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)
Warcraft games. I won. Mostly.
The other guy had to be portalled out, so I’m calling that even.
A smirk forms at my lips as I catch a familiar sight.
London LeCroix—or maybe it’s Deveraux now—leans against the stone wall, and the sight of her stops me for half a breath before I force my feet to keep moving.
White hair spills down her back, sleek as satin, eyes already flicking black as her Ethos comes to the surface, likely searching for a threat in me.
I saved her ass when I knew nothing about her, the reason she stands here at all, but I get it.
Bros before hos and all that.
She clocks the steady flow of blood running down my arm, her gaze dragging from my face to the mess dripping down my wrist, then back up again. The look she gives me is a sharp mix of frustration, annoyance…and something that feels too much like concern to sit right in my chest.
I hate that it reaches a small, stupid corner of me. I also hate that she’s the only person besides Legend who bothers to track me this closely.
“Well, well,” I drawl as she pushes off the wall with a lazy grace I will never have. “Look who it is. The newest queen of Rathe. How’s it feel to be the only queen in a pile of kings?”
She lifts a brow. “Missed you too, Haids.” Her eyes soften—barely—but it’s enough to sting my ego. “Got a bad habit of bleeding.”
Course she heard about the bullshit from the other day. “Yeah, well at least this time it was fair.”
“Come on.” She sighs. “Let’s go see Silver. Let him fix you up.”
“I’m fine.” I slide the jacket onto my arm, covering the blood like that solves anything. The warm liquid instantly seeps into the fabric.
London hums, unimpressed. “I’ll feed you after.”
That earns the smallest twitch at the corner of my mouth. “Lead the way then, your highness.”
She laughs once, half-annoyed and half-amused, and we fall into step together, trading light conversation that feels almost…normal. If anything in Rathe could be considered that.
Silver’s infirmary is half clinic and half battlefield. He’s already bent over someone when we step inside.
London presses closer first, looking over the male.
Her mouth falls open. “What the hell happened to him?”
The gifted glances toward us. Those yellow eyes linger on me; and he smirks like getting disemboweled is flirtation. “Exile girl.”
“Lycan boy.” I smirk right back, taking in the blood painted across his body like modern art. His clothes are a shredded pile sitting in a pool of blood by his feet. “You look like you got dragged backward through a war.”
“Felt like that too.” He chuckles. “I’m all fixed up now.”
“Shame,” I say sweetly. “I was hoping the eye that was hanging out when they carted you off like a baby would become your new jewelry piece. You know, the start of a new fashion trend.”
His laugh is deep and unbothered. “We can’t all have pretty little stable pieces on our bodies.” His gaze lifts pointedly to the jewels embedded in my temples.
I tap one with a finger. “Hey, I was born with mine. Or so I was told.”
“Well, just know, you have an open invitation after that performance. You can kick my ass anytime you want.”
“You say that like you crave the pain.”
“I’m a Lycan, little warrior. My skin was made to tear.” He rises from the table, moving toward us, and London hits him with a snap of magic—an invisible command that slams through the air like a leash.
“Down, Stygian,” she warns. “This one’s temporarily claimed by a royal. Wait your turn.”
Temporarily.
The word punches something low in my ribs, sharp and involuntary. I don’t like how it feels. I don’t like that I feel anything at all.
This place is poison to the heart and mind. I need to do better at remembering as much.
The Lycan lifts his hands and offers a small, respectful bow before silently stepping away. The evidence of his presence vanishes the moment he crosses over the illuminated markings that surround Silver’s work table. The floor returns to a polished marble, not a spec of red in sight.
Silver flicks a glance at me, then pats the table. “Hop up, Haide.”
I obey, mostly because I was promised food and partially because I like him. He’s steady in a way nobody else here is. Like he isn’t run by anger or resentment.
“You look a lot better than he did,” he says, nodding toward the Lycan sulking near the wall.
I smirk. “That’s the thing, doc. You all grew up with hovering bottles and little glass vials that do half the work for you. All I’ve ever had at the tips of my fingers are sharp nails and endless free time. Oh, and glitter bombs.” I flick my fingers around and little trickles of glitter rain down. “Absolutely worthless but fun to blow in people’s faces when they’re about to kill you for the tenth time.”