Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
I blink, unsure how to interpret what I’m hearing. Are they speaking in code? Is whatever threat he’s referring to real? Do I even want to know who could be a threat to these guys? Is there a whole secret world out there alongside ours that I’ve been ignorant of my whole life?
“I go out of the castle daily to gather wood, and I am unharmed,” Thing responds calmly.
“And that’s bad enough!” Abaddon explodes. I back up, hating how loud he is. The next second, Abaddon jabs his forefinger in my direction. “She’s a Trojan Horse, and you’re a fool to take the bait! We never should have allowed her inside in the first place. So let us be rid of her once and for all!”
Thing remains impassive during his brother’s tirade, waiting quietly for him to finish. “I’ll see you in a couple weeks, brother.”
He reaches out a hand for his brother to shake, but Abaddon spins toward the stairs, muttering angrily under his breath. But not so quietly that I can’t hear him. “Sometimes I liked it better when you were locked up in the dungeon.”
My eyes fly back towards Thing. What the hell did that mean? Why was Thing locked in a dungeon? And did that asshole mean he’d locked up his own brother?
“I’m so sorry for him,” Hannah says from the kitchen, where she’s been cooking and helping Thing prepare provisions. “Everything’s good to go.” Her face is pained as she looks after her husband. Then she looks back at me. “I hope you’ll ignore him long enough to get some breakfast. I made bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns.”
“Thank you, Hannah, that’s so kind,” Thing pipes up. “Would you mind if she and I ate alone?” My eyes shoot to him. Has he picked up that he’s the only one I feel a modicum of comfort around? I don’t even know why. Mine is a solitary life, apart from the rare time I spend with Dad.
But Thing is. . . easy to be with. It’s why I asked him to come along. I think I can stand to be around him. Plus, the kind of hunting I do is in cities, not forests. I know how to navigate back alleys and the black market. Not wild animals and maps of snowy terrain. I was never, how do you call it, a Girl Scout.
“Of course, of course,” Hannah says. She pulls out silverware, sets it beside our steaming food, then, with emotion in her voice, says, “It was so nice meeting you. Safe journey.”
I get the uncomfortable feeling she’s about to ask to hug me again when Thing says, “Thank you, Hannah.”
She nods and turns, hurrying out of the room. I use my fork to quickly separate the scrambled eggs from touching the bacon and toast, then begin to eat. I’m very particular about the texture of my eggs, and these are much softer than I can usually stand. But I need all the protein I can get for our trek, so I shovel them in quickly.
The bacon is enjoyable, and I finish with the crunchy toast. It’s good to have a full stomach.
Thing devours his food even quicker than me, and he had a much larger portion. Then he points me to a mountain of coats, scarves and gloves Hannah must have provided. I pull them on one at a time, holding onto the counter while I step into the thick snow pants.
He shoulders a huge backpack full of what I assume are meant to be our provisions for the journey. There’s a much smaller, lighter one for me that I throw some of the extra bags of food in.
“Please tell everyone thank you,” I say. I’m a stranger, and Hannah’s husband clearly distrusts me. Yet they’ve provided me with so much, and Thing’s willing to go on a long journey to help a stranger home.
Home.
My chest clenches. Because I’m not going home. Not yet. There’s no home to go back to, not if my Dad didn’t make it out. But I’m not letting myself think about that.
Uncle Pavel is a paranoid bastard and almost always closes himself up at his villa outside St. Petersburg. He’s never even allowed me to visit him, making me wonder how long he’s been planning this.
I clench my fists. So St. Petersburg is where I’m going.
“Let’s go,” I say. “I’m ready.”
And then, even though I’m the one eager to leave, we’re up the stairs and through the large open room to the door, where the horned Abaddon stands ready to open it before I quite feel ready. Oh, goody. And here I was, hoping I’d get to leave without seeing this asshole again.
But I guess it is sweet that despite his harsh words minutes earlier, he’s come to hug Thing and wish him well on the journey.