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)
Hold. Touch.
Her tears shine because of me and my rage collapses under it, leaving me choking on the need to put her back together. To drop to my knees and press my hands over the crack I made and swear I’ll never fucking do it again.
Every muscle in me pulls toward her, violent and helpless.
I search her for any injury but I find none visible to the eye, and a small part of me eases.
This girl… She’s gorgeous. The definition of perfection and purity. She looks like something that belongs in a display case, porcelain and untouchable, like a doll.
My little doll…
“No,” I grit, throat raw, tearing the thought apart. “What the fuck is happening? What are you doing?”
Dark hair. Defiant eyes.
Wild and crazy and mine.
My mate.
“It’s not working,” Knight growls.
“It will,” Creed fires back.
“He’s losing it,” Sinner adds.
“He won’t!” Creed barks, his tone then lowering with the command, “Do it. Now!”
No!
I fight against them. Every ounce of energy I have surges, but then something as soft as silk drags across my skin, and the fight drains out of me before I can even claw it back. The sensation carves straight through, splitting me open and stitching me into something else.
My whole body seizes, shudders, spine snapping tight like a bow pulled too far.
It isn’t just the touch.
It’s the recognition. It’s a brand carved, a tether locking into place with the kind of certainty I’ve never known. The air itself strokes me softly, but beneath it is steel chains, and vows older than time.
My eyes jerk up and slam into hers. The girl.
Her green eyes pierce mine, a calm of emerald, stabbing into me until breathing feels like a crime.
Her other hand joins the first, pressing into the opposite cheek. My power answers instantly, violent and uncontrollable.
Heat explodes from my chest in waves that shake the floor, and my vision sears white.
“Is it working?” someone asks.
“Is it killing him?” Another.
“Quiet,” a third voice whispers. “Look at his wounds. They’re sealing.”
“He’s getting stronger.”
“He feels the truth now. There is no denying.”
Don’t know who says what and I do not care. I want them out.
To leave me here alone with her.
Because this girl, this perfect little doll on her knees before me, she is all that matters now. When she smiles, my body vibrates in response.
“Hello, my King.” Her voice is silk stretched thin over steel, sliding straight into my bones, and I’d give up my crown to keep it there.
“Hello…mate.”
Chapter Thirty
Haide
Black lace clings to every curve and I spin in front of the mirror, watching the sequin patterns glisten with different angles of light. Emmie did good. So fucking good.
My thumb brushes over one of the patterns. What even are these?
I tilt my head, studying the lines. That better not be a fucking flower…no. Funny. It almost looks like the angles of live plants that breathe oxygen into the ocean.
My examination continues up my torso, where the top cuts deep, my breasts nearly spilling out, and finally ending on dark black lips. At first, I was hesitant. Who rocks up to a royal ball with black lips? But then I remembered who the fuck I was.
Me. Haide. I’d rock up to a royal ball with black fucking lips.
My hair tumbles down my back, as black as the dress, but for the first time ever, this particular chaos is tamed. It no longer rages down my spine in a violent waterfall, but rather glides in sharp, heavy waves.
I look like a Queen.
I look like death.
I look like his.
The thought slams into me, unwelcome, and I bare my teeth at my reflection. Fuck. When did I start thinking like that? When did I start wanting to?
I drag a finger along the edge of the mirror, smudging the silvered glass. The Haide staring back at me isn’t the same one he stole many weeks ago. That Haide would’ve laughed in my face if I told her she’d ever entertain the idea of a mate—let alone a fucking Royal. That Haide would’ve gutted me for even suggesting it.
But that Haide didn’t know him. Not like this.
I spin around, holding my breath with a pressed palm over my belly. Fuck. What have I gotten myself into? This world is so different than the one I came from. It’s twisted, and fake, and somewhat manic at times.
My fingers bite into my stomach.
“Pull some shit again, and I’ll show you exactly what it means to be mine.”
I should’ve stabbed him all the times he laid claim to me—as if I was some pawn in a game I didn’t care to participate in.
I wanted to.
But I didn’t.
My hands slam onto the vanity, fingers digging into the wood like I can carve my way out of this mess. That damn bond thrums under my skin—always there, always pulling—like some sick joke of a leash tying me to him.