Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 65167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
But they both know…
They both know it’s true.
It comes from his ancestry…and it’s only a feeling. No knowledge, but a simple fact.
A fact he can’t escape.
He must kill the demon king.
The stepfather of his mate.
Mate.
Pregnant mate.
Must get back to mate.
His forepaw spasms once more…
Then one of his hind legs quivers.
He breathes in, out, in again…
More demon blood.
It surrounds him, envelops him, nauseates him…
Yet still he knows what he must do.
More prickles, more tingles, more involuntary spasms within his flesh.
Pregnant mate…
Her name is…
Her name is…
Hannah.
Hannah, the vampire princess, is his mate.
Energy surges through him, and he forces his organs to function.
His heart to beat.
Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.
It beats for her.
For Hannah.
For his unborn child.
Must move. Must move. Must protect. Must protect.
Another spasm, this one with a spark of electric current that flows through him, around him, within him.
His paws engage, his muscles twitch, and—
On all fours now, the wolf inhales…
Rot. Mold.
And then the blood, the sickly-sweet smell of roses and chocolate.
Demon fucking blood.
A growl surges from his paws through to his gut and out his mouth in a vibration that makes the demon hovering over him shudder.
“That’s it, alpha,” the demon snarls. “You’re ready now. You’re ready to aid in our mutiny.”
The wolf attacks, snapping his jaw and sinking his teeth into the demon’s shoulder.
“Fuck! No!” The demon falls to the ground.
“Hey, no! What are you doing?” Another demon races toward him.
Snap!
Jaws into neck this time, and blood squirts from the demon’s flesh.
His red eyes fade to their natural color of brown.
Two down.
Now where’s the fucking king?
More red-eyed monsters flood toward the wolf, and he attacks them one by one, dodging their flaming arrows with instinctive dexterity. He’s strong and nimble and full of aggression that’s fueled by his need to protect his mate and his child.
Fur flies.
Blood splatters.
The wolf’s energy increases with each assault, and as adrenaline pumps through him, he plows through the army of demons as though he’s made of fire himself.
Bones crack with each attack, and when a pile of demons lie at his paws, he inhales.
The scent of rotted flesh and evil blood…
Evil…
Evil who knows love.
That’s the demon king.
And he’s an alpha lycan. He’s love who knows evil.
Somewhere an ancient script has led him to this fate.
To this mutiny.
To this kill.
He traipses through the carpet of corpses, follows his nose to the stench of royal demon blood.
He’s not dead. Not yet. You are compelled by the ancient pact to be the one to overthrow him, bring to the throne a new monarch who isn’t tainted by love for a human. You…and your half-breed bitch.
And the wolf knows, as if he’s had the image in his head for all time.
It’s not his fate to kill the demon king.
That purpose belongs to someone else. It was only his destiny to pave the way.
The demon king lies, his leg injured, in a pile of ash at the far end of the lair. His throne made of iron sits empty.
Ready for a new demon to replace him. Who? The wolf doesn’t know. Doesn’t care.
He knows only what he must do.
19
“Have you lost your mind?” Dominic enters Rogan’s closet and knocks on the back wall. “There’s nothing in here, princess. What the fuck? Can’t you see?”
“For God’s sake.” I walk in after him, brushing by Rogan’s garments—suits, robes, jeans, a few tuxedos—and inhaling.
My fangs snap down with the sharp pain I’ve learned to ignore. Rogan—lusty, wolfy Rogan. His scent is all over this closet, all over his clothes. I noticed it as soon as we walked into his penthouse, but here it’s so thick I can almost see it. The scent of his body.
The scent of his blood—that intoxicating mélange of dark chocolate and lusty red wine. Of blackberries and smoky leather.
And then in my ears…
I hear it…
The whooshing of his blood through his veins.
I grab Dominic’s arm and yank him back, pulling him out of the closet.
And I inhale. I slide my nose over his neck, listen to his heartbeat, his blood surging through his body.
That must be what I sense. Only Dominic.
But I know better.
Dominic smells good—his blood tastes good—but that’s not what hit me inside the closet.
The scent of Rogan would be in his closet, of course. It’s on his clothes, his shoes, his accessories. Even the scent of his blood.
But the sound of his blood? That glorious and symphonic red river of life?
No.
That shouldn’t be in the closet. Not unless…
I growl, baring my fangs at Dominic. “I need more sustenance. I’m about to—” I sink my teeth into the flesh of his neck once more, drinking the elixir that feeds my unborn child. Rogan’s child. His alpha’s child.
This time Dominic doesn’t struggle against me. He lets me take what I need, and though I’m tempted to drain him, I stop when I know I’ve taken enough.
I move away from him, his blood dripping down my chin. I wipe it away with my hand.