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)
Wait, what?
My head yanks toward the man in question, but he only shakes his head, exhaustion written all over him.
“Legend?”
“Enough.” Knight’s fingers drum once against the table before he pushes to his feet, voice dropping into that cold, decisive authority that ends arguments. “We take her to the scene, let her look around. If her information is useful, she can help. If not—”
Legend growls, low and lethal. “Finish that sentence, and we’ll have another body to investigate.”
Legend’s growl hangs in the air like a threat, venomous and absolutely meant, and his family must know it. Not one says a word, just staring at him with varying expressions.
“We leave in five,” Legend informs, leaving no room for argument.
Sinner rolls his shoulders like he’s bored, but his eyes flick once to the blood on his fingers, then to me. I can practically hear the thoughts he doesn’t say out loud. Creed’s stare stays on Legend. It’s easy to see he is pealing past his damn skull and into his mind—or trying to at least, can’t say for sure.
London mutters something about getting supplies and disappears before anyone can drag her into the next argument.
Just like that, the room fractures into motion.
Everyone has somewhere to go, something to do, or a role to play. For a second, I’m standing there with my codex tucked under my arm and my pulse still thrumming from the knife that appeared without my permission. And the way Legend looked at me like I’m both a weapon and a treasure.
Then his hand finds my wrist. He doesn’t say a word as he pulls me through the corridor that leads away from the room. The second a new door shuts behind us, the silence swells, thick and private, and it does something strange to my ribs.
Legend stops, his hand going to his face.
He doesn’t turn me toward him right away, just stands there for a moment with his head angled slightly down. His shoulders rise and fall with a single deep breath.
When he finally looks at me, there’s still that familiar lazy dominance. That infuriating calm he wears like armor—but this time there’s a crack in it, thin as a razor’s edge, and it shows what sits underneath.
Concern.
Real, raw, vicious concern. Unease settles beneath my breastbone
“I don’t want to do this,” he says, voice quiet enough that I almost think he didn’t mean to say it, but then he continues. “Take you toward potential danger.”
I huff a laugh, head shaking. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
“I know.” His eyes drag over my face. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
The playful arrogance he lives in seems to have evaporated completely.
“What are you saying, then?” I ask, because I can feel the argument sharpening on my tongue, but there’s something else there, too. It’s a strange sensation, almost like an itch in my mind needing to be soothed.
I don’t like it. Mostly because where I come from, voices in your head are a very bad thing. I open my mouth to argue, but Legend’s thumb rises and presses gently to my lower lip.
It’s a command to shut the fuck up. Without the cruelty, sure, but a command nonetheless.
“Quiet,” he murmurs, and the word should make me bristle…but it doesn’t. It settles over me like a hand on the back of my neck, steadying. “You’re still getting your way. I’d give you anything you could ever want and more, and you know it. Even if you deny it, you know.”
My mouth parts on instinct—half to argue, half because his thumb is warm and my nerves are traitors—and his gaze drops to it like he feels every millimeter of surrender.
“But this is a risk,” he continues, “and I don’t know how to accept that when it comes to you.”
The words settle into my bones like a stone dropped into dark water.
A risk, as if I matter. As if I’m not just some Exile stray they dragged into their realm to interrogate and contain, but something he’s trying to… keep.
As if all he’s been saying this whole time is true.
That I’m his.
I swallow, my throat tight. My gaze drifts away for one stupid second because it’s easier to stare at the wall than the way he’s looking at me.
He doesn’t let me ignore him, though. Because this is Legend, and Legend can never be ignored.
His other hand slides to my jaw, tilting my face back without force but with certainty, like he knows I’ll comply even if I don’t understand why.
I hate that my breath catches. I hate the warmth spreading under my skin. I hate the way my body seems to recognize him before my mind can decide what to do with it.
“You’re spinning out,” he says, almost amused, almost gentle.
“I don’t do gentle,” I mutter.
“No,” he agrees softly. “You don’t.”
His thumb shifts, dragging along my lip again, and something in me pulses—hot, reckless, familiar in the way it shouldn’t be. Like a thing inside my chest perks up and leans toward him, hungry and pleased to be noticed.