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)
“These tunnels were built ages ago. New ones have been created over the years, of course. We certainly do like to get around.” He chuckles, his hand moving further up my thigh. “But the sun is quite limiting. Not down here.”
This is how all the vampires came to the ball. Through tunnels. Deep underground. How many are there? How far do they go? Will David be able to follow, to find me? Is he even still alive? There’s no way he would’ve allowed Whitbine to take me like this. Unless … unless he made a deal, like the one with Fatima. My heart sinks. He sold me out.
“Sadly, these tunnels no longer connect directly to the Black Cavern. Gregor wisely realized that no one should be able to reach him too easily. We’ll have to wait out the day. Only a few hours of it left. Then we’ll reach our destination.” His tongue flicks along my ear, and I scream inside my head, my body going cold. “I’m glad we’ll have some alone time before then. Just you and me. I’ve no doubt you won’t leave the Black Cavern alive. That’s never been a problem for me, generally speaking, but the issue is you won’t be in one piece, either.” He sighs. “So I’ll need to enjoy you before then. I should’ve done this long ago. I don’t know why I didn’t. I had you on my table. Hmmm.” His hand moves higher as silent tears roll down my cheeks.
I shake, an involuntary action that even he can’t control.
Inhaling at my neck, he says, “Your fear smells amazing. Like cold rain on dying flowers.” He bites me again, ripping my skin with a raking motion before locking on.
I can’t scream, only suffer. His grip tightens painfully on my thigh as he sucks. Weakness comes over me in a wave. Blood loss. Maybe I’ll pass out. Please, let me pass out.
We jolt to a stop, and he tears himself free of my throat. Blood soaks through my shirt, dribbling down my back and chest.
“Follow,” he commands again, his voice raspy as he yanks me to my feet.
I move sluggishly, then wince as light erupts from somewhere overhead.
“In here.” He leads me into an elevator. The machinery coughs and shakes as we rise, finally stopping where the light is brightest. The doors open, and I follow him into a sitting room that’s straight from the Victorian period. No windows here, but there are lights around the room. A shelf along one wall is filled with jars. As I move closer, I see that each jar contains a severed head. Then the smell hits me, and I dry heave. Another reflex, not something to be controlled.
“We all have our little knickknacks, don’t we?” He chuckles and continues deeper into the house, past a dining room with a body splayed out on the table. A woman, her flesh stripped back and pinned beside her, her organs rotting and flies buzzing all around. “A failed experiment.” He sighs. “I’m sure you understand, don’t you Doctor? We can’t be brilliant at all times, no matter how hard we try.”
I dry heave again even as my feet continue to move, following him through the dining room, into a long hallway, and then up a staircase.
We enter a bedroom, the walls covered with pale leather, the bed unmade, more jars, these filled with body parts.
He stops and turns to me as he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. “Lie down on the bed.”
No! I try to force my feet to stick to the floor, to glue myself right where I am. It doesn’t work. Tears erupt in freshets as I obey.
“In the center,” he adds.
I move, lying on his bed, the scent of death invading my nose, staining every pore. Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t. The words repeat themselves in a litany in my head. But I can’t speak. And even if I could, I would be ignored.
He strips his shirt off, his skin sallow, then crawls onto the bed.
I shiver so violently that I bite my tongue. Blood. More blood.
Reaching to his nightstand, he grabs a pair of surgical scissors.
I stare at them, their silver glint. Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t.
He grips the bottom of my shirt and cuts an easy trail up the center, then spreads it open. With another click of the scissors, he cuts through my bra. Cold air hits my skin, and I clench my eyes shut, trying to be anywhere but here.
“Oh no,” he tsks. “You must watch me.”
My eyes open.
“I want to know if you approve of my methods.” He grins and gets to his knees, then slides down the bed and grabs one of my ankles.
He cuts up one leg, then another. Taking his time. Enjoying my tears as I’m forced to watch everything he does.