Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
“You’re lucky, you know.” Lord Thorne bent, his long fingers reaching for straps I hadn’t seen along the shafts of his boots. He unhooked another dagger, tossing it onto the table. It landed with a thump, rattling the other weapons.
“I . . . I am?”
“Yes.” He moved to the other boot, and yet another sheathed dagger came free. “You’re lucky that my men weren’t here when you entered. You would’ve never reached this space.”
I glanced into the antechamber.
“They’re not here. They arrived roughly around the time I had you pinned to the wall,” he said, and my gaze darted back to him. They had? “They’re gone now. We’re alone.”
“Oh.” That was all I could say as I watched him shove up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing yet another sheath along the top of his forearm. “How many weapons do you have on you?”
“Just enough,” he remarked, placing that smaller, sheathed blade on the table.
“But why? You’re a lord. You can— ” I stopped myself from pointing out what he obviously already knew. “Why would you need so many weapons?”
He laughed softly.
“What?” I asked. “What’s funny?”
“A better question to ask was how I was foolish enough to not realize I’d been drugged and impaled to a table in a dirty barn.”
I snapped my mouth shut.
A wry grin appeared as he moved to the bed, sitting on its edge. “No being is so powerful that they cannot become weak. Not even a lord, a prince, or a king.”
“Okay.” I thought over what he said. “Could you not just do the whole fire thing with your hand again?” I asked, and immediately recognized that was a question I never thought I’d ever ask.
“The whole fire thing with my hand?” He chuckled, watching me as he reached for his boot. He’d watched me this entire time. Not once had his gaze strayed from me as he unloaded his small arsenal. “I could summon the element of fire, but that takes divus.”
“Divus?” My nose wrinkled. “That is . . . Enochian? What does it mean?”
“It can be loosely translated into ‘energy,’ and spent energy must be replenished,” he explained, and it seemed logical that he spoke of feeding. “Plus, that would only kill one less powerful than the summoner.”
Meaning it wouldn’t have been so lethal against another lord.
“The mortal weapons aren’t necessary,” he continued. “But sometimes it’s more interesting to fight the fairer way when it comes to mortals.”
“Versus ripping their throats out?”
“That is also interesting.” He straightened, now barefoot.
I wet my lips nervously—
Lord Thorne’s gaze fixed on my mouth. White stars flickered through his pupils, and much like hares did in the gardens whenever I grew too close, I froze. His stare was . . . it was intense and . . . and heated. A flush crawled up my throat. I’d never been looked at like that before, not even by those who believed they were moments from joining their bodies with mine.
He came forward, his steps slow and measured. Precise in a wholly unsettling way. A shiver coursed down my spine. His gaze dropped. The sash at my waist had either loosened during our struggle or when he’d been moving his fingers over it, causing the cut of the neckline to be deeper, wider. The inner swells of my breasts were clearly visible, all the way to the darker shade at the peaks. Slowly, his gaze returned to mine. The blue of his irises seeped into the green.
“When you said the manor was your home, I figured you were a member of the aristo,” he noted.
I snorted. “Why would you think that?”
“Your clothing. Both times I’ve seen you, you’ve been draped in the kind of expensive cloth a member of a less fortunate class wouldn’t spend coin on.”
“You’re right about that,” I said. “But I’m no aristo.”
“I see.” His head tilted as his gaze flicked over my face. “And I can also see why you’d be a favorite of the Baron. You are very . . . interesting.”
The corners of my lips tipped down. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
“It should be,” he said. “I’ve never found a mortal to be all that interesting or enthralling.” His head tilted. “Or amusing.”
My brows shot up. “Then I don’t think you’ve met many lowborn.”
“I’ve known far too many,” he replied as he went to a small credenza situated near a window. I wondered what his age was. He appeared as if he couldn’t be more than a decade older than me, if that, but Hyhborn didn’t age like lowborn, and there was a heaviness to his words— an ancient weight to them.
“So . . . you find lowborn boring?” I asked.
“That’s not what I said.” He picked up a crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of the amber liquid. “Would you like a glass?”