Page 111 of Mate of a Monster

London drifts ahead of us, her fingers skimming a cluster of deep violet petals, and she tilts her head the way she does when she’s forming a thought.

“Interesting.” She turns the petal over between her finger and thumb. “How even nature rotted in her presence.”

My eyes slide to Legend, standing exactly three feet away. The bond between us vibrates at a frequency that translates to don’t and I fucking dare you at the same time.

“Huh.” I keep my voice light. “Imagine how rotten you’d be if you’d had your dick in her for a few months.”

London’s bark of laughter seems to surprise even her. Legend’s growl doesn’t make a sound, but I feel it crawl through the bond anyway, warm and furious, a hand closing around the back of my neck. It’s irritating enough to make me want to keep going.

“That’s not funny,” he says.

“London thought it was.”

“London has a death wish.”

“London is right here,” she says pleasantly, letting the petal go and drifting farther down the path.

Even with half a garden between us and the long table, I can feel the rest of them working hard pretending they don’t hear a damn thing.

Legend steps closer, dropping his voice. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

I shrug. “I do everything on purpose.”

“Haide.”

“Legend.”

His eye twitches, barely, and satisfaction coils low in my spine, nasty and sweet. He makes several attempts to speak before finally settling on his words. “One day,” he says, slow and careful, “you’re going to push too far.”

I bare my teeth in a smile. “Looking forward to it.”

I turn before he can answer and take my seat at the table, where our names sit in neat script on folded cards like we’re civilized. Mine is wedged between Zev’s and an empty chair at the corner.

Legend’s card is opposite, planted directly in my line of sight.

Someone planned this.

The amusement flicks through me, quick and sharp, and before I can choke it back, Legend’s voice snaps through the bond. Something funny?

Heels click against the stone path, announcing someone new. I glance up on instinct, and familiarity punches me low and strange, old recognition firing before my brain can catch up.

I know her.

From the island. The woman who moved through the exiles like she’d been placed there on purpose.

“Mother?” Creed’s voice splits right down the middle.

Everyone in the room shifts position.

“Mother?” I echo, and it comes out sharper than I mean.

She moves with grace that functions purely as a threat. No wasted motion, no softness, no apology for the space she takes. Her gaze skims the table, counting bodies, then lands on me and Zev, and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“Ah,” she says. “My precious Exiles. I’m so glad you made it.”

That’s why she was familiar, from before I even knew Legend was mine, when I helped London break free and they took reign of the kingdom.

Zev, to his credit, doesn’t even blink. He tips his chin at her like they’re old friends. Are they?