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)
Legend’s eyes lift to mine knowingly. “We just lost our King, our fucking father, Knight. We can’t lose her too.”
“She’s no one.”
He nods slightly as he settles back on the sofa. “Maybe. But the beast shaking in your chest disagrees. She stays until he demands otherwise.”
Swinging around, I punch the fucking wall over and over until it’s a pile of rubble at my feet and my brothers say not a fucking word, because as much as we all hate it, it makes sense.
This isn’t about her. It’s about me.
I might not want her near, but there is a part of me, a part I can’t control, that does, and the last thing the people of Rathe need is an unhinged Royal on the tail of a dead one.
My mother will take to the skies tonight to make the announcement I’m not ready for.
To take the first step toward what comes next.
I don’t want it, but it doesn't matter.
The King of Darkness is dead...
It’s time for a new one.
Four
London
Slowly, my eyes peel open and this time, I'm not lying on that same bloody marble floor, but tucked in a pillowy bed and wrapped in silk.
My hands go to my eyes, and I rub them hard before looking around the room.
It's giant and dark with expensive golden shit all over, but I don’t care enough to look closer. It’s all the same at the end of the day. Royal this, money wasting that.
These motherfuckers wouldn't last a day in the human world without the golden, magical fucking spoon they’ve been dealt. They have no idea how to struggle or survive on their own.
So, they’re made to go to Rathe U for a few years after graduating their version of high school here in Rathe, so fucking what. It teaches them nothing.
Well, at least not the Stygians. The Argents maybe, but those of Dark magic?
All it does is feed their filth. They find humans they want to toy with and they fucking play. They play until they get bored, and then it’s on to the next.
I thought I was just a toy, and damn if I wasn’t a willing one at one point, but now here I am. Lying in a bed of fucking silk with dried blood all over me and the same clothes from four days ago.
Lifting my arms from beneath the blankets, I inspect the damage, only to find nothing but thin lines from where the cuts were. Hate and shame fill me, and I look away.
I’ve never been suicidal, and maybe I’m not now. Maybe I thought about how I’m a fucking immortal being and knew it would only hurt for a while, but at the end of it I would be fine.
Maybe I didn’t. I can’t say for sure.
Pushing up, I swing my feet over the side, waiting for the pain to rush in and knock me over, but it doesn‘t come. I’m fully healed and it fucking sucks because the only pain left is of the mental kind. The kind that hides its scars deep inside your mind where no one else can see them.
At the thought, my insides seem to shrivel, causing me to wince.
Oookay, so it is still physical, but that, I’ll have to get used to, because I refuse to allow the one person who can stop that particular part of the pain to do so. Not that he would.
He’d rather die, I’m sure.
I mean, that’s not a bad idea...
No. He’ll only kill me first and I don’t want him to get to live out that fantasy of his. He doesn’t deserve to get everything he wants, so if someone is doing the killing, it’s me.
Slowly rising, I move to the window, but as I push the black curtains back, a heavy level of grey smoke appears, swirling and sparking angrily and I jump back.
“What the fuck?” But as it continues to spark, something within me eases, a false sense of security settling over me. Still, I step forward again, and this time, I slide the window open.
At first, the smoke suffocates me. It sweeps in, whirling around me, squeezing my lungs until there's nothing left within them. Nothing but the savory taste of ... whatever the fuck this is.
But then it eases, pressing against my skin like the softest of pillows. My eyes close on their own accord, and my palms open, the smoke tethering itself to my hands as if to hold them, and for a moment, my lips twitch to smile.
Finally, something soft. Something … loving.
My eyes fly open at the naïve thought, and I throw the window closed, stumbling away from it.
The smoke grows enraged then, slapping at the glass so heavily I wait for it to crack. Rushing forward, I yank the curtains closed, and after a moment, the sound stops, but I don’t look to see if it’s gone. Clearly, I’m not supposed to see what's beyond these walls. Truthfully, it's probably nothing but the rings of fucking Saturn.