Fate of a Royal (Lords of Rathe, #1)(81)

Focusing, I follow the shallow thump of her beating heart, closing my eyes and envisioning the arteries connected to it, waiting, watching as it stutters.

And finally…it stops.

Silence.

I release her, catching her lifeless body in my grip and carrying her back to…her room.

I lay her down on the bed, licking tears from her cheeks before running my lips along hers, jolting back when the touch shocks me.

I step away, staring, waiting for the moment her heart recharges.

For it to call out to mine and beat as one.

But she doesn’t stir.

She doesn’t wake.

Panic like I’ve never felt flares in my chest, and my hands fly out at my sides, palms facing forward as the claws I was just starting to get used to grow into talons, and before I know what’s happening, they’re dragging across my own chest.

Groaning, I drop to my knees and they dig deeper. They don’t stop until the razor ends scrape against my bone. A growl rattles from my lips as my teeth descend into sharp points and I pant, my back bowing when I feel the points digging beyond the tough tissue of my heart, forcing its way beyond it.

“Knight!” Sinner shouts from somewhere behind me. “Creed, get the fuck in here, he’s—he fucking stabbed himself!”

He drops to my side, Creed rushing in and falling before me.

“He’s…holy fuck, I think he’s changing. The bonding.” He looks closer. “I think his bonding is almost complete. Knight?” He grips my face, trying to look into my eyes, but all I see is London.

Dead in the center of the bed.

The Mage was wrong.

The fates were fucking wrong.

She’s not Gifted. She didn’t come back to life.

And now, my gift wants to claim mine.





Twenty-Eight





London



The nursery rhyme plays on a loop in the background. I once read that Ring Around the Rosie had a dark background. I don’t need to read more about it to feel it right now. It’s one of my favorites, next to London Bridge is Falling Down, of course. That’s the best one.

When no one’s watching, I like to walk the path between Argent and Stygian, the path from light to dark and pretend the bridge is crumbling beneath my feet. I laugh at the users of Light Magic when they scream and run. At least, that’s what they do when I picture them in my head.

My feet dangle back and forth to the tune as the teacher at the front of the class moves her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Words leave her mouth, but I can’t see past the girl in front of me. She isn’t just any girl. She is my best friend. I reach forward to touch her shoulder as her long, silky, ink-colored hair falls over her shoulder. She is lifting her hand above the small garden on her table, reciting a spell the teacher has had us working on all week.

“Terra aqua indiget sicut venae sanguine. Imple hanc humum et medullis et sanguine.” The Latin words roll off her tongue with ease. Earth needs water like veins need blood. Fill this soil up with both marrow and blood.

I hold in my laugh as I reach for her shoulder finally. She turns, her eyes meeting mine, when a blood-curdling scream pierces my ears. Ice grows over her face like poisonous vines would a perfectly flowered tree and I watch in horror as my best friend’s eyes turn a pale shade of white.

Hands come from behind, wrapping around my eyes.

“It’s okay, Villaina.” Her soft voice calms me instantly, and I swallow. “It’s just an illusion. Remember the spell I taught you?”

Nodding, I close my eyes and square my shoulders, reciting the words in my head.

The hands leave my face, and when I open my eyes, my best friend’s blue eyes stare into mine. “Got ya.”

Launching off the bed, I can still feel the frost particles stuck in the back of my throat when everything comes back into view. The room.

The bed.

The dresser.

The distinct smell of spice and soap. I turn to the side, seeing Knight asleep beside me. I reach to touch the smudges of blood all over his chest as my throat clogs with emotion I’m not ready to touch right now. His skin is warm, and I close my eyes and inhale, laying my palm over his chest. Thud. Thud. His heart beats against my hand, and for whatever reason, I breathe out a sigh of relief as my shoulders sag forward and tears prick the corners of my eyes.

What happened? Why do I remember weird things but don’t remember it being me? I slowly shuffle off the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping monster. Tiptoeing around the room, I look at it from a different light. When I got here, I didn’t ask myself the smaller questions that I probably should have.

Like, why did I feel a connection to Knight, and was it possible that everything he has been saying has some truth to it? Not that he’s said much more than “I’m his”.

“Fuck,” Knight whispers from behind me, and I fold my arms in front of my chest, slowly turning to face him. He blows out a deep breath and falls backward, his arms spread wide.

“What is happening to me?” My throat swells again, and I hate that I have to force myself to not cry. I don’t fucking cry. I’m the one who makes people cry, so why the fuck do I feel all twisted up right now? My stomach coils together, and the more time goes on, the more it tightens.

“Shit, London.” He shifts up the bed, the sheet resting just below where his abs cut down into a V. He runs his hand through his dark hair, his eyes finding mine, and if it wasn’t for the low ambiance of the red LED lighting around the bed, I probably would have missed the wild look in his eyes.