Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“I’m not sure how to feel about being third," she confessed softly, her voice tinged with vulnerability, yet her gaze was steady, challenging in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
For a moment, I was caught off guard—something that rarely happened. I didn’t respond immediately. Her words hung in the air between us, a delicate balance of uncertainty and defiance.
“Third?” I echoed, my lips curling into a slow, calculated smile. “Is that what you think? That you’re just following in their footsteps?”
Her expression hardened, the internal battle playing out in her pretty brown eyes. She was struggling, torn between what she believed and the truths I was slowly unraveling for her. I stood from my chair, moving around the table with deliberate slowness, like a predator closing in on prey. My eyes never left hers.
“Clarice and Melanie were part of the journey that led me to you," I began, my voice low, the cadence of it weaving through the dimly lit room like a dark melody. “They were steppingstones, if you will. Pieces of a path that was always meant to end here, with us.” I paused before her, tilting her chin up with my fingers, forcing her to meet my gaze.
“You, Lolita, are exactly where I needed to be led,” I murmured, my thumb tracing the edge of her jaw, the touch a gentle contradiction to the weight of my words. Her breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, I saw the armor she was trying so hard to keep whole, begin to crack.
She exhaled sharply, her brows knitting in thought. I could see the turmoil—the part of her that wanted to reject everything, and the part that was dangerously close to believing me. The room around us felt like something out of an old, twisted fairytale—an ornate, gothic space drenched in shadows and history. The weight of the Isle itself seemed to press in on us, as though its dark pulse mirrored my own intentions. The flickering candlelight cast long, distorted shadows that danced along the walls, amplifying the gravity of the moment.
“If I had known you were out there,” I continued, my voice deepening with sincerity and possession, “you would have been as you are now—the sole other half of me. There is no third, no second. You’re not in line behind anyone. You are it.”
The words sank into her like a binding spell, twisting their way through her conflicted emotions.
“I don’t need anyone else,” I added, my fingers tightening slightly on her chin, pulling her closer. “You, Lolita. Just you.”
Her silence was deafening. I let my thumb brush over her lips, the contact sending a jolt through both of us, as though the Isle itself approved of the claim I had just laid down.
There was no escaping it.
I leaned down and kissed her, tasting the sweet residue of the fruit she'd started nibbling on. It was a brief kiss at first, just the soft brush of my mouth against hers, but then I deepened it, savoring her taste, the lingering essence of peaches, and the warm comfort of her presence. I felt her stiffen, just for a second, before she softened under my touch, yielding to me, a sign of her growing comfort, her slow surrender. The progress wasn’t lost on me. She was becoming more accustomed to the rhythm of our life here. Each day, she gave me a little more of herself, even if she didn’t realize it. I tightened my grip, and her breath hitched.
I forced myself to break away, though the temptation to linger was strong. I grazed her lips with mine one last time before returning to my seat. "Finish up," I said softly, my voice carrying more authority than affection. She nodded, her gaze returning to the food before her, lost in her thoughts. She was still wary, still navigating the treacherous waters of our relationship, but there was no denying the pull between us.
As I watched her, my own mind drifted. She hadn't mentioned Anya at all. Not once had she brought up her friend, nor had she asked for more details about the nature of our connection—the bloodlines that tied us together. It was only a matter of time before she did. I knew her too well. Lolita would first immerse herself in denial, to distance herself from what I’d revealed. That was in her nature, to resist until she could no longer pretend it wasn’t real.
As for Anya, she wouldn’t let that go. She was likely already planning how to address it, waiting for the right moment to bring it up. I was prepared for that. I’d been working on it for weeks, carefully curating every move, every word. I had what I needed now—the recording from Carcerem. That conversation had gone precisely as I'd hoped. The pieces were falling into place. She'd have no choice but to listen when the time came.