Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“If you’re here for my dick, Zhara, then I suggest you go elsewhere because all I’ll give you tonight is a death wish.”
She chuckles, her head tipping back before settling back on me. I can’t be fucked with her trickery tonight, so I turn back to the young girl to see if she’s removed her hood yet, but the seat she was on is empty.
Swallowing the rest of my drink, I slide out of the booth, needing distance between me and this fucked up reality. First the King, then the fight with London. The stubborn fucking bitch. Any time she’s angry all I picture is my hand around her throat and my cock in her mouth. In that order.
“Wait!” The Mage’s hand stops me as she squeezes my arm. “Knight…”
I look down at her one last time, watching as the color in her eyes turns to an opaque white.
“There’s… fire. And snow. Cold… so cold… but… so hot?”
I force my arm out of her grip. “Once again you’ve proven neither of your lips are worth shit.”
Six
London
The King is dead. The King is dead, and no one told me. I had to find out by listening to the guards and their boss as they shifted some of them around at the last minute. There must be hundreds of them marching up and down these halls, their steps silent, no proof of their presence outside of the sight of them.
I’m not sure why it stings to know the boys didn’t tell me but why would they? I’m not one of theirs … not that I want to be.
But Knight must be—
No.
I clench my teeth. Fuck Knight.
The King probably deserved it, but even a girl raised on the outside can understand the seriousness of such an act. I’m not sure what a place like this does when something of this caliber hits them, but I know it can’t be good.
Sighing, I keep my feet moving when I just want to drop to the floor and sit there forever.
The guards tasked with walking me down a bunch of empty hallways come to a stop and the stone wall before us disappears, a door materializing in its place.
The four men dressed in all black with ski masks of some sort pulled over their faces, leaving only their eyes visible, straighten, their bodies completely in sync going unnaturally stiff as they step to the side. Backs pressed to the wall, they look ahead, seeing everything but staring at nothing.
It was what my human-trained brain would call morning when I woke to the shouts of the Deveraux brothers outside the room they locked me in— something they seem really fucking fond of for some reason.
I had time to change into the pair of jeans and hoodie I found sitting on the dresser, use the bathroom, and run a brush through my tangled hair before the door finally swung on its hinges, revealing Creed on the other side. He glared, saying not a word as he came toward me, but I caught the cautious steps he tried not to take as he approached. I didn’t show that I noticed, but on the inside I felt a hint of satisfaction before it quickly washed away.
He came toward me, spit some words I couldn’t understand and then we were here. Or I was here—back at the fucking Ministry building.
Only this time, I wasn’t thrown in a cage like a bad little Gifted.
I have no idea what’s on the other side of this door, but as my palms start to sweat and my pulse begins to climb, I have a small idea.
“If you’re waiting for someone to open the door for you, I would suggest you think again, Ordinary.”
Ordinary, right. I’m no longer “the Giftless girl”. I’m almost worse.
A bottom feeder in a shiver of sharks.
Ordinary because they’ve seen no proof of significant power and they have no bloodline to link me to. I’m just some lost Giftless girl who found her way home, after all.
I knew the minute the "Elder”, a councilman who introduced himself as Odin, leader of the Monsters, had addressed me as “London” when I woke in that cell the first day, that the Royal Family didn’t spill the tea. I have a sneaky suspicion as to why, but honestly? What the fuck do I know.
Clearly, not enough.
I glance at the woman beside me. She looks my age but must be four times that if she ‘speaks for the monster of Rathe’, as she claimed when she introduced herself. Whatever the fuck that means.
She's over six foot tall, so a full foot taller than me, with fiery red eyes and hair to match. It's long and sleek, as is her neck. Her jaw is a little too sharp and if she were in the human world, people would see long fingernails, but the sharp points extending from her fingertips are no nails. They’re claws.