Total pages in book: 401
Estimated words: 390373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1952(@200wpm)___ 1561(@250wpm)___ 1301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 390373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1952(@200wpm)___ 1561(@250wpm)___ 1301(@300wpm)
When sleep finally came, it came quickly, pulling me under so deeply that I couldn’t be sure if what happened in the darkest hours of the night was real or if I’d dreamed of him slipping into bed behind me.
His pine-and-spice scent enveloping me.
His strong arms wrapping around me, his body cooler than usual as he gathered me to his chest.
His voice, low and shadowy in my ear as he pressed his wrist to my mouth and told me to feed.
None of it felt real.
Not the tingling of the first drop of his blood on my tongue nor the heady taste—decadent, lush, and tinged with a wildness that was stronger now than when I’d first tasted it. Even the heat that built with each draw from his wrist felt like a dream borne of desperation.
When my eyes opened to the gray rays of dawn, the haze of sleep still clouded my thoughts. I was alone, and the spot beside me was cold, seemingly untouched. But I felt flushed, stronger. And his taste…
My breathing turned shallow.
His taste lingered in my mouth and on my lips, as did the feel of his hand on my thigh, parting them as I fed. It still felt branded on my flesh. I could feel us even now, my body rocking, driven by need and instinct. Him behind me, inside me. It all burned and blurred together, but I knew it had been real.
Casteel had returned to me.
But he hadn’t stayed.
He wasn’t here now.
He’d come and made sure I was fed, that I was strong. He’d sated my needs, then left. And that was…
It was ruinous.
I forced myself to eat the breakfast Kieran brought. It wasn’t exactly a well-balanced meal, mostly strips of crispy bacon—my favorite kind: both salty and sweet.
I hadn’t looked Casteel in the eyes since he left the Solar the evening before.
I stopped myself from asking Kieran if he’d found Casteel no less than a hundred times. Kieran wasn’t volunteering the information, and there had to be a reason for that.
One I couldn’t face right now.
The bacon tasted like sawdust.
And each time I was about to summon the essence to find Casteel, I heard the raw pain in his voice, saw the unshed tears in his eyes, and sensed the betrayal he felt.
I couldn’t risk seeing that again before I left. It would shatter me.
When Kieran ducked out to do only the gods knew what, the reality of what was coming became more real with each passing moment. No matter what happened in Pensdurth, I would not be returning to Carsodonia conscious. Either I’d be in stasis or…
Pressure clamped down on my chest. Everything felt like it was happening too fast. My breathing thinned, my heart stuttered.
I forced a slow exhale.
Gods. I wished I’d told Casteel I loved him. Just one more time in case things didn’t go as planned.
I wished for a lot of things as I bathed and then dressed. I wished for silly things: to swim in the sea and walk barefoot in the snow. To finish Miss Willa’s diary. I wished for this to be the last time I was forced to do something I didn’t want to do. To have a future where all my choices were mine. I wished I had time to know my father. To know Seraphena and Nyktos. To have a normal conversation with Millicent. To see Ian one more time. I wished I had done right by Tawny and told her what I’d done. And I wished I had told Casteel about the oath I had Kieran make.
I could only make one of those things happen.
Strapping the sheathed bone dagger to my forearm, I didn’t look in the mirror as I left the bedchamber. I knew what I looked like.
I’d donned all black—black breeches, a long-sleeve shirt, and a sleeveless waistcoat I had first thought was for Casteel but discovered it fit me perfectly, cinched at the waist.
It reminded me of something I’d seen Millicent wear.
It took an absurd amount of time to find some parchment and a quill—almost as long as it took to braid my hair. I’d gotten used to Casteel doing it.
I couldn’t think about that.
For some reason, what I searched for was stored in the liquor credenza in the dining chamber.
I quickly wrote what I needed to—what I knew—not letting myself dwell on what I was writing. I knew the letter was impersonal and a far cry from how the conversation should’ve gone, but I’d wasted too much time. It had only taken about two minutes when I finished. I read over it, hoping it made sense and wishing I had thought of going to Sven as I’d instructed in the note.
But as the quill hovered over the parchment, my veneer of control cracked enough that the drop of ink that splashed off the bottom of the letter wasn’t the only thing. I hastily wrote one more line.