Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)
War turns to the side where the cube is set up, baring his teeth with untamed rage, and my eyes swing up to the large alfresco patio that sweeps out onto the vast size of the yard to see seven hand-carved, satin black thrones. That isn’t what catches my eye first. It’s the men sitting on them.
From the left is Brantley, Nate, Dad—I hold my breath when my eyes find Archer Thorn, but he’s already looking right at me. Holy shit. He doesn’t look anything like his father. With wide-set shoulders that stretch out his suit shirt, and a body built like a beast. His brown skin is flawless, except for the faded scar that cuts across his neck in a way that I know someone had slit his throat.
And succeeded. That’s a death cut, not a battle scar.
He eyes me carefully as I examine him with unease. A hard, angular jaw, ebony hair that’s shaved on the sides in a fade cut, keeping it a little longer on the top. He embodies carnal masculinity as he follows me with dark eyes.
Jesus. I get it now. If he represents Thornhill, that would be a hard no from me, and I’ve been surrounded by dangerous men all my life. Very often do I recognize one outside of our own fold.
I break eye contact and settle on the man beside him. He has similar dark hair, only styled differently. He’s not quite as big as Archer, but he’s lean and strong. Even from here, I can see the edges of his classical features. Unlike Archer, he has tattoos that cover every inch of skin that peeps out of his obsidian suit. His eyes are on someone to the left, and I follow what he’s looking at.
I bite back a laugh when I see he’s been staring at a certain raven-haired vixen talking with Luna, before going back to studying him from a distance. I almost lose my footing when I find him now staring right at me.
His eyelashes are so thick, it almost looks as though he’s wearing liner, but his eyes, even from here, are so blue they almost seem white. Jesus. He’s… creepy. I’m guessing he’s Archer Thorn’s notorious right-hand, also known as Belial.
I quickly shift to the man beside Belial.
Danny Dale. The Gentlemen. Our enemy in the flesh. He’s dressed in a dapper gray suit that’s paired with a vest, as he lights the end of the Cuban cigar that hangs from his beard-covered lips. The tattoos on his hands and face only add to his rugged looks, and as if feeling my gaze, his eyes land on me, before further bouncing over Mom and Priest. They settle on Vaden.
Danny Dale and our dads are the first generation to even be able to settle with a treaty instead of a war. Danny’s great-grandfather and Vaden’s were legendary foes back in their day. Actually, they all equally hated each other. From what Dad has said, their reasoning for peace was simple, since they all had children around the same time. They collectively decided no blood was worth spilling when it could stain your kids. The treaty was then born.
Beside Danny is—I roll my eyes, skipping him. Moses Dale, aka Danny’s firstborn. I’ve never met him personally, but I’ve heard whispers about him over time.
We stop near the patio and Mom places a kiss on my head, nodding at War and my brother.
War’s hand covers mine, the fingers of his other curling beneath my chin, lifting my head up to his. “We’ll be down here. They’ll be up there, spectating. This won’t be easy to watch, baby. You sure you don’t want to go inside?”
I rest my hand over his, taking a quick peek over his shoulder in time to catch Stella, River, and Luna sitting on lawn chairs that surround a small bonfire. They’re shoving marshmallows onto sticks and laughing. It takes me a moment to realize that they’re making s’mores.
Luna says something and Stella’s head tilts back, flashing her sharp natural fangs as her infectious giggles fill the air.
Sociopaths. All of them.
I shake my head. “I’m good. Where’s Pop?”
War’s eyes fly over my me. “Referee, I guess…”
I pat his shoulder a few times, as the music continues to fill the air. Leaning up on my tippy-toes, my lips meet his for a second, before I grab my brother’s hand and squeeze it in passing.
I’m making my way over to where the girls are, when Stella curves her hands around her mouth like a speakerphone and chuckles. “Sic ’em, boys!”
War
If I could explain a midnight slaughter in any way, it would be this. Under a full moon, music playing, and adrenaline pulsing so fast through my veins I feel dizzy.
The clear box is a holding cell. Similar to the one I’m sure they used at the perverted fucking village.