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)
People move about, but I pay them no mind.
My eyes are glued to my mate’s, riveted on the utter fucking shock that covers his face.
Ben would love to see this.
My heart aches at the thought, but I hold my smile strong, because if I can’t have my best friend, he can’t have his kingdom. I’ll take it from beneath him if I have to.
As if reading my mind, Knight’s jaw ticks with fury, so I cock my head with a grin flicking my tongue along my palm to clean the cut.
“One down… three to go.”
With that, I spin on my heels and move for the dance floor.
If the numbness is going to kick back in, I might as well let my muscles burn a little.
I haven’t even fully turned back around, the smirk still smug on my mouth, when a hand comes to the back of my neck, paralyzing me. My knees turn to jelly as he squeezes roughly, forcing my head back in attempt to stop him.
Lips come to the shell of my ear. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Little London…”
I force myself out of his grip, but I’m not delusional. I know that if he didn’t want to release me, I wouldn’t have been able to step away from his embrace.
Turning, I bring my eyes up to his slowly, intertwining my fingers with his bloody ones. I bring them to my lips, sucking his index finger into my mouth while fluttering my lashes up at him.
“Maybe not,” I tease, swiping the corner of my mouth with a flick of my thumb while lowering his hand. “But blood does.”
Before he can do anything else crazy, like finally kill me this time, I dance my way through the sea of people, swiping a glass of sparkling blue Faepagne from a waiter. Closing my eyes, I let my hips sway to the music, lifting the glass to my lips. The bubbles evaporate over my tongue, leaving the heady notes of silver behind the potent alcohol. The song shifts into a more mellow tune, but I don’t stop. I can feel the claws of chaos slowly itching their way across the surface of my skin, and at any moment—they could break.
“I knew you could dance….” Legend’s hand comes to mine as he forces me into his chest, both of his hands finding the waltz starting position. The glass slips from my hand but doesn’t crash over the floor, Legend taking care of it with a simple quirk of his perfectly shaped brow.
“How are you so pretty?” I ask, stepping back and following his footsteps. The lights dim even further, just as he dips me backwards. The ceiling moves like a milky way, with thick clouds protecting a burning sunrise. The entire ballroom stinks of magic, but you don’t have to smell it to see it around you.
He pulls me up gently, placing his hand on my mid-back.
The corner of his lip twitches. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the Devil’s favorite.”
I ignore him, not wanting to engage in small talk. His eyes narrow and they fall to my mouth. “How many more chosen are we going to have to call in? Are you going to kill them all? I need to know so I know to shop in advance.”
My mouth slams closed, and I grind my teeth. I hate that I fed right into what they thought I was going to do and what he wanted me to do. No matter how good it felt.
“Hmmm?” Legend lowers himself to meet my eyes. “Knocking off the girls one at a time is hardly surprising. Did you not think we had backups?” Legend stands straight, looking over my shoulder for a brief second. “Honestly, this isn’t the first Yemon and almost every time, people get eighty-sixed.”
“I don’t like when you talk reason, Legend. Say something else.”
He grins down at me, bringing his mouth to my cheek. He’s so close I can feel his potent cologne burning the hairs up my nose. “When you’re done playing with the useless, come find my dick to fuc—”
The air is pulled out of me when the song switches to Rhianna’s “Skin” and a hand is squeezing my upper arm, forcing me around to collide with a chest. A larger one. One I recognize and right now, despise.
“If you think I’m sharing you, you’re wrong.”
I don’t bother to hide the bitter chuckle that erupts from my chest. “I’m not yours to share.”
His grip around my waist intensifies, and I swear I hear my ribs crack. “Wanna try that again?” His tone is barely above a whisper.
“No. I won’t. Because I’m not yours to share. You took away that right when you killed my best friend and openly admitted that I wasn’t yours.”
“You’re still mine, London, and beside the fact that I have to find a Queen—” he stops dancing and I feel the sharp sting of his fang across my shoulder. “You’re still my mate.”