Chapter Twenty-Three
Haide
“Absolutely fucking not!” Creed screams like a loud voice means a damn thing to me.
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 already been 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.”
Creed presses forward, speaking low. “I can see right through you, you know. I will not allow this to continue. You are done manipulating my brother. Those pretty little claws you’ve got sunk into his flesh? I’m going to cut them at the knuckle.”
White-hot anger flashes through me at an alarming rate, his words detonating inside me in a way that feels like a direct threat to my life.
Shut him up.
Gut him.
End him.
Those words whirl through my mind, and heat burns at my fingertips, my limbs shaking.
It’s a bit of an irrational response, but it’s strong.
Just as my conscience decides to listen to the foreign whispers in my mind, Knight’s words reach through the noise, and I tense.
“Speak of the devil,” he mumbles like he’s bored.
My brows furrow and I follow his gaze toward the door.
Legend strides toward us like he owns each bit of space between his steps, shoulders loose, expression cut from the same cool arrogance he wears like a weapon.
But something is wrong.
He closes the distance, stopping in front of me, close enough that the room tilts a little with how solid he stands. His shadow falls over mine the same way it always does, swallowing the light between us, but it’s like stepping toward a fire only to find the heat missing.
“Hello, little monster,” he purrs, but it doesn’t feel like a basilisk’s tongue tasting my spine like I’ve gotten used to.
I narrow my eyes the tiniest bit. “What’s wrong with you?”
His head tilts, a faint rise in one brow, and a ghost of amusement curves his mouth. “I haven’t touched you in too long, that’s all,” he says softly. “Come here,” he says, even though he is already right in front of me.
My eyes narrow further.
He reaches out, thumb tracing the edge of my mouth in a slow, claiming sweep. He leans closer, breath touching my cheek. “You feel that?” he whispers. “Our bond is starved, mate. I need you.”
His mouth dips toward mine, slow and deliberate, as if expecting me to break open with longing.
And I let him.
I tilt my face up, letting him close the last inch, letting my lips brush his, soft at first. A sigh slips from me despite the simmer under my skin that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the violence humming quietly in my blood.
I can almost taste his surprise when I press a little closer, as if I’m giving in, as if I’m falling for it.
Then he stills.
A sudden, jarring stillness, like every part of him just froze mid-step.
His eyes open slowly in a flicker of disbelief, then widen with recognition, but it’s the faint shiver that betrays him.
He looks down.
I follow his gaze.
A knife hangs in the air between us—my knife—hovering at his throat, the tip pressed just enough to break skin. A bead of crimson gathers, then slides down the sharp line of his neck.
Except…I didn’t call it.
I didn’t reach for it.
I didn’t even think the command.
My eyes shoot wide and the blade drops, metal clattering sharply against the stone floor.
And the face in front of me—Legend’s face—begins to melt.
It ripples like heated glass, dissolving, as bones rearrange under skin.
In the blink of an eye, Sinner stands before me, wearing a grin that is all teeth and wicked.
“Well,” he drawls, wiping the streak of blood from his throat with two fingers, his tongue flicking across them leisurely. “Someone has a little magic in her after all.”
He studies me slowly, cataloging every twitch of shock I haven’t recovered from yet.
He leans in just enough that I feel the heat of him at my jaw. “Good girl,” he murmurs, voice like silk wrapped around something sharp. “Can’t wait to find out what else you’re hiding, you little liar.”
I open my mouth to respond—something sharp, something that will definitely earn me a threat or twelve—but the air behind him shifts.
A pull. Low. Hot.
Irritatingly familiar.
My chest tightens and loosens all at once, like invisible fingers just curled around the inside of my ribs and dragged. My eyes are lifting before I can stop them.
And there’s my Legend.
The thought slams into me, rogue and stupid and completely uninvited, and I want to claw it out of my own skull. But it still blooms behind my ribs, warm and reckless.
Son of a bitch, I think he is mine.
