Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” sighs Zara.
“I don’t bark. I mewl.”
Kyle catches Tristan’s eyes again, this time from the other side of the room. “Excuse me,” he says to Cindy, slips from her grip—and ignores her whimper of protest—as he makes his way between the tables and through the crowd toward Tristan.
Only to then lose him again.
Kyle stops, frustrated.
Then: I really shouldn’t blame you.
Kyle turns. Tristan is nowhere. Only unfamiliar faces in all directions. “Tristan?”
The room is so loud, it’d be a wonder if Tristan could pick Kyle’s voice out of the noise at all. But with the unique way in which he communicates, Kyle has no choice but to hear his: I meant for you to live your life peacefully in Nowhere, or wherever you chose, with a newfound lover, even if he was mortal …
“Come out and face me,” says Kyle, still cutting through the tables, ignoring all the strange looks. He sweats under his clothes despite the cold air of the banquet hall. “Stop hiding.”
I know I made many promises to you. I know I’ve broken nearly every one. But I never, not even once, stopped loving you.
Kyle catches sight of Tristan’s eyes, but no sooner than he does, they’re gone. He stops. “I’m supposed to be your date, am I not? Why am I chasing you?”
And it is also why my heart breaks, hearing that you have been wayward with Them, the very ones I fought to keep you safe from. I think I’ve failed you.
“What’s a little blood?” asks Kyle, circling around a table. Can his Reach find Tristan the way it once found Elias in a sea of distraction? “Didn’t our entire relationship start in blood? A bloody house? My bloody house, where I had to bid my family goodbye? Where I ended my first life?”
Just a drop of blood, that’s how it always starts …
“You think I’m poisoned now? That I’m damaged goods?”
Just one drop of water makes a river, makes a lake, gives birth to an ocean … I should never have left your side …
“Why did you even bring me here?” Kyle pushes through more people, more faces, zeroing in on a pulsing conviction he picks up that strikes through the room like an arrow, certain it’s him. “I don’t accept your apology unless you say it to my face.”
I am not apologizing, my love. For what I have done … I am afraid there is no returning.
Kyle stops.
The crowd has parted, revealing Lord Markadian standing in front of a table, arms crossed, leaned back and smirking. He wears the expression of someone who’s been waiting patiently to be found. His handsomeness is ruined by his smug, malicious smirk, in the same way that his otherwise perfectly-fitted suit is garnished with an out-of-place, sparkling, ruby-red bowtie.
Markadian’s thin lips spread into a devilish grin. “Welcome to my party, Mr. Amos. I am ever so happy to see you.”
Kyle knew he would be seeing Markadian. However, he did not anticipate how it would feel. “Wish I could say the same.”
“Now, now, no need for the bitchiness.” Appearing entirely unbothered by the comment, Markadian reaches back, fetches a glass, and lifts it. “Call this our truce. You and I. Let’s drink to a better future for us both. After all, that’s why we are all here tonight. To see to a better future. Didn’t Tristan tell you?”
There is a tall, slender woman standing next to Markadian in a dress that is such a dark shade of green, it’s nearly black, shimmering in places when it catches the light. Her hair is gathered intricately at the top with a sparkling green hairpin, suggesting an air of regality, with long, straight hair cascading over her shoulder and down her front, looking perfectly styled and disciplined down to the strand.
Kyle has never seen this woman before. Her sharp, steely eyes have been fixed on him the whole time. Something about her expression strikes Kyle at once that she knows many things about him already, giving her a complete picture of who he is without ever having met him.
The way one looks at another after having sized them up before they’ve even entered the room.
“Have you met my sister?” asks Markadian lightly. “Ashara, this is Kyle Amos, the one I have told you so much about.”
“Too much,” she says, her voice unexpectedly deep, sultry, full of amusement.
With a stroke of curiosity, or perhaps just by habit, Kyle lets out his Reach—and then his ears begin to ring.
Or something else rings. Not quite his ears. Is it his mind? Like a tuning bell struck within his brain, vibrating, painful and disorienting. He grimaces as he bears the uncomfortable sound.
Or is it less of a sound and more of a feeling?
Then he senses his own frustration. Senses his own anger. Senses his resentment at Tristan.