Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
“You never stop talking. Do you.”
Allhan blinked like the dumb fuck he was. “Oh, that’s not true. Honestly.” Then he frowned. “You know what… I don’t stutter around you.”
“Why am I the lucky one,” she muttered as she went over and knelt down by the corpse.
“I don’t know. Probably because my brain shorts whenever I…”
As he stopped babbling, the female rifled through the suit jacket, pulling out a wallet and a cell phone.
“Whenever you what.” Her eyes returned to Allhan. “Hello?”
“Whenever I look at you. My brain shorts out whenever I look at you. And that seems to kill the stutter.”
The female stilled. Then she shook her head. “I’m nothing special.”
As she surged back to her feet, he knew she was getting ready to dematerialize into the night.
“My name is Allhan. Did I tell you that?”
“I don’t want to know your name.”
“Well, I’m volunteering it.”
“And I don’t want your number.”
The perma-pit in his stomach, that hollow feeling he’d been living with for what felt like his entire life, doubled in size. Except then he reminded himself that they’d met over a corpse. This wasn’t a blind date that hadn’t worked out when she realized he was socially awkward and family-less.
And maybe kissed like a goldfish out of water.
Not that he would know.
Well aware their time was running out, he stuck his hand forward. “Nice to meet you…?”
The female came over and left the obvious opening hanging. “What are you doing in these woods?”
“Just out for a walk.”
Her eyes searched his face and he was pretty aware of what she saw in terms of features. Okay, sort of aware, given he was still getting used to what he looked like. And God, he really hoped she didn’t think he was ugly.
“Go home,” she said after a moment. “You don’t belong here.”
“Can I at least know your name?” He put up both palms. “Please. I won’t bother you, I promise.”
“There’s no reason you need to know it. We’re never seeing each other again.”
“I have a reason.”
“Why.”
He shrugged. “At least I’ll know who’s keeping me up all day.”
The wind came around, bringing her scent to his nose. As he breathed in deep, he wanted to say something that made her stay.
That was what was going through his mind as she disappeared right in front of him.
In the aftermath of the departure, Allhan stayed where he was for a while because he was soul-crushed for no good reason. Then he focused on the dead guy, and wanted to know the story behind it all. Not that he cared about the human, of course.
He wanted to know everything—hell, anything—about the female who’d just left.
As sirens flared in the distance, he glanced to the sound and saw a line of cop cars streaming down the highway like bees flushed from a nest. They were obviously going to make it out here, sooner rather than later.
Before Allhan dematerialized himself, he walked over to the body and took hold of the white plastic handle of the knife that stuck out of the man’s gut. Pausing, he had a romantic notion that her palm had gripped right where his was.
“Wow. Th-that’s macabre.”
Whatever, the best thing about internal thoughts was that nobody else knew them.
With a jerk, he pulled out the blade. If there was one thing he’d learned, you had to clean up after yourself. Very important. Sure, vampires left no fingerprints, but the Caldwell Police Department was a crafty bunch.
And things could be traced back to places that should just as well be left alone.
As he, too, left the scene, he was buoyed a little by the idea that he was taking care of her.
Even though she’d never know.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Royal Residence
Territory of the s’Hisbe
I Am rushed through the halls of the royal residence, his North Face parka clapping against him, the Dunkin’ bag in his hand rustling, the cardboard tray of two coffees on the verge of a tip-over disaster. Courtiers, servants, and advisors hustled out of his way, their solemn robes like flags falling to half-mast as they dodged and he weaved. What a mess. As Prince Consort, he was the third most powerful person in the s’Hisbe, so whatever he did was considered noteworthy and important.
Third behind his shellan, the Queen Catra, and his daughter, Dennesha, the Princess and heir to the throne.
Shit, he should slow down. Act normal. He didn’t want prying eyes to get the gossip wheel spinning again.
Like it ever stopped.
When he got to the unremarkable entrance to the Constellation Room, he skidded to a halt at the black glass doors and had to catch his breath for a sec. Goddamn, his heart was thundering and not from the exercise.
Two falling stars. At precisely 9:19 p.m. in the northern sky. One from the east, one from the west, with the intersection directly over the Territory.