like green apple and something else, something that made me clench my hands into fists beneath the counter. The beast inside me stirred. But I didn’t feel the usual itch for violence, the gnawing hunger for death that always clawed at my insides. This was different. It was something primal, raw, and far more dangerous.
And I wanted even fucking more.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy knot, but the strands were short so little pieces escaped her bun, framing her face.
When I looked into her eyes, I couldn't stop the brutal sound that left me.
The color was a unique shade of blue, soft but with an amber flecks inside them. She ran the back of her hand along her cheek, wiping off a little smudge of what looked like flour.
When I said nothing and just stared at her, she pursed her lips as if irritated with me. God, why was I noticing these things about her?
It hit me then like a blow to the chest, hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. The urge. Yet, not to kill, not to destroy… but something far worse. The urge to possess her was what claimed me. To own her, to make her mine in a way that went beyond blood and death.
“Can I get you something other than coffee?” There was a little snap of irritation in her voice, and it held an edge, like she didn’t put up with shit from anyone.
Interesting. But then again, working in a place like this, in a city like this, meant she’d have to be tough.