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)
I’ve fought it. Ignored it. Told myself it was nothing.
But you don’t get to lie to wildfire and expect it not to burn you alive.
And Legend? He’s not just fire.
He’s the goddamn match.
I close my eyes but he’s there. Memories of him embedded too deep in my brain for me to forget. The way his hands grip, the way his voice drops, the way his eyes go black when he’s two seconds from losing control. The way he looks at me. Like I’m the only thing in the room worth killing for.
I hate it.
And I hate that I don’t hate it.
Plain and simple, I crave Legend now. I’ve become obsessed with that maniacal man and I’m okay with that.
A knock at the door jolts me out of my thoughts. I straighten, my hand instinctively going to the dagger strapped to my thigh beneath the gown. Old habits. Not like they can’t see it through the mesh anyway. I wanted it that way. I may be the mate of a royal, with powers I didn’t know I had slowly surfacing from deep within, but I’ll never be caught without my dagger.
Emmie’s head sticks through and I instantly relax. “Emmie, you almost ended up with a six-inch blade between your pretty eyes. Come in.”
She flashes a wide smile, closing the door behind her. “Wow, now look at you!”
“I feel weird. Uptight. Fake.”
Her hands land on both my shoulders. “You don’t look any of those things.” She tilts her head, taking in every inch of her fine work. “Are you purposely running late to this ball?”
“I’m late?” I try to find the little bag that she had paired with the dress. Some fucking bag since it has no band or strap.
She flashes me the small black leather—”Here’s your clutch. Do you have everything else you need?”
I pop it open and find the phone. These things would save a lot of walking on Exile Island. “Yes.”
“Good.” She steps back, arms crossing. “Well, off you go then.”
I stare at her, my hand frozen on the clutch. “Portal there?”
“Why not?” She shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The ball’s in the war room. You’ve been there before so you should be able to picture where you intend to go.”
My stomach clenches. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever pulled it off when we were in danger—”
“You do.” Her voice goes softer as she steps close. “You just have to believe enough in yourself, Haide. You are a lot more powerful than you even know.” Her hands land on my shoulders, turning me to the mirror. She holds my eyes. “Try again.”
She’s right about my magic. It’s a constant demand that won’t stop pulling deep in my gut, only over time, it’s spread like a virus, and every day I feel it in a new place.
I close my eyes, reaching for that dark current that’s been building in my chest. It leaps to my call, hungry and immediate, as if it’s been prowling beneath my skin just waiting for me to unlock the cage.
“Just…focus on where you want to go,” Emmie says, her voice drifting in and out. “Picture it.”
The war room materializes behind my eyelids in a pair of massive doors. The bone table in the middle and the way shadows dance across ancient stone. I can almost smell the weight of old magic, the signature scent of a room as old as time.
My power surges, electric and wild, and my fingers tingle as reality begins to bend, space folding in ways that should be impossible.
I crack my eyes open and there it is.
A jagged wound in the world, throbbing with the same black fire that’s been eating me alive from the inside. Fitting. Of course my portal would look as damaged as me.
It’s alive, writhing and blowing heat waves into my face. Embers crackle off the dance of flames that curve, reaching for solid ground. It stinks of gasoline and ash, and all the hungry places of the Earth.
And fuck holy shit, the flowers.
Blackened petals, half-rotten, but still clinging to life. Roots twist through the dark vines like veins, pulsing with something that shouldn’t be there. Something that refuses to die.
Again, like me.
Emmie’s breath hitches beside me, sharp and startled. “Haide—”
I don’t answer. Can’t. My throat’s too tight, my pulse wild. Because this? This isn’t just magic.
This is mine.
The middle is an open wound, throbbing, weeping…whispering?
“Holy shit.” Emmie’s voice sounds far away.
My pulse kicks hard, slamming into my ribs. Me. I just ripped through space like it was nothing. My magic. My hands. My power.
“Go,” Emmie whispers. “Before it closes.”
I step through, the world lurching sideways as magic carries me across space. My heels click against stone as I stumble out the other side, the portal snapping shut behind me with a sound like crashing waves.