But is he my favorite toy or my…fated mate?
Legend strides into the room. His hair is a mess, his jaw shadowed with exhaustion, darkness bruising the skin beneath his eyes like he hasn’t slept in a century. He looks dangerous in that lazy, lethal way only he can manage. Like he just rolled out of bed and murdered someone on the way over.
His gaze scans the room once, landing on the expressions of his brothers, then snapping to me.
“Why does everyone look like they just saw our mother?” he asks, voice low, roughened, dragging over my nerves like smoke.
He doesn’t break stride. He hooks two fingers into the front of my jacket and tugs, pulling me into the line of his body. His scent puts a thorn through whatever argument I had been piecing together.
London exhales sharply, stepping toward us. “Haide is…developing,” she says, flicking a glance at her brothers. “Her senses sharpened and she reacted to a perceived threat. A knife appeared at Sinner’s throat.”
“Wow, London. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were being a snitch right now.”
“It’s not personal, Haide.” She shakes her head, and her tone tells me she’s not having fun, but it is what it is. “They’re my family now.”
Family.
The word sends a sharp ache through my chest, but I push it down.
To want is to lose. Stop forgetting that.
“We sure developing is the right word?” Sinner raises a brow. “Seemed pretty effortless to me.”
Legend’s arm goes instantly rigid around me. His muscles coil beneath my palms as he shifts me partially behind him in one smooth motion, barricading me.
It’s…hot, his show of possessiveness.
Insanely hot.
And also dramatically unnecessary.
“What did you do?” Legend demands.
“I might have played a little game,” Sinner drawls.
Legend’s jaw flexes but doesn’t even turn his head. “You lost.” Legend’s words are a statement, not a question. His certainty warms a part of me that I try to ignore.
“I did,” Sinner acknowledges without shame. “Not entirely, though. Now we know she’s got more skill than she pretends.”
I snort. “If I could call a knife without meaning to, you’d have figured it out by now. I probably would’ve sliced Creed into pretty little pieces ages ago.”
Creed surges forward, eyes flashing. “This isn’t a fucking joke, you lying, siphoning little bit—”
Legend starts to growl but Knight steps between the two, cutting Creed off with a single, razor-edged look.
“We can deal with this shit later. Let’s not forget why we’re here.” His attention snaps to me, steady and unblinking. “Talk, wannabe demon,” Knight says, voice a quiet command, not to be argued with. “Tell us about the black-thorned flower.”
“It’s called the Isle’s Kiss.”
London pulls herself up onto the bar top, crossing one leg over the other. “You said you discovered it on the island. How?”
“How does anyone discover anything? I found it when I was walking through the old caverns.”
Creed crosses his arms. “And?”
“And went to find the witch.”
“What witch?”
“I don’t know, royal. We just call her the witch because she is “the witch.” She’s like the eyes and ears of the island.
If I missed something, she saw it. If something was lost, she found it.
If there was something you needed to know, she had the answers.
Sure, you had to solve stupid riddles to figure them out but still. Answers.”
Knight and Creed share a look while Legend’s fingers dig into my hips, his free hand coming up, knuckles pressing beneath my chin. Our eyes meet and he smirks.
“We need to know what you know, my little monster. What did they deny you?” His long fingers wrap around my throat, squeezing slightly.
The second his fingers tighten, something inside me kicks awake—hot, reckless, a creature digging its hooks into my ribs as if it’s been waiting for him. I press into his palm and his pupils flare.
“I’ll give you what you want, baby. Always.” Those blue eyes are on fire, and it spreads through me. “I don’t give a fuck what you ask for, it’s yours. So tell them, if only to get your way.”
My way?
If I had it my way, I’d be impaling myself on his cock right now ’cause fuck me. No literally, fuck me.
Please.
Legend’s smirk is knowing, his chuckle sending a shiver down my spine. “Let me give you what you want.” He leans closer, whispering in my ear. “Both the things you want.”
“I want to help find your murderer.”