Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 107652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“I’d prefer a few days away from your company,” I muttered.
He stepped toward me, the wine cradled carelessly in one hand, his tall height casting me in shadow. Whisper pressed against my leg with a low rumble as if sensing the crackling chemistry flying between me and his master. “Are you saying you don’t like being around me or are you suddenly bored of living?”
I lifted my chin. “How can I like you when you refuse to open up to me? We had a moment last night, but you—”
“Ah.” He nodded, his eyes sharp and cutting. “So you are sick of living.”
I gave up.
“I’m sick of working, that’s for sure.”
Turning on his heel, he ordered, “Follow me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s Sunday.”
My pulse spiked. The way he said it. With icy finality and careful disinterest.
I didn’t need to ask what he meant.
It was one of those days.
“You know what?” I forced a smile. “I’ll take the housework—”
“That wasn’t a request.” He strode away, long legs eating up the corridor.
Whisper nudged me, urging me forward.
I groaned as my head pounded.
“Unpaid maid, part-time nurse, and blood-bank technician,” I muttered, following him reluctantly. “I definitely need a raise.”
* * * * *
“Draw another bag.”
“What?” I froze by the fridge after putting the usual two full bags on the moving shelf. Where it went or who came to collect it, I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know. The thought of anyone touching Lucien’s blood made my stomach clench and chest feel tight.
In those many sleepless moments in my pavilion, I envisioned the men running his family’s company—men who were meant to protect and guide him—using his stolen blood on the very machines that Laura said refused to work without constant access to fresh Ashfall DNA and it made me angry. Very angry.
“You never do more than two,” I said warily.
“Today is an exception.” Lucien exhaled heavily from where he sat in the chair. “Do it.”
“No, I won’t do it. You’ve taken enough. Look at you, you need some sugar, a blanket, and a nap.”
The computer screens had turned off beside him the moment the harvesting had been completed. The barcoded stickers had been printed, and the draining tubes had been removed from his cuffs. No way would I repeat the process. How much blood could a person lose before they keeled over and died?
“Fuck, you’re disobedient.” His curse might’ve been cruel but his husky, tired voice made it sound almost pitiful.
“Are you only just realising this?” I headed toward him. “I consistently do the bare minimum of whatever you ask. It’s a talent.”
“Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Gritting his teeth, he grabbed another pre-prepared bag from the medical trolley, stabbed a new port line into it, then locked the other end onto the cuff on his left wrist.
“Wait!” I dashed forward, squeamish and slightly sick but also burning with a rush of unexplainable possessiveness. He’d made this my job. He’d forced me to do this ten times too many. He never took more than two bags, and frankly, with how white and cold and tired he was, I never wanted to see him take more. “What the hell are you doing?”
I went to stop him, but his hand locked tight around my wrist.
He shuddered as yet more blood flowed from his body and into the empty bag.
“Stop it.” I fought him but his hand merely tightened around me. His head tipped up, looking at me from the chair. His face was white and lips slightly blue but his gaze burned with embers. “Do you always talk back like this to your other employers?”
“I’ve never had other employers.”
He frowned. “How is that possible?”
“Why are you drawing more?” I twisted my arm, trying to get him to release me, hoping he wouldn’t realise I’d changed the subject.
“Your questions vex me.” Rolling his eyes, he swayed a little as if lack of blood made him dizzy. Swallowing hard, he let me go, then unhooked the line from his cuff.
His fingers slipped a little, his head tipping forward.
The line didn’t fully unhook, leaving the port open.
A spray of dark red arced through the air—splattering across my bare arms, my collarbone, my dress.
I choked.
He froze.
I gagged as crimson droplets soaked into the grey cotton of my dress like some sick artwork. My stomach lurched; my head went heavy.
I gagged.
Lucien’s gaze snapped to my face. “Don’t you dare throw up.”
I staggered back, hands trembling. “W-Why...what are you—” I couldn’t finish, glancing at the morbid mess covering me.
My throat closed.
His jaw worked as he yanked the line out and the port in his cuff closed. Blood covered his thigh from where he’d leaked but he didn’t seem to care. Standing carefully, he stepped toward me. “You’re shaking.”
I swallowed hard. “I-I’m fine.”
His gaze searched mine, his lips far too colourless. Reaching for my hand, he murmured, “Come. I’ll clean it off you.”