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)
Yeah, because that explains the shitstorm in your head, Haide. Focus.
Thick black tar ribbons down the wall behind Legend. It moves, slow and deliberate, like it’s alive. Like something beneath the stone is flushing it outward.
Desperation claws at my insides, its source unknown. Those ribbons run fast; they tie and tangle. The lines crawl across the rock, twisting, linking, until they settle into a shape. No, not a shape, but words.
No, not words…a message.
I’m getting impatient, Hellpet.
A shiver runs down my spine.
I step closer and reach out.
A hand clamps around my wrist, taking me to the side until I’m face-to-face with Creed.
“What the fuck did you just do?” he seethes, grip tightening.
“What?”
His hand jerks to the wall, his gaze even more accusing. “That! How the fuck are you doing that?!”
My brows jump and I look back at the words, only they’re gone. Nothing but the black veins slithering angrily along the stone.
Creed yanks me harder and their speed increases.
“I don’t think it likes when you touch me.”
“What—” He grips me with both hands now, his hold punishing but just as quickly, it goes lax. A sharp line forms between his brows. His head yanks toward his brothers, and his face morphs into horror.
Sinner grips his head. Knight struggles to hold on to London.
“Oh no,” I mutter, running to Legend, who looks even worse than he already did.
“Creed,” I breathe, leaning to Legend’s side. “The flowers. You removed them, right? Locked them away somewhere, at least? You know, with the bodies?”
“What do you mean?” Knight demands, even his voice sounds distant, fading at the edges.
“I mean…” I take a step toward them. “They were removed, right?”
“Haide.” London’s voice cracks. “What was the first symptom again?”
I don’t have to say it. They’re figuring it out now.
Her eyes widen. “But no one touched anything.”
I wince. “Yeeah… Did I forget to mention you don’t have to touch them for them to infect you? That’s why they’re called the Isle’s Kiss. They infect the very air, just like the scent of salt water.”
“No,” Creed denies, but he’s already struggling to stay on his feet. “Our men were here. They came and took the bodies. Mental memories were created and stored for extraction. They all walked out just fine.”
“Because they were full.” They just keep staring. “Oh my gods. Listen Royals, they are soul eaters. They eat souls. They had already eaten when they came to get the bodies, but now—”
“They’re hungry,” Creed mutters, head snapping toward the exit. “We have to move.”
All at once, everyone runs, but they make it only a few feet before they start to crumble.
“Fuck. A portal,” Sinner panics.
“But you said the dragons—”
“Shut the fuck up.” He throws his hands out but nothing happens, his eyes blowing wide. “Knight!”
Knight lurches forward with a sound torn straight from his diaphragm. With one hand braced against the wall, he uses the other to try to carve a portal. His magic fizzles uselessly at his fingertips, sparks scattering and dying before they even form.
London staggers next, her breath catching mid-step. Her pupils flare black, drowning in ink, then flicker back to normal in a frantic pulse that screams loss of control. She reaches for Sinner but her fingers barely graze him before her knees give out.
Sinner tries to pull her upright, only to choke on air so heavy it seems to clot in his throat. His hand clamps around her arm but there’s no strength behind it—not enough to hold her, barely enough to hold himself.
Creed lasts seconds longer, shoving past them all in a last attempt at the exit. He manages two steps before his shoulders lock, his spine seizing, and he slams a palm against the cavern wall to keep from collapsing entirely. His head whips toward his brothers in clear panic.
“Move!” he rasps. “Everyone move.”
But no one is moving.
Not anymore.
The poison is in them.
Every breath dragging it deeper.
That’s when Legend drops.
He goes down like the world just cut the strings holding him up—legs folding, palms striking stone, breath tearing out of him in a harsh, fractured gasp. His hand flies to his throat, fingers pressing deep enough to whiten the knuckles as he fights just to draw in another lungful.
His body lurches, shoulders trembling violently. His head tilts toward me in a desperate, blurry attempt at focus, but his eyes are glassy. Unanchored.
Something detonates in my chest.
It’s dark.
Possessive. A single, primal command claws up my spine:
Get to him.
Now.
Yours.
The cavern seems to narrow, collapsing inward until the only thing that exists is the distance between us and the sound of him trying, and failing, to breathe.
I push off the stone, stumbling closer to him. The poison thickens, slowing everything, weighing down my limbs like they’re filling with wet sand. But the instinct dragging me toward him is stronger. It tears through the resistance, ripping me forward until I crash down beside him, catching his weight before his head hits the ground.