Page 49 of Mate of a Monster

Legend

My footsteps slow the closer I get to the gifted, like the air grows thicker and more resistant as I approach. Some invisible force pushes against my chest, urging me to turn around and run back the way I came. But not to get away…to find.

Confusing fucking—

I kick the door in and stand at the threshold staring straight at the strung-up gifted, magical chains bolted to the hall above his head, keeping him in place. Shoulders hunched over, sucking in deep breaths, his head hangs low between each shoulder, as if my entrance does nothing to bother him.

Creed moves to block my view. “Hold up. Don’t go all fucking Legend on him just yet.”

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

Neither of us moves, and it’s the gifted’s laughter that breaks through the tension. He lifts his head, eyes rimmed red and feral in a way I recognize because I see it in my own reflection every goddamn morning.

A smirk splits his bloody, cracked lips. With the wound in his abdomen still unhealed and Silver’s patchwork being the only thing holding him together, he should be dead. And yet, he still has the audacity to look smug. “Legend, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “I take it your last name is Deveraux?”

My spine locks. Every muscle in my body goes rigid, and the air between us thickens. It shouldn’t be a surprise. People know who we are—it’s us who don’t know them.

I hesitate, eyes narrowing. The way this fucker said my name sounded less I know of you, your majesty and more You walked your muddy fucking feet through my sandbox without permission.

“What’s the matter, princess?” I tease. “I fuck your mom or something?”

Creed’s hand presses firmer against my chest. “Legend.”

I shove past him.

The exile’s laughter cackles through the air. “Nah, I wish. Maybe you would have been enough for her to stick around.”

Ignoring his obvious relaxed demeanor, I step closer. “How do you know my name?”

He holds my stare as he contemplates his response. “Everyone knows your name, King.” He lets the title drip off his tongue. “Question is… Do you know mine?”

He’s fucking mocking me.

Underneath the blood, the bruising, and the impossible fact that he’s breathing at all, there’s something else. Something that makes the heat between my shoulder blades flare dragon-fire hot.

Creed steps beside me. “Don’t engage. We don’t know what he is.”

“I know what he smells like.”

The gifted’s smirk falters. Just a fraction. Just enough for me to catch the shift before he buries it.

“Interesting,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to my fists. White-knuckled and shaking at my sides. “She did say you were rather perceptive.”

She.

A low rumble builds in my chest and I clamp that shit down.

“But she didn’t say shit about her.” He nudges his head to Arabella. “Though it makes sense now. She’s quite…excitable when she’s rage-y.” Another fucking smirk and I’m five seconds away from cutting it from his skin.

Not wanting to reveal what’s happening inside me, I shift gears.

“What’s this?” I hold the only part of the mask that didn’t disappear into the fucking grounds: the horns. They vibrate beneath my palm, warming every inch of my skin until it damn near hums in satisfaction.

They also wipe the smugness clear off the exile’s face as he pales. Interesting. I turn to Knight, but he’s already looking to Creed for answers.

“I sure hope you’re ready for what comes next.” The gifted presses back up, eyes pinned on me. “But more than that, I hope you fucking deserve what I’m told is yours. Seeing that thing beside you, I’m not convinced you do.”

Arabella’s chin lifts, slow and deliberate. “You’ll be dead by nightfall,” she says, like the decision is hers to make. Why does she think she holds that authority?