Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“No,” replied Cain. “We protect our own. You must understand, though, that this isn’t a fanciful sanctuary. It’s not some quiet, peaceful haven. Jungle law is very much prevalent here. If you can each hold your own, or at least find good allies, you shouldn’t find yourselves constantly challenged. Going lone wolf—or lone coven, as it were—would be a mistake, especially if you’re people who generally shy away from duels.”
Wynter wouldn’t hesitate to cross swords with anyone who’d think to challenge her. Ordinarily. Here, though, she wanted to keep her head down. Which would be hard to do when the people on this sofa with her were freaking insane. She was about to once more repeat that they weren’t actually a coven, but then Cain spoke again.
“Are you all still interested in becoming residents here?”
“Yes,” replied Wynter, and the others answered in the affirmative.
“Like I said before, there’s a price,” he warned.
And she could guess what it was. “Our memories would be stolen from us if we ever decided to leave?”
“No, we are not interested in erasing people’s identities. Although it should be noted that, on leaving, the memories of your time here will become fuzzy and soon after fade.”
That wasn’t so terrible, since it wasn’t like she’d forget her entire life. “Okay, so what’s the price?”
“Unless, or until, you officially leave Devil’s Cradle for good”—he took another drink from his glass and then tipped it their way— “your souls would partially belong to me.”
*
Cain watched as Wynter went very still. The others exchanged uneasy looks but didn’t speak, clearly content to let her take the lead. To look at her, no one would think she was Priestess of a coven. Nothing about her screamed ‘authority.’
Average height and slender as a rake, she didn’t appear in the least bit threatening. Her posture was both self-protective and submissive. She kept making nervous little gestures—biting her lip, twirling her ankle, swallowing hard.
It would be so easy to dismiss her as any sort of threat, but … there was the noiseless stealth with which she moved. And her quicksilver eyes—sharp, piercing, framed by thick dark lashes—had done a predatory sweep of the room like a leopard on the hunt when she’d first entered. It had snatched his inner creature’s total attention.
She also met Cain’s gaze easily. Not boldly, not in challenge, but she was utterly focused on him. And he knew she was watching for a sign that he’d attack. He knew she was ready to counter any move he might make. It almost made him smile.
Knowing that she’d strike without hesitation if he should prove a lethal threat stirred his blood in a way he wouldn’t have expected. The creature inside him liked it just the same. Liked her.
They also both sensed that there was something off about this little witch. Cain couldn’t put his finger on what it was about her that raised a red flag in his mind, or why his monster didn’t look upon her as prey. It saw another predator, which was why it had been watching her as intently as she watched Cain.
He stared directly into her eyes, wishing he could see inside her head. No amount of staring made her squirm in discomfort or falter with her act. Her nerves were rock steady. Wynter wasn’t a slave to her emotions, no, she was their fucking master. He respected that.
It was possible she was purposely giving off a nothing to see here, move along vibe because she simply wanted to fly under the radar. If so, that wouldn’t work. No one who looked like her would ever go unnoticed.
She was fucking beautiful with those unusual eyes, the heavy lower lip, her high cheekbones, and all that glorious dark hair that hung down her back straight as rain. But her attractiveness was only a small part of her draw. The way she carried herself, the steel in her spine, the sharpness in her eyes, the magick that hummed around her like an aura of electricity—all of it came together in a very pretty package. And he wanted her.
She gave her head a little shake. “We’d each have to sell you our soul?”
“No. But you would have to submit partial ownership of it over to me.”
“In what way is that different? I don’t really understand.”
“When someone signs their soul over to me in exchange for something it means that, no matter where they are in the world, they owe me their compliance. They are chattel, essentially. Puppets on a string, even. If I ever tug on those strings, they have to do as I bid. Each of you, however, would not be under my control as I would only have partial rights to your soul. But you would owe me respect, loyalty, and be in my service for as long as you’re residents here.”