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)
“You’re growling,” she says.
“I’m not—” I am. Low. Feral. The sound of something territorial and furious.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I remember the lecture. The one about mating bonds. Multiple stages. Some being recognition. Claiming. Completion. The professor’s voice droning on about how mates become obsessive, possessive, even violent when their bond is threatened.
This can’t be real.
But the rage burning through my chest says otherwise.
I turn away from the window. Force my hands to unclench. “I need a drink.”
Emmie’s brow lifts. “It’s not even dark yet.”
“Don’t care.” I scan the room, spotting a cluster of bottles near his bed. I cross the room and grab the most expensive looking one. Purple liquid sloshes inside.
“That’s Fae Juice,” Emmie says. “From the Shadow Hutt at the markets. It’s—”
“Strong?”
“Very.”
“Expensive?” My brow curves.
She mirrors it. “Very.”
“Perfect.” I flash the bottle at her, forcing a grin that feels manic. “Drink with me.”
“I’m working—”
“You’re done with my hair. I can let it all out closer to the time. Now you’re off duty.” I uncork the bottle and take a swig. It burns like swallowing fire and tastes like blackberries soaked in violence. “Come on. When’s the last time you had fun?”
Emmie’s gaze flickers between me and the bottle. Something shifts in her expression. A crack in the professional mask. It’s exactly what I need. Why couldn’t she have been my bunk buddy instead of all the others?
“Fuck it,” she says, reaching for the bottle.
I grin. Real this time. “There she is.”
We pass the Fae Juice back and forth. It hits fast and hard, warmth spreading through my limbs, dulling the sharp edges of jealousy still scraping at my insides.
“So,” Emmie says after her third sip, “you really think you’re not his mate?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to deny, but instead I take another drink. “Mates are supposed to…I don’t know. Complete each other. We just piss each other off.”
“That’s not mutually exclusive.” She leans against the dresser, studying me. “My parents were mates. They fought constantly. Screamed. Threw things. But they also couldn’t exist without each other. That’s the bond. It’s not about peace. It’s about necessity.”
I swallow. These are truths I don’t want. I want someone to lie to me or tell me that they agree. Roomie would have lied to me. Emmie, I get the feeling, won’t.
Emmie smiles, sad and knowing. “You’ll figure it out. Or you won’t. Either way” —she gestures at the window where Legend and Arabella are still talking—“that feeling? The one making you want to rip her throat out? That’s not going away.”
“Great.” Another sip, and then I pass it to Emmie before I accidentally drown the whole fucking thing and use it as a weapon to slit Arabella’s throat.
“Look at it this way.” She sips and winces. “At least you’re not boring.”
I laugh. That’s not what I expected her to say, but I’ll take it. “Is that what we’re calling this? Not boring?”
“Better than the alternative.” She pushes off the dresser, steadier than she should be after that much Fae Juice. “Come on. Let me show you the dress.”
I freeze. “The what?”
“The dress.” She stares at me like I’ve grown four heads. I turn to the mirror to check. Nope. Still one. Emmie blinks. “For tonight.” She crosses to the wardrobe, pulling out a garment bag. “I picked it out myself. Legend just said to get you something that’ll make you fit in.”
“I’m terrified,” I say, and again with the truth because he sent a damn Argent to buy my dress?
“I thought you might be.” She unzips the bag slowly. Dramatically. “That’s why I picked this.”
She pulls it out.
My mouth drops.
The dress is black. Full-length. Lace so intricate it looks like spiderwebs woven by magic. It’s tight. Obscene. See-through everywhere except the places that matter—a strategic strip of solid fabric over the titties and another over the kitty. Everything else? Bare skin visible through delicate, deadly patterns.
It’s a bomb disguised as clothing.
I love it.
“Damn,” I breathe, my face stinging from the smile.
Emmie grins, wicked and bright. “I can’t wait to hear Legend’s reaction.”
I nod, excitement rushing through my veins. “He’s going to lose his mind.”
“That’s the idea.” She hangs it carefully on the door. “Honestly, it’s something I’d wear if I wasn’t—”
Warmth spreads through my chest. Not just from the Fae Juice. From something else. Something that feels uncomfortably close to friendship.
“Come with me,” I say. “To the ball.”
Emmie’s smile fades. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a maiden. We serve. We don’t attend.” She takes the bottle back.” That’s the deal.”
“Fuck the deal.” I step closer. “You just spent an hour making me look like I could murder a room full of royals. Come watch me do it.”
“Haide—”
“I’m joking, I won’t kill them.” I hold her eyes. “Please come.”
The word feels foreign. Wrong. I don’t beg. But something about Emmie, the way she laughs and the way she doesn’t flinch, makes me want her there. Makes me want someone in that crowd who isn’t judging. Who isn’t waiting for me to fail.