Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“Shit,” I mutter. This is worse than I thought. I flip the page, and as I do, I hear footsteps drift through the library. Who the hell is here so late?
I glance down at a fountain pen on the table and pick it up, gripping it and moving behind a shelf to hide. The footsteps move closer, and I lift my hand, angling the pointed tip of the pen ahead of me. I may not have my gun, but I have this. I just hope it doesn’t trigger any alarms. But if it’s a Rippie, or someone else out to get me…
A person steps into view, and when I see who it is, I lower my hand and release a breath.
Thirty-Five
CAZ
“Manx?”
Manx spins around, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “Oh! Caspian! What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing? What the hell are you doing in here? You almost got yourself stabbed!”
“You were going to stab me?” He presses a hand to his chest.
“If I had to. You could’ve been a Rippie.”
“Hmm. Glad I’m not one then.” He shrugs, peering around.
I stand taller. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Why am I here? Right. I presented a study to a group of teenage boys in this section earlier and I left my notes.” He wanders around the desks until he’s in front of a wide table, then picks up a thick notebook chockfull of papers. “Ah. Here we are. Essays. I have to grade them tonight.”
“Right.” My eyes slide to the book on the table, and Manx looks with me.
“Still up to your old habits?” he asks, smiling.
“Something like that.”
“What are you studying this time?”
“Vakeeli History,” I tell him, purposely keeping it vague. The last thing I want is to get into a conversation about the Tether with Manx.
“Interesting. Well, don’t let me keep you.” He walks past me, raising the notebook in the air. “I just came for this. But do let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.”
He pauses. “How’s Willow’s leg?”
“Not sure. Didn’t ask.”
“Of course you didn’t,” he chuckles. “You should be nice to her. Can you imagine how she feels, stuck in a world she knows nothing about? I’m sure all she wants is to get back home, where she feels safe.”
“Yeah, well, I’m working on that.”
Manx tilts his head, looking me over briefly, before waving a finger in the air. “One day you’ll learn to soften up, Caz. One of these days, you’ll just have to.”
With that, he ambles through the library and is gone. A door creaks on the hinges and slams closed, and when it does, I swipe up the book and take it with me, leaving the library too.
Thirty-Six
CAZ
When I return to the inn, Willow is still asleep. I strip out of my jacket and slump down in a chair in the corner by the window, flipping the book open again and reading more about the origins of the Tether by moonlight.
As I get to the next passage, Willow startles in her sleep, moaning. I glance up and she’s still again, so I return to the page of my book.
But then I feel a cool draft whisper by, like a breeze has snuck through the window. I look over my shoulder, but the window is closed. Willow whimpers and gasps, and I snap my gaze on her again, leaning forward with my brows dipped.
She moans again and rustles about, as if fighting something. I close the book and stand, moving closer to the bed. She must be having a nightmare and I figure I should wake her, but as I lift my hand to touch her, something tight wraps around my throat. I stumble backwards as what feels like a pair of hands chokes me, squeezing as tightly as possible. I struggle for breath, my gaze shifting to the bed as Willow makes strangled noises while thrashing and moaning louder.
“Willow!” I choke out. “Willow—wake up…wake…up!” I flop onto my back as the grip grows tighter, suffocating me.
Willow sits upright in the bed, staring at me while holding her throat. Her eyes are nearly bulging out of her head, her lips turning purple, before she finally bursts a gasp and sucks in a large amount of air. After her gasp, the grip around my throat weakens, but I still feel the essence of it lingering.
“What the bloody fuck was that?” I pant, rubbing my throat.
“I—I saw it,” Willow says, breathless.
“Saw what?” I snap, sitting up.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she climbs out of the bed, and clearly her leg has healed because she rushes to the bathroom without so much as a stumble.
I push to a stand, still rubbing my throat as I follow her. She turns on the lamp built into the bathroom wall and looks at her reflection in the mirror. Tears form at the rims of her brown eyes as she rubs her throat, and as I stand behind her, I see exactly what she sees. Red marks are on her throat, the shape of fingers, as if someone grabbed her tight and refused to let go.