Fate of a Royal (Lords of Rathe, #1)(48)

I push play on reruns of Gossip Girl, hoping to find some sort of comfort from a show that I’ve already watched hundreds of times over the years. I must be on episode three when my phone vibrates on my mattress. I reach for it aimlessly, opening the new text message. Unknown number. Maybe one that I’ve forgotten to save. Maybe it’s that fake mystery friend I made the other night. Or maybe I really am losing my mind.

Unknown: Are you a good liar London?

I stare back at the words, confusion swimming through my brain. My fingers fly over the keypad, and I hit send.

Me: Who is this?

Unknown: I think you know.

I think back over the day. I saw Creed, and by the vibes that I got from him today, he doesn’t like me very much. Maybe it’s him.

Me: Creed?

Seconds pass when nothing comes through. I almost think that they’ve given up when the phone lights up in my hand and I’m once again distracted.

Unknown: Wrong brother.

My stomach drops to the floor as hot sweat breaks out over my skin. How did he get my number, and why am I not mad about it?

Me: Are you here to gloat?

I clutch my phone tightly. I hate that whatever Serena and Blair are going through in the background slowly sinks into nothingness as I wait for those little dots to pop up on my phone.

First off, how did he get my number, and why would he text me? Creed is obvious about his feelings for me, but Knight is someone I can’t get a read on. It’s like he’s angry with me, but he also loves to play. Am I his plaything?

Would I mind if I were?

My thighs clench together as I try to think over anything that I might be able to remember from Saturday night. I feel him in my bones and inside my skin, so why do I not feel him in my mind? Why is he not present in my memories if I can feel his touch on my flesh? It doesn’t make sense.

Unknown: Gloat about what?

My agitation slowly surfaces.

Me: You tell me.

Unknown: Sweet dreams, Lon.

Me: Whatever. I’m too tired for this shit.

I toss my phone down onto my bed and pick my remote up angrily, flicking over the angst between the two polar opposite besties on the screen. I need something placid like Chuck Bass and Blair. Yes. I need that. I hit play on whatever episode it is, snuggling back deep into my covers. My eyes turn heavy as I struggle to stay awake. Fatigue sets into my muscles as time passes, and before I know it, lights are out.



My body buzzes with energy as my eyes pop open. I’m back here again. Great. Why am I slowly getting the feeling that whatever is happening in this nightmare is a message? That whatever I’m seeing is some sort of sick handwritten note being sent to me from God knows who. God, maybe?

I had an easy childhood, no weird shit to speak of, so I couldn’t even pretend to guess what that message would be. My life was as normal as normal goes, both before and after my parents’ deaths, minus the whole missing them from time-to-time part, but that went away after a year or so. My uncle provided me with all the love a child needed, but this bridge? There’s something about it other than the obvious heat coming from the other side, where stone and ice now lie at my feet.

I rack my brain trying to remember if I’ve ever seen it before in my hometown but come up empty.

Also, how the hell do I know I’m in dream-fucking-land right now?!

Goosebumps break out over me as the wind licks itself over my exposed flesh, and just like every other time, I feel it creep beneath my skin like the angst of the walking dead. Pins and needles of what it gives me is nothing compared to the shadowy figure that glides above me. My mouth closes and I can’t move. Every single limb on my body is frozen in place. The hooded figure continues to hover above my body carefully. All of the other times, this is when I would wake up. When his presence penetrated my mind so much that I couldn’t take it anymore, or when he grabbed for me. But I am determined now. I’m determined to stay in as long as I can.

The shadowy figure draws his hand out from the cloak he’s wearing, and I swear I hold my breath as his long fingers come to my chin, the skeletal shape a silent warning as he forces my eyes forward onto him.

Is he going to kill me?

Can he even kill me?

I mean, I’m dreaming, right? No one can touch me here.

Except he is.

His hands drag down the crux of my sternum, over and grazing my breasts. I shiver, sweat penetrating my skin. He doesn’t speak, and the longer I’m here, the more I want to run. I don’t want this. I don’t want him touching me.

I try sitting up, tensing my abs to push off the ground, but a heavy weight slams down on my chest, holding me there. When I look down, I see the bone crackling contrast of his hand. That same skeletal creature forced me back down to the ground. I still can’t see his face, nothing but a haunted figure.

He dips lower, and I hear him inhale deeply as he drags himself down my stomach and then farther down between my thighs. What is he doing? I need to push him away from me and get as far away from here as possible. He’s going to touch me. I don’t want it. No. I try to unclench my fists and reach for him, but there is no use. Merciless by my own mind, I’m hopeless to this nightmare.

It comes fast like a cool wave crashing over me and forcing me back down into its current. I once again try to slam my thighs closed, desperate to put distance between us, but it’s no use. He has me captive, paralyzed, and at his mercy. Something damp presses against my inner thigh, trailing all the way over my pussy. The monster flicks his tongue over my clit, and before I can fight it, a tight moan escapes me. I hate that my body has betrayed me at this moment because I’m afraid.