Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Because he’s Creed.
I can feel his presence as easily as I can my own breath within my chest. I’d hoped the mark would fade with time away from him, but it has not, and neither has the bond between us.
With a deep breath that does nothing to calm the racing of my heart, I push to my feet. I am not someone who ever feels small, despite my petite frame. My parents taught me better—but as my floor-length, white chiffon dress slinks to my feet, I do so now. Because Creed is here and he’s just so much bigger than life. I want to run from him and to him, and conflicting emotions torment me, cut me, draw me in. If I don’t go to him, he’ll come for me. And he won’t care who stands between us.
I hate how much a part of me owns this knowledge with pleasure.
I weave my way through the crowd, past elaborate floral arrangements and a dance floor filled with perfectly-learned ballroom dancing.
My mind is already far removed from the purpose of the night’s festivities, but nevertheless, I force myself to halt and shake hands with the daughter of the visiting Mexican dignitary we’re honoring tonight. The idea around her presence, and mine, is to nurture our country’s newly formed alliance when facing the Zodius. And with Caleb and his Renegades close to unveiling some cutting-edge technology, which would even the odds against Julian’s Zodius soldiers, I’m hopeful peace is in our future. These were good things. Things that made my return to the States and my father’s side feel like the right decisions.
Finally, I manage to break away from the crowd, but nerves assail me, and I pause as I reach the double-glass doors, pressing my palm to my fluttering stomach—a reaction that has nothing to do with fear. Illogically, I’m not afraid of Creed, and the lift of fanciful laughter behind me drives home the irony of the blissful party when a silent war against humanity is well under way, and with Creed in our presence. As Creed is a part of that war, I remind myself he was always a part of the rebel cause.
I just didn’t know it.
Angry now at his deceit, at how he used me as a shield, I assume, meant to distract my father from the enemy that was amongst us, I yank open the door and step onto the patio, the hot night suffocating me with its eerie stillness. My nerve endings prickled, bristled, and screamed with awareness an instant before the wind gently lifted, blowing wisps of my long blonde hair worn straight and to my shoulders, around my face.
A musical sound shimmers in the air, drawing my attention to a wind chime dancing about at the edge of a walkway—Creed’s way of telling me which direction to follow. And much to my dismay, Creed’s way of using the wind to communicate warms my limbs, my body wickedly declaring how much I still want him. And that uncontrollable want, which borders on need, has done what the idea of the man has not—it’s terrified me. I can’t resist Creed, and that reality downright terrifies me. I should turn and go back inside, but he won’t leave until I go to him.
Shaking inside, I inhale a hard-earned breath and start walking, following the lighted walkway that twists and curves and guides me to a dimly lit gazebo. In the same instant I step inside the structure, he emerges from the shadows, potently male, with a presence that expands, consumes me, and downright steals my breath. A presence more powerful than I even remembered. The scent of him—male, musky, uniquely Creed—flares in my nostrils and unbidden, wind whispers on my nape, goosebumps lifting in its wake.
Because the wind is Creed in a way no one understands but me.
His long, black hair touches his broad shoulders and frames a powerful square jaw that I’d once touched and kissed, oh, so often. Already he is close—too close for comfort—and yet, not close enough. He’s bigger than I remember, bigger than life—broad, impossibly strong, his T-shirt and jeans doing nothing to hide rippling muscle. He towers over me, reminding me of a sleek, muscled panther, hungry and ready to feast.
On me.
And Lord, help me, as I stare into those intelligent, unnaturally blue eyes that to others would be black, I feel as if he sees straight into my soul, as if he knows my very soul.
“You look more beautiful than ever, Addie.”
His voice sweeps along my nerve endings with a velvety smooth slide, licking at my limbs with fire. I hug myself against the sudden heaviness in my breasts, the ache of my nipples—appalled at my heady reaction I cannot control, which no doubt has everything to do with the mark on my neck. This man tried to kill my father. He’s working to destroy humanity. He’s my enemy, and I would not want him of my own free will. I’m here for answers, and only answers—anything that might help me make peace and save our world.