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)
Fuck. I step back, covering my face from the assault and coughing until tears sting my eyes. It takes a moment before the haze clears and I can blink the blurriness from my vision.
Just to find Legend right there.
The surprise at his appearance is immediately followed by the desire to reach for him, drag him closer and…I don’t know. Lick him. Maybe.
I must really want to strangle him or something; and my subconscious knows it before I do. What was that saying the Huntress of Harrowgate used to recite before allowing fallen souls to ascend? If he made you wet, you won’t forget. The follow-on was cryptic, the book too water damaged to read further. I’m pretty sure it translated to something like: “Don’t take chances. Kill him just in case.”
And honestly, I love that.
Don’t love that his pretty smile might have just earned me a permanent spot in the Do Not Ascend pile of the damned, though. That won’t win me any brownie points with my ancestors. You know, assuming I have any.
Probably shouldn’t kill him, though. Him being one of the four crowned kings of Rathe. That would likely end in my execution, because they wouldn’t just exile me like they do with the rest of their unwanted trash. It would be a gift rather than a punishment to return me to Exile Island.
Unless Rathe’s newest royal edition could save me. London does owe me one.
Hmm…no, yeah, I think if I killed him I’d still be shaved of my skin and gutter, then put in a trophy case left to float in the center of Rathe as an example.
That’s what I would do if I were them.
“What is going on in that fucked-up head of yours?”
Blinking, I refocus on the man in front of me. “What?”
Legend shakes his head with a scoff, pulling his fire breath stick to his mouth again. The end burns a deep red as he fills his lungs, his wide chest expanding, and with every second that ticks by, his gaze hardens. “How are you so chill about this? You should be losing your mind. Begging by now.”
His blue-black hair falls over his forehead, making his fair skin look even whiter, just as silver as his glassy blue eyes.
I nod slowly. “Yeah…not following.”
“That’s the fucking point!” He gnashes his teeth at me like a rabid dog. “You’re a goddamn stray with no true training. I’ve been beaten and had my mind fried from the inside out repeatedly to manage to gain the slightest control over myself and my gifts—and I’m fucking vibrating right now being this close to you. I want to shred your artery with my claws and hold you until you’re bled dry—just so I’m the first thing you see when you come back to me.”
I suck my lips between my teeth, nodding. “That’s…weird. But I’m not on the island, so if you bleed me dry, I’m not coming back to life out here.”
His frown deepens, his gaze snapping across my features. “What?”
“If you kill me, I’m dragon meat, as in dead. No magical island to refuse to let me die.”
A shadow falls over his face, and his features harden even more. “It’s part of the ritual.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t know anything about a ritual, pal.”
“Do not call me pal.”
“Buddy.”
“Stop.”
“Pampered prince?”
He growls. I barely have the time to register his movement before he’s shoving closer. A strange little thrill slithers up my spine at the sound. At the nearness.
My lips curve and he gets louder. Angrier. And I can’t help it.
I laugh.
I laugh so hard tears fill my eyes and I cover my mouth with my hand, watching and wondering if he might actually—I don’t know—explode into a big puff of demonic smoke or some shit.
Eventually, he’s had enough of me. Long fingers wrap around my throat, and my back hits the wall.
His breath is hot against my skin and there’s that smell again. Only it’s stronger, richer.
Intoxicating.
What is it coming from?
“I am no prince. I am a king. Your king. And you, you infuriating little brat, are my queen.”
I laugh, but then his words slam into me, and I freeze.
Wait, what?
My head tilts as much as it can with his fist locked around it, fracturing the strange tension and breaking my thoughts in half, but doing nothing to escape that scent. It stings slightly, the kind of smell you taste in the back of your throat. There’s a coolness to it, almost slick and oily, like steel wrapped in silk. It fucking burns. It’s triggering allergies.
Before I respond to his whole “my queen” lie—because I mean, be so for real—–he clicks his tongue, sauntering backward until he hits the bedroom door.
“What? No hocus pocus where you vanish through the wall?” I tease.
His hand grips the frame, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was using it to keep his legs from buckling. “Nah. I’ll save all that for my next tricks. See you soon, little hellpet. I sure hope you like chaos as much as you act like you do.” The door slams shut before I can curse him out over the ridiculous nickname.