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)
“Using tongue is not the simplest of ways when most can simply think or snap what they wish and make it happen, but it is the quickest way to learn and requires little energy.” She releases me and steps back, frowning at my chest. “Not what I would have expected.” Her eyes find mine. “Until next time, my lady.”
The woman bows, and then her entire being shrinks until she stands no higher than my kneecap. She disappears through the tiny door in the corner and it’s not until I go to put my hands on my hips that I realize what happened.
Gone are the white satin pajamas every suburban mother in the human world likely owns, and in its place … a faded Daragan State Hockey T-shirt.
A choked sob escapes me, and I fall to my knees where I stand, clenching the T-shirt with my fists. Tears fall from my eyes, and I don’t bother trying to fight them.
I drop back on the ugly carpet and close my eyes, clutching the old cotton and wishing it was my best friend’s hand, not his old practice shirt that probably isn’t even real.
As I stare down at it a little longer, something in my chest stirs, a fogginess falls over my vision and energy zips through my fingers.
My vision clears, and suddenly it’s not Ben’s old T-shirt I’m wearing, but a large jersey instead, only this one isn’t Daragan State. It’s Rathe U and printed across the back as I peek over my shoulder is the last name Deveraux.
This is Knight’s jersey.
Guilt like never before falls over me, weighing me down until I can’t breathe. Until I’m certain, I’ll suffocate from it.
Why is my subconscious always consumed with thoughts of him? I tear the jersey off, but can’t bring myself to toss it, so I stuff it beneath the pillow and tug on the satin robe my maiden set at the foot of the bed.
I fucked him. I let him touch me with the same hands that murdered the most important person in my life. I’m a fucking disgrace. A complete mess.
Or a disaster really.
And I’m breaking.
“I miss you, Ben.”
So.
Fucking.
Much.
Thirteen
Knight
Her heart stopped beating. I killed her with my hands, and she was reborn as she was intended.
As mine.
Her skin a flawless shade of pale, her cheeks a natural pink. Her snowy hair somehow whiter, as if frostbitten by the deepest depths of winter, it shines beneath the dusts of nebula above, tempting me to take it with my fist. To wrap it tight and lift her where she lies. To crawl over her, and pry her pouty, pillowed lips apart and slip my cock between them.
I could.
It’d ruined her.
A fucking traitor to the Royal Court, that’s what I thought her to be, but I was wrong.
So fucking wrong.
This girl, she holds a part of me deep inside her. If I knew where she kept it hidden, I might just tear her open and take it back, but I’m no fool. I know that’s not how this works just as I know what happens next.
It’s already happening. I feel it, deep in the center of my chest where they say the bond is created. It's no longer a hollow ache searching for something it cannot find. It’s found her.
It wants her.
I want her.
I grit my teeth, denying the thoughts I can’t control.
The hollow heart that showed itself the moment she was within reach back on Earth, is full now, but there’s a hole that shouldn’t exist. It leaks like black tar, burning its way through my veins with each dying star above.
She must feel it too.
The strain on her gift, the chains wrapping themselves around it—punishment from the fates for denying the gift it gave me—not that she even knows what her gift feels like.
But I will win the war against my mind, even if the reasons are now different than they were an hour ago.
I will give up the little doll, whose perfection I'm teased with.
I can’t keep you, little London.
My fingers twitch to touch what’s mine the moment I think it, so I call on the winds above, gliding it along her cheek.
Her lips curve in her sleep and I have to look away.
Just hours ago, I had her wrapped around my cock. Now, it feels different. Like a goodbye.
I bring the lip of the bottle to my mouth, unable to take my eyes off her silk skin. Her leg is propped out of her sheets, in direct line of the heavy moonlight breaking through the starlight glass above. This isn’t what I wanted, but I know I’m backed into a corner with no fucking choice.
Placing the now empty bottle of Scotch on the table beside me, I stand to my full height. I can still smell her all around me, her stench clinging to me like it belongs there. Because it does. Everything about London belongs to me, even her anger and wrath. I’d wrap that shit in my arms and let her implode against my touch. Fuck, but I hated her.