Fate of a Royal (Lords of Rathe, #1)(80)

Fiery, and our bodies fit like the moon and midnight.

Now that I recognize the feeling, I’ve sensed it since day one.

Since that first game back on Earth.

Maybe before that.

But she’s weak.

Giftless.

“I thought you couldn’t mate with a Giftless?” I growl, teeth clenched.

Zhara raises her brow, her pierced tongue sliding over her lip. “You can’t.”

My conversation with the Mage comes back with a vengeance, and when I feel warm liquid roll down my chest, I look down.

Claws. Large, black, sharp claws escaped my fingertips, and this time I didn’t even feel them. My Ethos is like a beacon within my chest, calling to the girl beside us. The girl who cannot be what she seems.

Our gifts don’t reach for those without one.

Our gods don’t give us broken fates.

The Deveraux descendants who have turned to ash and seeped into the soils of this ground wouldn’t allow her within these walls without ripping into her mind if they didn’t know something I don’t. If they couldn’t see beyond the veil I’m blocked by when I try to dig inside her.

Blood rolls down my ribs from where my claws sank into my flesh, and London stirs, her nose lifting into the air. Her eyelids flutter slightly and my pulse pounds heavy in my chest.

She’s scenting me, like she knows I’m hers.

So why won’t she admit it? Claim her right?

Slowly, her eyelids open, big blue eyes meeting mine before dropping to the cuts on my stomach.

She doesn’t jump or panic. She yawns, frowning at the spot. “You’re bleeding.”

I wait for more.

For her to freak out and try to help me. To lick my wounds ’cause the sight of her injured mate makes her feel sick inside, overcome with anger and fury like I felt when I saw her cry. Saw her bleed when it wasn’t the result of my bite.

But she doesn’t do any of that.

London stands, and when she does, she hides herself from me, wrapping a blanket around her body as she slips from the bed.

I push up, pissed off as I watch her toe into her shorts and pull the cami back on like it’s the most annoying thing. She doesn’t want to wear restricting clothing.

She wants a T-shirt, like the half dozen I took from her room that belonged to another man. A lesser, fucking, worthless, Giftless man.

She faces me, and I scoot to the edge of the bed, my legs falling open, waiting for her to come to me.

London looks to the door. “When do I get to go home, Knight?”

My lip curls and I fly off the bed. She’s thinking about leaving me while I’m thinking about keeping her?

Fuck her.

Fuck this.

“How about never.”

Her head snaps back this way.

Good. I have her attention. “Maybe I’ll keep you locked up here until your worthless, Giftless body grows old and gives up on you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Am I laughing?” My brows lift. “You think I have to send you back? Because I don’t. Humans can be pets here. Maybe I’ll put a collar around your neck and force you to eat off the fucking floor.”

Fear creeps into her blue eyes, and I punch the wall beside her head.

I fucking hate to see it.

“Why are you doing this?” she shouts. “If you don’t like me, why am I here? Why did you take me from my home?!”

“I am your fucking home!” I scream, feeling my gift rise to the surface. “That’s the fucking problem!”

Her head tugs back, confusion heavy in her gaze. “I don’t understand. You kidnapped me.”

“I didn’t take you. I was given you,” I force past clenched teeth. “Fate made you for me.”

“I am not yours.”

“You are!” I boom. “Why are you fighting me?!”

“What are you talking about, Knight?” she screams, tears in her eyes. “I’ve done my best not to freak out, and considering, I think I’ve done a good job. You’re being unfair.”

“Unfair is feeling like my insides are fucking bleeding out and the only person who can fucking fix them refuses to!”

“I don’t even know what that means because you keep talking in riddles and you tell me nothing!”

“Because you should know!” My body vibrates with anger, my eyes changing as my power takes over. As my monster hovers beneath my skin, his teeth sink deep into my flesh as he tries to eat himself free. To get to her.

He wants her, and he wants her now.

He’s tired of waiting.

London shakes before me, her tiny little body fragile and vulnerable as she looks up at me with pleading eyes, but she chooses the wrong words at the wrong moment. “I want to see Ben and—”

I snap. Taking her throat in my hand, I squeeze, pressing my body against hers when she starts to fight.

“My seed has been buried inside you. You’ve swallowed my blood.”

She claws at my hands, tears leaking down her cheeks, but I tighten my grip, my entire body shaking, my being demanding I stop this.

That I release her.

Protect her.

But it’s like I said.

I’m done waiting.

“I need to know, little doll. I need you to feel what I feel. To ache like I ache.” Her face turns purple, her hands falling to her sides. “I need to know it’s you I was created for.”