Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Chaos,” he says coolly. “Pure. Fucking. Chaos.”
Fuck.
London
All at once, the unconventionally adorable gnomes divide, the treats they didn't get a chance to pass my way falling to the grass; only to disappear the moment they do. Worry whirls low in my belly as I watch them run full speed toward the budding rose bushes ahead. They don't slow down; they go straight through them little by little, their bodies growing fuzzier and fuzzier as if the flowers are no more than a portal for them to jump through.
Shit, maybe they are.
I don't have to wonder for long what scared them away, as a large shadow appears on the ground ahead of me a blink later.
I know who it is without looking. Or I have an idea and my guess is it’s two of the four. Sure enough, as I tip my head over my shoulder, there they are. They come to stand beside me, so I take a half a step back so I can look at them both.
Neither says a word, the pair standing stiff and simply staring.
I've never had the attention of royalty, and never in my life did I think I would have the Royals and Rathe this close, so despite my usual confidence, a small ball of anxiousness forms behind my ribs.
I do the only thing I can think of and awkwardly lift my hands while pushing out my belly as if to draw their attention to the massive stack of snacks I'm holding there, and lift my right hand, taking a bite of the one closest to my lips.
“Want some?” I offer.
Both stand perfectly still for a moment, and it's the twin who dips down, choosing to bite off the edge of a caramel dipped apple, some shiny shit sprinkled on top. It also happens to be one of the treats in the hand pressed to my body, so in true playboy fashion, as I'm assuming young Lords would be, his turquoise eyes snap up to mine just when they’re level with my breast.
The sharp points of his teeth are barely visible, but they are there, and it makes me wonder if he's a vamp. I've never seen one in real life that I know of and I always kind of wondered, “Do vampires die in the sun?”
His brows snap together, and slowly he lifts himself up, licking the pink dust from the corner of his mouth, just as his brother begins to laugh.
It's a nice laugh. Deep and a little naughty, and when I look into his eyes, I decide if it's him. I would bet he's the youngest, though they are all close in age, but this one has a hint of … not exactly softness, but something that the others don't. A sense of morality maybe, if only the smallest bit. “I'm Legend,” he says, almost as if his name saddens him somehow. “No, vamps don't die in the light.”
“They can,” the other offers.
When I look at him, I find he's already staring.
“So, they do or they… don’t?”
“Don’t by walking in the sun. Do if they piss you off bad enough... or if they get blood lust and have to have their hearts ripped out on the dance floor after a girl—”
He rushes, but Legend shoves him hard enough to make him stumble.
When he rights himself, he pastes a big fat smirk on his lips, and I know.
I was so right.
Major playboys.
Maybe I won't be so bored here after all…
“Baby girl,” Legend, as he introduced himself, warns as he slips behind me. “Don’t look at him like that. It’ll only encourage him.”
“Maybe I want to encourage him.”
“Sure, go ahead.” He chuckles. “If you want to see how monsters die.”
My muscles stiffen and both brothers laugh, shifting to stand in front of me.
“It’s all good, Little L, encourage me.” The twin grins, running his tongue along his lower lip, but it’s more playful than anything. “I might die, but only for a few minutes, so... worth it.”
There’s this strange feeling between us, like a web weaved, the kind you’d find on the back of a menu at a diner during Halloween. Where you have to take a pen and try all the paths until you reveal the right one. The one that leads to another side. Their side.
“I’m Sinner.”
I nod, looking over him in his all-black suit. “Fitting.”
The third brother joins us then, the one with the angry eyes from yesterday, who looked ready to tear my head off, but he doesn’t appear that way now. He’s … distressed.
For some odd reason, my fingers twitch, lifting and fully prepared to ease the lines along his temples away, but I yank that bitch back to my side before it gets chopped off.
You can't go touching a motherfucking Lord, London!
“Creed,” he says. No hello, no ‘my name is’ or even an ‘I’m’ like Sinner started with, and I’m starting to get nervous, so I pretend it was a pop quiz.