Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
The laughter dies. The room goes deathly still.
“We’ve had others,” Knight continues. “And the brutality is growing.”
Chaos erupts. Voices rise, overlapping, frantic and accusing. Students jump to their feet, pointing fingers, shouting over one another. Professors try to restore order, but their voices drown in the tide of panic.
Creed leans forward, jaw tight. “Legend,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only those on the dais can hear. “Calm them down.”
Legend shifts beneath me, his grip on my waist tightening. I feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coil like he’s bracing for something.
But nothing happens.
Creed’s head snaps toward him. “What’s wrong?”
Legend’s jaw clenches, frustration bleeding through his carefully controlled mask. “It’s not working.”
Silence stretches between them.
“What do you mean, it’s not working?” Creed’s voice is low, dangerous.
Legend’s chest heaves against my back, his breathing ragged. “Chill.” He stops talking, and I’ve never heard him sound so unsure before. “Barely slept last night, must be that.”
Creed’s face twists into something ugly, lips curling back to show teeth.
My heart hammers. Everything inside me is screaming to bolt, to get the hell out, to throw punches. But I’m stuck here by Sinner’s little game, completely fucking helpless, trapped on Legend’s lap by an invisible string, like I’m some trophy he won.
Creed leans back in his chair, gaze never leaving mine. The weight of his stare is suffocating, like he’s dissecting me, peeling back layers to find something rotten underneath.
That’s one thing he’s right about. I am rotten.
But if they think they can pin this on me, they’re in for a fucking surprise.
The mob keeps screaming, a mess of scared and pissed-off yelling. Knight opens his mouth again, but nobody can hear a damn thing he’s saying over all the noise.
And all I can do is sit here, trapped in Legend’s arms, feeling his heartbeat thunder against my spine.
This is going to end badly.
…
The next morning, I wake to the weight of eyes on me.
My lids crack open, and sure enough, Legend’s swinging lazily on a chair too close to my bed, one boot propped on the edge of my mattress. Watching me. Like some kind of stalker with a death wish.
“You’re being creepy,” I grumble, voice thick with sleep.
The corner of his mouth tips, the expression one that makes my pulse kick despite the fog still clinging to my brain. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
I groan, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets—best part about being off the island, if you ask me—and yanking them up over my face. Maybe if I pretend hard enough, he’ll vanish. Or combust. Either works.
The sheets stop moving.
I blink into the fabric, confused, then I feel his weight. His fists press into the mattress on either side of me, caging me in. The heat of him bleeds through the thin barrier as he leans down, and suddenly the sheets are pulled away, his face hovering inches above mine.
His nose brushes over mine, and while it’s barely a touch, it’s enough to make my breath hitch.
“Get out of this bed,” he warns, voice low and rough, “before I end up in it.”
My lips twitch. “That won’t be so bad.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, playful and testing.
His eyes darken instantly. Heat floods them, molten and hungry, and I feel the answering pull low in my belly. My nipples tighten beneath my shirt, and from the way his gaze flicks down, he notices.
For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. Or do something far more dangerous.
Instead, he pushes off the bed, standing abruptly. “Your first task today requires you all worked up and tense.”
I blink at him, thrown by the sudden shift. “What?”
“Get up.”
“I don’t want to get up,” I grumble, rolling onto my side and pulling the pillow closer. “Five more minutes.”
His hand moves before I can process it.
A press. Right against my clit through the thin fabric of my sleep shorts.
Electricity ignites through me, sharp and immediate. My hips lift slightly, involuntarily, and a gasp catches in my throat.
“Later.” His voice is gravel and promise. “We can get back to this shit later. But right now, you need to be worked nice and tight.”
He releases me, and the loss of contact is almost painful.
I grab the nearest pillow and hurl it at his head. He catches it mid-air, laughing—actually laughing—as he backs toward the door.
“Five minutes,” he warns, still grinning like the smug bastard he is. “Downstairs. Don’t make me come back up here.”
He leaves and I stare at the ceiling, pulse racing, body still humming from that single, devastating touch. “Asshole,” I mutter to the empty room.
But I’m already swinging my legs out of bed.
Eight minutes later, I’m dressed. My body’s still buzzing, nerves alive and skin too sensitive, and I know that’s exactly what he wanted.
Worked up. Tense.
Bastard.
I hit the bottom of the foyer and freeze.