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)
My eyes lower to his hand before I can stop myself, to the thumb still there, and that small patch of skin that made my thoughts scatter like frightened prey.
A stupid impulse rises, something that feels like curiosity wearing a crown, so I give in just enough to prove to myself I’m still in control.
I lean forward and press my lips to his thumb in a small kiss. It’s barely a touch and should feel like nothing, but it feels like everything.
Legend goes still, his throat working, and the satisfaction that flickers in his eyes makes my stomach dip.
I do it again, only slower this time, more deliberate. I let my mouth linger, my lips softening around the edge of him as if I’m tasting the boundary of what I’m allowed to want. Before I can think too hard, I suck his thumb into my mouth, tongue swirling and bursting at the taste of this man.
I give him a good nip.
A warning bite.
A promise?
Legend’s breath punches out of him in a low, rough sound. His head dips as if he’s fighting the urge to drag me closer and devour me the way I know he wants to.
“Haide,” he rasps, and it isn’t a reprimand. It’s a plea with teeth.
There’s a dangerous kind of delight flickering in me because, for once, I’m the one holding the reins.
“For someone so concerned about danger,” I murmur, voice soft and wicked, “you make it really hard to listen.”
His eyes flare white at the edges, like his power is answering mine without permission. His thumb slips free from my lips as his hand slides down to my throat, not squeezing or threatening, but holding. Claiming and possessive in a way that makes my skin hum.
“Later,” he says, and there’s a hard edge to it now, a restraint that looks painful. “When we return, I’ll give you whatever you want.”
I should scoff.
I should tell him I don’t want anything.
Instead, the words drag themselves out of me, breathy and honest before I can stab them. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
He locks on my mouth like he’s memorizing it before he sighs and steps back. “Come on. Let’s wait for them in the courtyard. They should be ready soon.”
With that we head out, a nervous excitement swimming through my veins.
Because if what they’ve described really is Isles royals’ Kiss, these royals have a lot bigger problems than little old me on their hands.
I just have to figure out what it is and what it means.
The only thing coming to mind?
Not fucking good.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Legend
She’s under the oak like a weapon someone dropped and forgot about. My brothers are taking a lot longer than the five fucking minute countdown I gave them.
I think it’s messing with her mind.
I stop at the field’s edge, watching her rip grass from the earth in violent little fistfuls. Each blade she destroys makes my chest tighten—not because I give a fuck about the landscaping, but because she’s this close to detonating and I’m not the target.
That bothers me more than it should.
Her head snaps up, those green eyes finding me through thirty yards of space like she can smell my thoughts. The hostility in her face shifts to something worse—resignation. Like she’s too exhausted to fight me right now.
Good. I’m too exhausted to fight her either.
I cross the field and drop beside her without invitation, my shoulder brushing hers as I stretch out on the grass. She doesn’t move away. Doesn’t move closer either, but the fact that she’s not currently trying to stab me counts as progress. Maybe, for once, our little conversation from a few minutes ago will actually hold after the moment ended.
“Don’t let Creed get to you.” The words come out before I can stop them.
“Why? Because you’re the only one allowed to fuck with my head?”
“Because he doesn’t understand you.”
“And you do?”
“No.” I turn my head to look at her profile—sharp jaw, sharper tongue, sharpest edges I’ve ever wanted to cut myself on. “But I’m trying to.”
Something in her face cracks. Not much, just a hairline fracture in all that armor, but then—fuck me—she smiles. Not her usual smile that promises violence and tastes like blood. This one’s soft. Real. Small enough that if I blinked I’d miss it.
It destroys me.
The smile vanishes as fast as it came, but the damage is done. My ribs feel too small for what’s expanding in my chest—this vicious, consuming need to stand between her and anything that might dim that expression. To hunt down whatever made her learn to hide softness like a fucking shame.
She’s a pain in the ass in the best and worst ways, giving me a little and taking it back. Only to give a little more the next time. She’s creaking, and each time she does, that gap fills with a little more of me.