Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Let it go.” She squeezes my hand.
My gaze snaps to hers. Something about that phrase tickles the edges of my consciousness. Was it in my dream?
“I’ll run you a bath. I always feel better after a bath.” She disappears into the en suite, and soon the sound of running water greets me.
With an only slightly shaky hand, I take the glass from my nightstand and drink. My nerves slowly settle, though I’m still not completely at ease. Whatever the dream was, it’s gone. The only tufts remaining have dissolved like cotton candy in water.
My joints are tender from strain, the spot where I had the cramp promising to be bothersome for the next few days, but I crawl out of bed and follow Melody into the bathroom. I strip without fanfare and sink into the tub.
“The water all right?” she asks.
“Perfect.” I look up at her. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” She drapes a towel on the warming rack. “I’ll be back later. Your dress is ready.” She avoids my gaze. “If it needs any last-minute alterations, I’m all right with needle and thread. Not great, but I can sew—”
“What’s going to happen to me at the ball?” I ask. I’m tired of avoiding it, of dancing around whatever dark fate is waiting for me. I let my head rest on the tub and close my eyes. Maybe she’ll be more inclined to tell me the truth if she doesn’t have to look me in the eye.
She stands silently, the only sound in the room the slow drip—drip—drip from the faucet. “I … I don’t know,” her voice is faint.
“So this could be it?” I say it so conversationally, like ‘I could die tonight, what’s for dinner?’ or ‘I might be murdered in myriad gory ways, but isn’t the weather nice?’ It’s as if my emotional switches have all been overloaded. I’m out of tears, wrung out like wet laundry hung on a line. Perhaps I’m finally numb.
“No.”
“No?” I look at her.
“This isn’t the end.” She picks a piece of invisible lint from the towel. “I know that for certain.”
“How?”
“Do you need anything else?” she asks. “I’ll go fetch your gown and a few other things.”
“Melody.” I sit forward and pin her with a stare. “How do you know?”
“Because you are Valen’s guest.”
“But Valen has to do whatever Gregor says!” I snap. “If Gregor tells him to gut me, he’ll gut me. Right?”
She wrings her hands. “I’ll return.”
“Melody!” I call for her, but she’s already out the door, her speed almost blurring her figure as she escapes. “Fuck!” I slap the water, splashing it onto the floor. Childish. Stupid. With a frustrated groan, I sink beneath the surface, holding my breath as my thoughts spin out of control. I have to rein it all in, to squash it down with all the other things I can’t bear to think about. When I finally emerge, lungs burning, head finally beginning to clear, I breathe in deeply.
Melody’s assurances are empty. Gregor could rip me in half, and no one would do a thing to stop him. Not Valen. Not Melody. I’m on my own. The sooner I remember that, the better.
Turns out I’m not numb after all. The rage that’s kept me company since I found myself in the cell is alive and well and burning brightly for Gregor and all his minions.
15
Recovered Journal of Dr. Georgia Clark
June 19, Year 1, Emergence Era
Valen was right. We are at war. With ourselves. With the vampires. With the plague. I was told DC was secure, safe as it can be in these difficult times. All that came to a crashing halt when I realized that the people who are supposed to be on my side don’t know friend from foe. I almost died today. I think the soldier would’ve (portion scribbled out). I have to STOP thinking about the what ifs. It’s the only way I can keep working to save people, even if some of those same people want me dead.
“What do you think?” Melody hangs a deep crimson gown on the high rail across the top of my four-poster bed.
I gawk at it, the fabric silky and draping. Intricate beading on lace adorns it across the bodice, the neckline plunging severely. “Not a chance.”
Melody frowns a little. She walked into my room as if we hadn’t just discussed my untimely death only an hour ago. I’ve cooled off since then, at least a little. Dread is burning right along with my rage, and I keep telling myself that I have to get through the night. That I will get through the night.
“I know it isn’t ideal.” She looks down. “I know it’s …” She wrings her hands. “I know this is all so, so awful. But there’s nothing I can do. Nothing you can do. We have to keep moving forward. We have to survive.” Her shoulders sag a little. “Cold comfort, I suppose.”