Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Damien grabbed his blazer and headed outside. The pain in his head was unbearable, like having a rock lodged in the back of his nose.
He got in his SUV, wiping his watering eyes with the back of his sleeve—it was an emergency, okay?
He’d have to drive slowly and carefully because he could hardly see. Or drive like a bat out of hell. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.
Damien started the engine and put the SUV in reverse. Fuck. I can’t drive. Everything was blurry, like looking through a waterfall.
“Please, get out of there,” he said with a restrained voice. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I just want to know where you were during the blast.”
“What blast?” the small voice said.
“Come out of there, and I’ll tell you everything Cimil told me.”
“Cimil?”
He felt the tiny creature starting to move.
“What. Are. You doing?” He threw his head back, screaming in agony.
“Turning around!” it chirped.
“No. Don’t do—ah!” Involuntarily, the muscles in his body locked down. His foot hit the accelerator, and the SUV roared backwards. Before he could react, he was already out into the street.
Thump! Thump!
Damien hit the brakes. What did I just hit? He put the car in park just as the little fucker wiggled from his nose.
“You stay put.” He pointed at the fairy and got out, wiping his bloody nose with a handkerchief from his pant pocket.
He walked around to the back of the vehicle. Nothing. Then he went to the other side, where a pair of small legs stuck out from beneath the vehicle.
Fuck.
He crouched, hoping the poor person was all right.
“Oh. Not all right.” From the shape of the wide hips, it appeared to be a woman. Her head was crushed. Blood, brains, and hair all mushed together in a pool on the concrete.
He slowly stood, his cold heart pounding. The poor woman. But what could he do now? There was no saving her.
He had to get out of here. Out of town, too. The last thing he needed was to try to explain to the police why he’d backed up without looking.
But how could he just leave a dead body here in front of Sky’s house? Soon, the police would show up and be asking questions. She did not need to be part of an investigation.
I’ll call her and warn her not to come home. Being at the hospital would give her an alibi. The police would have no cause to involve her.
He slid his phone from his pocket and tried Sky again.
At the same time, a phone began ringing under the SUV. He froze, his body turning ice cold.
He bent down and shined the light from his phone at the body. On the ground was a small purse with a unicorn charm on the zipper.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I can’t believe you killed that nice woman.” The hummingbird-sized fairy blinked her big blue eyes at Damien from the passenger seat. She wore a short, pale-yellow, sleeveless dress that matched her blonde pigtails. “You really should be more careful where you’re—ooh! So colorful.”
The jets of the car wash began spraying rainbow-colored suds on the vehicle, captivating the tiny winged idiot.
“It almost makes up for that violent murder you committed,” she added cheerfully.
“Shut up.” This was all the fairy’s fault. She’d distracted him, and now Sky was dead.
“Blah, blah, blah. ‘I just want to talk,’” the fairy mocked with her screeching little voice. “Now you want me to be quiet?”
Damien was holding on by a thread, his head spinning and heart heavy. He’d had to leave Sky’s body at the side of her garage under some bushes. It wasn’t what she deserved, and he could only imagine what her sister was about to go through. A child in the hospital, badly beaten. Now this?
Actually, it’s all my fault. It was the shampoo. It had to be. There’d been a split second in Sky’s bedroom when he’d allowed himself to relish the scent of her hair. He’d let desire in.
How had he let this happen? He knew better! If he coveted any part of a woman, even her personality, it was a death sentence. For her. Not him.
The curse did not permit him to have those feelings. He wasn’t allowed to enjoy the scent of a woman’s hair, perfume, sweat, or even her fabric softener. And yet, Sky had somehow seeped through a crack in his armor and fallen prey to his curse.
I killed her. And there was nothing he could do about it. Which was why he wouldn’t waste time mentally flagellating himself. What was the point? It wouldn’t change anything. He was a dangerous, bad man, and no fine suit would ever change that.
At least now that Sky was dead, he could feel whatever he wanted about her. At the moment, it was remorse. He’d run her over in the street like a common tree squirrel in the wrong place at the wrong time. But after the guilt subsided, he would have to examine the roots of his desire. What about her had made him so weak?