I wipe grease from my fingers, still focused on my plate. “I mean your books won’t help.”
“Explain.”
I huff out a breath that would be a laugh if I weren’t so tired. “I literally just did. You won’t find answers in your little Rathe books.”
The frown forming between London’s brows is sharp enough to cut. “How do you know this?”
“Because I discovered them.”
Her face falls.
“Discovered them…where?” Knight asks after a beat of silence.
I don’t know why he asks. His tone says it all.
He already knows.
I meet London’s stare without a grin. “On Exile.”
Silence buckles among all of us—thick, heavy, a held breath before a blade drops.
Then another voice snaps through, colder and far more final:
“Bring her here. Now.”
Creed.
London straightens, her expression shifting into something clipped and formal—the Queen of Rathe again, not the girl who ate lunch with me a few minutes ago.
I drag my hand through my hair and stand, brushing crumbs from my blood-soaked jacket. “Great,” I mutter, stepping past her. “Bossy older brother. My favorite.”
London doesn’t smile this time. “Haide,” she says slowly, “they’re going to want every detail and they will make you give it to them.”
“Oh, I’m happy to.” I lick one last trace of grease from my thumb, smirking as I push ahead. “So long as I get something in return…”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Haide
“Absolutely fuckingnot!” Creed screams like a loud voice means a damn thing to me.
There’s a woman on Exile Island who literally lets out bloodcurdling screams every 4 and a half seconds. Every day. All fucking day, as if cursed to never stop. So Creed yelling? Yeah.
Not impressive.
I shrug. “Then I’m not telling you shit.”
The reaction is immediate. He steps into my space so fast the air gets shoved aside, his palm braced on the stone beside my head as he cages me in. His lips peel back in that regal snarl he favors, eyes whitening at the edges as his gifts rise, sharp and bright.
“You will do as you’re told, little girl,” he grinds out, voice so low it almost vibrates against my skin, “or I will make you.”
I let my gaze drag lazily over his expression, over the rigid line of his jaw, over the fury coiled behind his teeth.
“You can try,” I murmur, my voice rolling slow and warm, because I know it irritates him more than shouting ever could. “But before you start fantasizing about your big intimidating moment, maybe remember who you’re talking to. I’ve lived through torture since the day I was born, oh mighty king man. There isn’t a single thing you could dream up that hasn’t alreadybeen done to me twice over.”
His nostrils flare. Knight shifts a step behind him, tension rolling off him like storm air before lightning hits. London looks caught between yanking us apart and stepping back so she doesn’t get hit by shrapnel if we start breaking things.
I uncross and recross my arms, tapping one finger against my elbow. “Where’s Legend? Because I’m not talking to you.”
