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)
My eyes crash with a pair of blue ones and I follow his every step as he circles me like prey, one foot in front of the other, hands buried deep in his pockets.
“Creed.”
“Why are you here?” he wonders.
My head tugs back. “I live here. Why are you here?”
“I’m looking for my brother. He didn’t come home.” He eyes me suspiciously, closing the distance.
So they are brothers!
Wait. “You think he was with me?”
“I said I was looking for my brother, did I not?”
My brows jump. “Oh, you want to be a dick. Cool. You can fuck off.”
“And you can watch your back.”
“And you can back the fuck up before you get a face full of, what I’m sure, is a lukewarm coffee now.”
His lip curls into a slow smirk and I scowl, slowly bringing my mug to my lips. Ass. Creed is hot in the same way the others are, but I don’t know. Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. I need to figure it out.
He watches me take a few small sips, as I lower the mug to the tabletop. His deep blue eyes lift to mine as he takes another step toward me. I don’t dare look away. This guy, he’s like a mountain lion, tracking my every move with a territorial gleam in his glare.
“What is it about you that has him so twisted, hmm?” Slowly, he dips his head, a heated gaze rolling over me. “I can see the appeal, sure. Tight little curves, perfect fat tits, and those lips…” His eyes snap up to mine and then there he is. Right up on me.
My bent knees press against his chest as he leans over the bench my feet are perched on. He plants his palms at my sides, and I swallow past the thick swell in my throat. His eyes flash to the spot, his tongue rolling over his lower lip.
Jesus, these boys are walking wonder sticks, working some voodoo shit on me that has me prickling all over like a needy bitch.
Creed’s eyes roll over my face, pausing for a long moment on my forehead, small creases forming along his own. “What am I missing, Little London?” he purrs. “What are you hiding up there?”
Suddenly, his head pops up, attention snapping behind me, so I turn to see, but no one is there, and when I glance back, Creed isn’t either.
Sixteen
Knight
“You fucking following me now?!” I shove Creed in the chest the minute we step through the portal.
He comes right back, bumping his against mine. “Didn’t have to follow you, and I still knew exactly where you were.”
“Fuck, do you care who I’m fucking, Creed? If you want in on my shit, get in line behind Sin.” The words are bitter on my tongue, and I bite into my cheek to taste the sweet cinnamon flavor of my blood instead.
“Don’t act fucking stupid.” He glares. “You and I both know something has gotten into you, and I’m pretty sure we both know what it is.”
I stumble backward slightly, Mom’s voice replaying over and over in my head. “With everything going on right now, especially after the attack at the Dragon’s Lair, we have more important shit to worry about, Creed. This”—I point to the ground—“is nothing.”
He blinks back at me, and I keep walking because even though I’m cutting this conversation off, he can’t deny I have a point.
What’s happening with the impending war is just that. An impending war. The question is, from where? The Ministry has enemies on stacks, and that’s without even looking at each other. It hasn’t happened yet and is why a treaty was drawn up, but it doesn’t cancel it out. They could very well be the fucking problem here and masking it with dragon drama.
“So if I didn’t come interrupt your little stalking session and who knows what the fuck else you were planning,” Creed keeps his shit up, “you’d have still showed to practice this morning…practice that starts in four fucking minutes?”
“I’m walking with you now, aren’t I?” I snap.
Creed scoffs, and in my peripheral, the motherfucker shakes his head.
My phone vibrates against my thigh, and I pull it out, staring back at an announcement from the school Instagram page. In light of the attack and to reiterate from the conversation in the common room yesterday, students are urged not to partake in any rumor spreading. We are handling it.
I stare back at Creed. “If it was student-related, why would they care about a bunch of shit-talking Gifted?”
Creed continues across the grass, and I follow a few steps behind. “They wouldn’t. They don’t give a fuck about rumors.”
He is right. There have been multiple stories spun since we’ve been here, none of which the headmistress has ever felt the need to address so publicly.
We reach our campus, and as we pass the growing pixie plants that crawl up the cobblestone wall, they release an earthy scent into the air.