Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“Do you tell every girl who applies at your moms’ shop that you’ll fuck her?” The words leave acid on my tongue. I hate the way it tastes going down. Like fucking Giftless blood. Bitter, desperate, and fucking vanilla.
“I was…” he trails off, swallowing.
Yeah, sit on it before you fucking lie.
Before I can think twice, the words fly out of my mouth as fast as they enter my mind. “Fire her.”
His head tugs back. “I can’t.”
I step into his space, raising a brow. “Excuse me?”
Unease grows within him, his heart rate spiking. All it does is fuel mine. Like being left on a crescent moon, hungry for blood. For murder. For chaos. My gift thunders within me, pressing against my flesh in a tingling wave.
“She’s …” He pauses to think. Finally, a defeated sigh leaves him. “She won’t care if I tell her she’s fired. She’ll just keep coming back until we hire her all over again. She’s—” He chuckles lightly, and I don’t particularly like the way it fucking sounds. My hand comes to his throat and I watch the contrast of my skin against his. Justice is an Ordinary. He’s no one fucking special. His powers start at healing, and pretty much end at shielding. I mean, they aren’t completely useless, but if you have a Mage, their powers are replicable. And I do…have a Mage. She’s about five foot six and has legs that I’ve only ever really seen pressed behind her shoulders. “—persistent like that.”
Fury drags its fingers down the apex of my spine, turning it to steel on its way down. He knows her. Not just her name, but her. Fuck. I could just kill him. Fuck the law. Neither my brothers nor I wanted to be here in the first fucking place.
This—school—was for the civilians of magic. The ones who didn’t yield the power we have, or the bloodline. This school is for kids to be put into their respective power houses and to manipulate their gifts in hopes of being a quarter as powerful as us.
Fuck it. I could kill him and people wouldn’t bat an eye because I am Knight fucking Deveraux, and everyone knows exactly who the fuck I am, and if they don’t? They are about to.
But I fucking can’t.
Because I am Knight Deveraux, and there is someone worse than me. We call him Dad. And Mom. Actually, they’re both fucking terrifying.
But I knew this already, knew he was, at the very least, her ‘friend’.
Why the fuck else would I be standing here, seconds away from losing control and frying his Fae dust-infused brain?
My mind doesn’t seem to care. Apparently, knowing and hearing are two very different things ’cause I’m feeling fucking triggered.
I’m going to fuck with him. Hard. I’ll humiliate him, make him hate me the way I hate her. I’m going to enjoy every second of it. It will be all her fault.
She’s nothing. No one.
Nothing but a toy to be played with and we will play. The sooner it happens, the sooner this shit can end and I’ll have one less thing to worry about, going back to the moody motherfucker I’ve been since the term began, instead of this moody motherfucker with a hard cock. This past week has been fucking rough.
I’m yanked from my thoughts, realizing I’m still standing here glaring down at this Ordinary fuck when another low laugh leaves him. It’s as if he’s thinking of what he said, picturing her and what she’d do.
I push forward, my chest smashing to his and knocking him back two steps.
Justice stiffens, his hands rising.
“She’s coming to my party this weekend,” he says in a rush, cursing himself a second later.
My muscles stiffen and I want him to continue. I want him to continue because I want to see her again.
Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck is happening?
“If you…” he has to force himself to keep talking. “If you want to see her again, London will be at my party.”
London.
London.
Electricity sparks along my sides, up and over my chest before burying itself inside. It pulses there just beneath the skin like it’s waiting for a sharp shock to set it free.
Her name is fucking London.
The snack-size girl with hair like frost and eyes like verglas. They’re a freakish frozen shade of blue on the inside, with a thick ring of raven black on the out. Her head fit well under my chin, and if I would have pressed a little closer, her entire body would have been buried by mine. Not an inch left of her in sight.
I want her like that. At my mercy. Bare beneath me like a perfect little doll.
I must stand silent for too long as Sinner’s arm folds over my shoulder, and he gives me a subtle shake.
He grins at Justice. “So, Ordinary, tell us more about this party.”