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)
Lavender with a pinch of spice.
My nostrils twitch, and I frown, the scent not what I’d have expected.
It’s too soft. Too…ordinary.
I suck air through my teeth when a sharp prick digs into my shin. My head snaps down as the crimson vine tethers itself around my leg. Wrapping it with my free hand, I tear it from its roots, tossing it to the side, and watching as it turns to ash, seeping down into the ground on contact, a new, fresh vine growing in its place.
As I look at my palm, the small puddle of blood begins to quake, tiny shards of glass biting from its edges, and I pull it even closer.
It’s not glass, I realize. It’s…frost. Ice.
Footsteps carry behind me, and I cut a quick glance over my shoulder, but no one is there. Slowly, I return my gaze to my palm, but all that’s left is ash.
Pursing my lips, I blow it from my skin, but unlike the vine, the small gray and black flecks rise, disappearing into the night like the shadow of a reaper.
Sighing, I climb to my feet, looking up at the rotating galaxies above with a glare.
I will go to Rathe U without a fight, do what my mother says, because she’s right.
There is not a damn thing in this realm or the next that could bring me to my knees.
Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.
Eleven
London
“Tell me again why we agreed to play a part in Justice’s little kink fantasy?” I grip the ends of the satin sash, flipping it over from one side to the next to inspect it for any sign of prior use. I’m not about to put a blindfold over my eyes that’s crisp from someone’s messy fuck-fest.
Thankfully, the blindfold looks brand spanking new, or at the very least, well washed.
“Do not put me, Justice, and kink in the same sentence. I swear, sometimes that dude is whispering shit in my ear, but acts like nothing happened when I turn and look at him, and don’t say we.” Ben glares at the black sash in his hand as if it personally offended him. “This shit is all you.”
I shrug nonchalantly, tossing the gift we found outside our dorm door with instructions back into the bag, and drop on the couch, the two shots I took while bitching Ben out for stealing back my favorite night shirt, that he’s lying and saying he didn’t take , already having loosened my muscles. “Fuck it then, let’s watch reruns of Forensic Files.”
I reach for the remote, but Ben is quick, snatching and raising it in the air, so I jump up, throwing myself onto his back when he tries to escape.
He laughs, flopping backward and knocking the air from my lungs when his big ass athletic body falls on top of mine. I wrap my legs around his frame, locking my ankles against his stomach and pulling him into a playful chokehold.
“That’s what I thought, Benjamin. You want to go to this party more than I do ’cause you think you’re getting laid by this mystery girl tonight.”
“There’s no thinking about it, babe. This girl is riding my jock hard. I’m definitely sliding in tonight.”
I pretend to gag in his ear and his laughter continues, but a knock at the door ends our fun.
Together we stand, staring down at the sashes, our frowns matching this time around.
“ We really about to put these on and let him lead us out of the dorms for all to see us like that?”
Sighing, we pick up the fucking sashes and tie them on our heads.
We sure as fuck are.
It takes us a minute to get the stupid blindfolds in place, but oddly once the small knots are in the right position, the smooth material seems to somehow form to our faces, growing snug in all the loose places and less uncomfortable than they were at first . My muscles relax as my shoulders ease, erasing any of the reservations I had about trapezing through a dorm full of college students with a different male’s hand threaded into each of mine.
I can’t help but notice how neither feels quite right against my palm. Our fingers never line up, the difference in our skin making each other grow clammy and leaving me desperate to wipe them along my dress.
Luckily, we are in the elevator quickly, stepping out onto the bottom floor just as fast. The moment fresh air washes over my face, I smile, knowing we’re one step closer to the good part of the night—getting fucked up and potentially finding someone to fuck me up in all the best ways.
The devil knows I need a good dick-down right about now. Anything to replace the memory of Mr. Hot and Cold Fuck Boy’s lips on mine. Shit. Anything to erase the memory of his skin touching mine. I swear, when I lay down last night and draped myself in the darkness of my space, I could feel his hands on me once again. The second I closed my eyes and felt myself drift off into a dream state, all I pictured was his mouth on mine.