Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
And wait…was I drinking?
In the middle of a workday?
No.
Then what-
Captured.
Panic prepares to kick in when my champion side hisses in disapproval.
Still.
“I think it’s a bad plan,” a male voice declares from somewhere in the distance.
Naturally, I prepare to lift my head to locate it when my orc side stops me.
Stay.
Following the command is done without hesitation.
“No. Scratch that.” Pause. “I think it’s a terrible fucking plan.”
Another voice, slightly squeakier, inquires, “What? Keeping this oitch hostage?”
Oitch?
Insult.
Hold the memo…is that supposed to be like…bitch in English?
Yes.
I struggle not to sneer in offense.
“No, keeping an ancient dragon’s bonded Fated Mate as bait, idiot.” There’s a slight shuffle followed by the voice getting somewhat closer. “Maybe it’s just me, but that shit screams death wish.”
Is.
“Death by incineration.”
The other being in the room chuckles at the addition. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Am I?”
No.
“Yeah.”
“Am I really? Because that being in there is also the daughter of our boss’s boss’s boss.”
Silence unexpectedly arrives.
“Yeah. That monster. The one they showed us a training video on. Remember the part where she twisted a Dwarf in half like he was a fucking Oreo?!”
There’s a wince from the other creature and a snicker from my inner ancient warrior.
“Exactly. That thing has that shit flowing in her blood—only half but still—and then whatever other shit an ancient dragon gives her. She’s basically a literal sleeping bomb, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t really wanna be in the blast radius when she wakes up.”
“Eimmy, Boss said we’re safe as long as we don’t untie her. And since there’s no fucking reason to untie her, there’s no reason to worry.”
“You really don’t think there’s any reason to worry considering they didn’t even bother putting her in one of the more reinforced holding cages?!”
“According to Boss, she’s nowhere near as strong as her mother. She’s basically no better than a fat Sleeper.”
Fucking rude!
Destroy.
Just. Say. When.
Will.
“Okay, true. But what if something happens to her under our watch so we have to go in there and untie her?”
“Like?”
“Like…she…I don’t fucking know, stops breathing or some shit?”
“Why would she stop breathing?”
“What if they gave her too much of that knockout shit? What if they accidentally killed her? What if they over measured her dosage for a real orc versus an oversized plum?”
I swear to The Great Ones -
Still.
Her repeated instruction leads my mind the direction she’s most likely going.
“First you were worried about what happens if she wakes up, and now, you’re worried about what happens if she doesn’t wake up?” More chuckles leave the squeakier guard. “Do you just love to worry, Eimmy?”
“I come from a long line of Doom Elves, DeeRin,” Eimmy swiftly argues. “It is literally what we live to do. Predict, expect, and plan for doom.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
Does.
Right?!
“It is, but right now, I would like to point out that our prisoner, doesn’t appear to be breathing.”
Still.
Got it.
“She’s breathing,” DeeRin quickly brushes off. “Look at her chest. It’s moving.”
Hold.
Channeling my inner child—that learned to hold her breath for long periods of time during hide-in-seek because her mother evidently possessed supernatural tracking skills—allows me to appear completely lifeless.
The sight of me motionless prompts DeeRin to nervously croak, “She…she…she is breathing, right, Eimmy?” There’s knocking on what sounds like a glass surface. “They didn’t deliver us a dead thing. Boss…Boss wouldn’t have us watching a corpse, would he?”
“She’s not supposed to be a fucking corpse!” huffs Eimmy who hits the glass next in hopes of getting me to move. “You think holding hostage an alive Fated Mate is bad? How do you think the Draaks will handle a dead fucking mate, which means a dead fucking brother, huh?” Heavier pounding swiftly starts. “You think that shits gonna go well?! Who do you think they’re gonna come after first in their revenge crusade?!”
Hold.
“Alright, alright, alright, for elves sake, calm the fuck down.” More movement occurs, followed by the sound of a door opening. “I’ll step in really quick and check her pulse. No need to untie her. Just a quick touch and tell.” He arrogantly chortles at his partner. “Will that stop your Doom shit from spiraling more?”
“Probably not.”
A grunted laugh is all DeeRin provides.
My eyes remained closed during his approach as an odd sense of peace washes over me. The disjointedness that often comes from having two halves of myself fight for decades seems to have transitioned into a flowing harmony where everything I am, everything I can be, everything I want to be is finally functioning together, a notion I believe makes me far more dangerous than I could’ve ever imagined.
Yes.
Two fingers sharply shove themselves against my neck in search of a pulse, yet the instant he opens his mouth to express my status, I jerk my head to the side and bite down on his hand using all my strength. Bones crunch on impact but can barely be heard breaking over his unexpectedly feminine screams. Using my mouth hold, I spring on my unbound feet, angle my head for his chest, and propel myself along with the chair, forward. Not only does the glass wall totally shatter, but we land on top of Eimmy, combined weight and force literally crushing the life out of him. DeeRin’s screams of agony quickly grow exponentially louder when I rise to my feet, using my teeth to take his entire limb with me. Overwhelming amounts of adrenaline blasts through my veins, filling my entire system with an uncontrollable thirst for violence and feeling of invincibleness I’ve only felt once before.