Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“A whole room dedicated to guns.” Willow’s voice comes out of nowhere, and I glance over my shoulder as she steps into the armory. “Why am I not surprised?”
“You’re getting good at keeping your thoughts quiet.”
“Thanks. I’ve been practicing.” She smiles at me, and I can’t help smirking. My eyes fall to her clothes, and a wave of satisfaction rides over me. Juniper did well picking the outfit. All black, with a black cloak that’ll hide her weapons. Thick boots with silver chains are on her feet, spiked platinum bangles on her wrists. The bangles, I know, are a touch from Juniper. They’re unnecessary, but it wouldn’t be Juniper without some sort of fashion tossed in. Still, it works. She blends right in, and no one will suspect that she isn’t a member of Blackwater.
“Do people not own guns in your world?” I ask.
“Some people do,” she says, running her fingers over the handle of a silver handgun. “But I don’t.”
“Why not?” I pick up the gun she just touched, weighing it in my hand.
“I don’t know. I guess I just felt like I never really needed one.”
“That’s a backwards way of thinking.”
“Not everyone’s lives revolve around violence and guns where I’m from,” she says, smirking.
“That may be so,” I murmur, turning toward her with the gun. “But in my world, it does.” I place the gun in her palm, and she looks down at it. She bounces it in her hand, and I turn for a belt clip. It’ll work best strapped around her waist, beneath the cloak. Easy to access in case anyone tries to make any sudden moves.
“I’ll be safe with your family, I’m sure,” she says when I turn to face her with the clip. My eyes swivel up to hers briefly before dropping and focusing on the clip. I attach it to the leather belt around her waist, then grab a sheath for a knife that’s large enough to strap around her upper thigh.
“It’s not that I don’t think they’ll protect you. Leg up.”
She lifts her boot-clad foot, placing it on one of the shelves. “So, what is it then?”
I wrap the sheath around her thigh, then turn for the wall of knives and daggers. “I just don’t want you getting the answers without me. Beatrix lied once. What if she lies again? What if this is all a bloody trap?”
She thinks on that a moment, and while she does, I select a few of the sharpest knives that are also lightweight and take down a jagged dagger for good measure. The dagger has a ruby on the center of the black handle, the blade a sharp, sparkling platinum. Perfect for slicing someone’s throat.
“We’ll try to be careful. You deal with whatever The Council wants, and I’ll try to tap in with you mentally to fill you in.”
“Right. Fine.” I carry the knives to the nearest counter and set them down one by one. She approaches the counter too, gawking at each one.
“Do I really need all of that?” she asks.
“Yes, you do. As a matter of fact, you should be taking more than this, but I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
She moves closer to me, brushing against my side. I don’t know how she does it, but that simple touch is enough to send a current through me. It charges me, making me hyperaware of everything about her. Her soft breaths, the sweet scent of her skin. The heat of her body.
“I know it’s hard, but I really think you should stop worrying,” she says near my ear.
“I wish I could. In truth, I’m trying not to care, but everything in my mind and body goes against the effort.”
She steps closer, and I turn toward her, cupping one side of her face, my fingers tangling in the hairs at the nape of her neck. “I just have a bad feeling about this. I don’t think we should be separated right now. If Mournwrath comes to you when I’m not there…”
“I’ll beg Beatrix for a protection morsel or something—whatever—that can help.”
“And if she doesn’t give it to you?”
“Then I’ll take one of those knives and point it at her throat.”
That makes me laugh, much harder than I anticipate. I haven’t laughed in ages, so it feels weird coming out, all raspy and dry.
“Wait a minute. Was that a laugh?” she teases.
“No, it wasn’t,” I counter.
“Yes, it was! I got a laugh out of Serious Caspy! Aww, do it again, please! You have a beautiful laugh.”
I chuckle. “Blackwater is clearly starting to rub off on you. And what the hell is a Caspy?”
“It’s you.” She pats my chest. “I’ve decided that’s what I’ll call you from now on. My own little thing. It’s got a ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Why not just Caz, like everyone else?”