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“What else can she say but the truth at this point?” Creed glares at nothing, fully fucking aware that’s the least likely option.
“She plans to kill her, doesn’t she?” Legend crosses his arms.
My heart clenches, but I stretch beyond it, forcing the feeling away.
“Pretty sure the Little Slasher was already supposed to be dead considering how she acted when Creed outed her in front of everyone,” Sin quips angrily. “Someone was sloppy when they should have just chopped her fucking head off like d—”
“Don’t,” I growl before I mean to, my nostrils flaring as I try to get a fucking grip.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and growl.
I don’t want to be the fucking King, and I sure as fuck don’t want some random at my side.
The problem? This is not a choice.
It’s the way.
It's what is and there is no changing that. And with our father dead, the little bit of time I would have had to come to terms with all this is no more.
I’m the next King of Darkness and in Rathe, a King cannot rule without his Queen.
As if that word alone conjured her, the tattered bond between us tugs.
I know the second she’s near, the stupid fucking bond I’m cursed with stirring with life, forcing me to tighten the chokehold I’m continuously forced to keep, but I’ve been doing it for days now, longer if you count all the times I fought her before I learned the truth.
It's weakening me. My gift unable to fully recharge because it’s in a constant state of use. My skin prickles and my insides burn, begging me to go to her, to touch and hold and fuck her, but fuck her and fuck this bond that thinks it’s in control. It’s not.
It will never be.
It can’t fucking be.
Forcing my eyes to stay focused forward, I ignore the bone crushing sensation to go to her and pretend I don’t notice the probing looks from my brothers.
I bite into my tongue, the cinnamon flavor of my blood filling my mouth and I let it seep from the corners of my lips.
Instantly, the very moment it touches the air, London’s head snaps this way. I feel her gaze like the touch of a dragon's tongue. The burn, the sharp cuts that seem to drag along my skin.
My limbs tremble with need, too many to name, and like always when it comes to the white-haired wonder, I lose the fucking battle.
My gaze snaps up. Her glass-like eyes lock with mine and my pulse jumps in my chest.
Mine. Every inch. Every fucking bit.
No!Fuck!
My jaw shakes as I stare at the bitch who stole my future. My sister. My fucking sanity.
You’ll pay for all of it, Little London.
A smirk pulls at her lips, her head cocking like the brat she is, and I want to tear her lips from her flawless face. Fuck it up a bit. The blood she’s covered in does nothing to hide her beauty. Quite the fucking opposite in fact.
That’s when I see what I didn’t before, what the rage blocked.
London is stumbling into the room where my brothers and I sit, all four of us staring right at her ... completely.
Fucking.
Naked.
