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)
Then something brushes the inside of my ear.
It’s a soft rush, like water being pulled overhead, followed by a low, rolling hush. It fills my skull in a slow, sweeping tide—and then it clears. Like the waves withdraw, taking with them everything the land had held, leaving nothing but smooth sand in its wake.
Only, as it clears, a voice appears in its place.
“Come to me, baby. We’re still in the archives room and I’m going fucking insane.”
I pause, meat halfway to my mouth.
Knight. His voice cuts straight through my head.
I blink and exhale, nostrils flaring just as he speaks again.
“We’ve been here for a full moon and still not even a mention of a possessed flower that can kill our kind. The closest we’ve found is something called the Silkvien. But it says they attack the senses, which doesn’t feel right.”
“Yeah, there was too much blood for that,” London whispers, but she may as well be screaming with how loudly I can hear her inside my head.
“Exactly, and they’re solid white, not red with black thorns.”
I perk up. Hold up. Possessed flower? Red with black thorns?
My smile is instant.
“Great, so what now?” London mumbles.
“Creed sent for the mage before we found this so she should arrive soon. If this poison has a source, she should know which scripture we’ll find answers in.”
I scoff, muttering under my breath, “Well, that’s a waste of time.”
The air around London shifts, her shoulders stiffen. Her whispered conversation falters as she spins to face me, eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Slowly, she comes toward me again. “Knight?” she calls, but only to get him to answer.
“Mate?”
I roll my eyes and hers narrow further.
“You can hear him.” It’s not a question.
I lift a shoulder, stuffing a small potato into my mouth. “He speaks loudly.”
“No. He doesn’t.”
“What the hell is going on, mate? Is that Haide? Where are you?”
“Quiet,” she tells him, gaze pinned on me. “Haide, what do you mean ‘it’s a waste of time?’”
I wipe grease from my fingers, still focused on my plate. “I mean your books won’t help.”
“Explain.”
I huff out a breath that would be a laugh if I weren’t so tired. “I literally just did. You won’t find answers in your little Rathe books.”
The frown forming between London’s brows is sharp enough to cut. “How do you know this?”
“Because I discovered them.”
Her face falls.
“Discovered them…where?” Knight asks after a beat of silence.
I don’t know why he asks. His tone says it all.
He already knows.
I meet London’s stare without a grin. “On Exile.”
Silence buckles among all of us—thick, heavy, a held breath before a blade drops.
Then another voice snaps through, colder and far more final:
“Bring her here. Now.”
Creed.
London straightens, her expression shifting into something clipped and formal—the Queen of Rathe again, not the girl who ate lunch with me a few minutes ago.
I drag my hand through my hair and stand, brushing crumbs from my blood-soaked jacket. “Great,” I mutter, stepping past her. “Bossy older brother. My favorite.”
London doesn’t smile this time. “Haide,” she says slowly, “they’re going to want every detail and they will make you give it to them.”
“Oh, I’m happy to.” I lick one last trace of grease from my thumb, smirking as I push ahead. “So long as I get something in return…”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Haide
“Absolutely fucking not!” Creed screams like a loud voice means a damn thing to me.
There’s a woman on Exile Island who literally lets out bloodcurdling screams every 4 and a half seconds. Every day. All fucking day, as if cursed to never stop. So Creed yelling? Yeah.
Not impressive.
I shrug. “Then I’m not telling you shit.”
The reaction is immediate. He steps into my space so fast the air gets shoved aside, his palm braced on the stone beside my head as he cages me in. His lips peel back in that regal snarl he favors, eyes whitening at the edges as his gifts rise, sharp and bright.
“You will do as you’re told, little girl,” he grinds out, voice so low it almost vibrates against my skin, “or I will make you.”
I let my gaze drag lazily over his expression, over the rigid line of his jaw, over the fury coiled behind his teeth.
“You can try,” I murmur, my voice rolling slow and warm, because I know it irritates him more than shouting ever could. “But before you start fantasizing about your big intimidating moment, maybe remember who you’re talking to. I’ve lived through torture since the day I was born, oh mighty king man. There isn’t a single thing you could dream up that hasn’t already been done to me twice over.”
His nostrils flare. Knight shifts a step behind him, tension rolling off him like storm air before lightning hits. London looks caught between yanking us apart and stepping back so she doesn’t get hit by shrapnel if we start breaking things.