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)
Creed’s eyes fall to my codex and he frowns, muttering something under his breath before turning to Silver. “Check the perimeter. See if there’s any residual magic.”
Silver nods and disappears around the side of the house, his footsteps crunching through dead leaves.
Knight straightens, his attention shifting from me to the interior. “We need to figure out who they were and why the fuck someone is feeling so bold.”
“Whoever did this—” My words die as something catches my eye. A photo frame hanging on the wall, half-obscured by a spray of blood. The glass is cracked, but I can still make out the image beneath.
A boy. Maybe fourteen, with dark hair and eyes that look too old for his face.
He’s standing between the two corpses, the man’s hand on his shoulder, the woman’s smile strained.
I know that face.
“Wait.” I push past Legend, ignoring his growl of protest, and move closer to the frame. The blood makes my boots stick to the floor with each step, the sound wet and obscene. “I know him.”
“What?” Legend’s voice hits my back like a fist.
I tap the glass, leaving a smudge. “This kid. He’s on Exile Island.”
The silence that follows is absolute.
Then Creed’s there, shoving me aside to get a better look. His breath catches, and something shifts in his expression—something raw and dangerous. “What did you just say?”
“I said he’s on Exile.” I step back, giving them space as Knight and Legend crowd in too. “Just arrived a few weeks ago. I put an arrow through his eye.”
“So, they have a son on Exile Island…” Creed turns to me over his shoulder. “Another connection to you, I see…”
“The thing about seeing, Creed, is I can rip your eyes out so you don’t have that problem anymore.” I flash him a wide smile before shrugging. “It wasn’t me. So I don’t know what else to tell you.”
I turn on my heel, done with this shit, done with their accusations, and done with the way Legend’s stare burns holes into my back. I’m halfway to the tree line when a hand clamps around my arm, yanking me to a stop. The grip is iron, and I don’t need to look to know it’s him.
“Get the fuck off me,” I snarl, spinning around, expecting another round of blame to spew from his mouth. My fist is already moving, pure instinct, and it connects with his nose in a satisfying crunch. Blood sprays, hot and wet, splattering across his face as he stumbles back a step.
Legend doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even curse. He just laughs—a low, feral sound that vibrates through the air and hits me somewhere deep and dangerous. He throws his head back for a moment, something feral flashing in his eyes, before he lunges at me. My spine crashes against the tree bark, the hit knocking the air from my lungs, and suddenly he’s right there, his body boxing me in completely. Blood’s leaking from his nose, running down over his mouth, but he doesn’t give a shit about cleaning it up. No—instead, he drags his face across my cheek, painting me with his warm, iron-scented mess. I read about this last night. They called it scent marking.
My breathing catches, and goddamn it, I hate how my stupid body responds. My nipples tighten under my shirt, hard and aching, and heat pools low in my belly. I’m pissed, frustrated, and yeah, maybe it’s been too damn long since I’ve had a good, hard fuck—but the urge to grab him and drag him down so he can take out all this tension on me is strong.
I blame the dry spell.
I blame the way he presses into me, the way his blood feels like a fucked-up claim on my skin.
His tongue darts out, sliding along my jawline as he tastes his own blood. It’s dirty and raw and has my thighs clenching together. I can feel him getting hard, pushing against me, rocking into my clit with this slow, agonizing rhythm that makes me gasp for air. “Fuck, you feel that?” Legend rumbles, his voice scratchy and low right by my ear. “Tell me you don’t want this, my little monster.” My hands bunch up his shirt, caught between pushing him away and yanking him closer. My body throws away every bit of self-control I’ve got left.
I’m not some helpless girl he can fuck with.
I grab his hair, twisting my fingers in tight and pulling hard enough that he hisses. It hits me like a jolt of electricity, and I use my grip to shove him downward.
“On your knees, Royal,” I smirk, my voice light but edged.
I’m finished being the one backed against this tree, finished letting him think he’s running this show.
He resists for half a second, those feral eyes flashing with defiance. Then he drops, hitting the dirt with a thud that makes my pulse spike.