Chapter Nineteen
Haide
The portal spits me out mid-air. But this time, I’m ready for it, and my boots hit the polished floor with a harsh thud.
Conversations cut off immediately as hundreds of faces turn toward me in unified horror.
Zev lands beside me half a breath later, his hand clamping around my arm in an attempt to keep me in check.
The space stretches around us in a massive spiral of bones. Actual ribs bleached white and curved toward an open sky where stars glitter against black.
I count to three, and then the dragons—my dragons—circle above, their scales gleaming in the moonlight. Thyrix roars, and the sound vibrates through the ribcage architecture.
For one stupid second, I smile.
Then I remember where I am.
The crowd presses back, bodies retreating from me like I’m carrying the plague. Guessing none of their children were caught in that flood. That, or they see me as the threat who stands between one of their own and the royal crown. Betting on the latter.
But I don’t give a shit about them.
I scan each attendee to log the numbers more accurately. I know right where my mate is without having to search.
Legend stands at the center of the rib spiral, frozen mid-step, the sharp cut of his jaw tightening. Those eyes track down my body, lingering on the black leather hugging my curves, tracing the dark makeup painting my features, and finally settling on my black lips.
He looks at me like he wants to eat me.
The Nightkin snarls inside my chest, a low vibration that rattles my ribs.
“Mine,” the beast growls. “That body is mine. That soul is mine. Everything he is belongs to us.”
My throat bobs as I swallow hard. “My thoughts exactly.”
Legend’s hand rests on Arabella’s lower back. She’s draped in white, a crown of pale flowers woven through her golden hair. She’d be pretty if she wasn’t such a cunt.
Her face twists into something ugly when she sees me. Cunt is too nice a word.
Troll? Balls? Every other dick but Legend’s because—
“You.” She sneers, the word ringing through the silence as her fingers bite into Legend’s coat. “How is she here? Guards!”
No one moves.
Zev chuckles beside me.
I didn’t have time to plan a proper torture session before popping into this fucking fortress. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve never backed down from a fight before; and this one, I’m going to enjoy more than any other.
The bitch is done and the man is mine.
Legend hasn’t broken eye contact since I’ve arrived and, with each passing second, the Nightkin thrashes beneath my skin with a mixture of hunger and rage.
“Take what’s ours,” he demands. “Rip her throat out and take it.”
I don’t like how anxious he is, but how could he not be, after the bomb that was just dropped on us?
Blood runs down Legend’s neck in a slow line, catching in the hollow of his throat before it disappears under black fabric.
Feral. Fucking feral that she put her mark on him.
She needs to feel the same pain I do. Feel it.
Embrace it. Fucking wither and die in it for all I care, so long as you finally do feel it.
My mouth opens on instinct. For a split second, my body remembers the way he looked right before he tore me apart in front of everyone that night at the ball. And that nasty little thing I discovered he invoked in me—fear of rejection— rears its ugly head.
“Hellpet, he would have died before he let you go if given the choice.”
Right. I raise my head and stride forward.
The aisle is lined with rows of Argent nobility dressed like they crawled out of some deluded painting.
Eyes track me with a range of expressions.
Desire hits first, then fear. It’s like sweat trapped under fine fabric.
Hunger tucked behind tight mouths, clenched jaws, and practiced smiles that fool no one.
Their bodies betray them.
I feel it the way the Nightkin feels it. Men go still the way prey does right before that kill shot, breath held and pupils blown wide.
One licks his lips without thinking. Another tracks my hips with his chin tilted just enough to pretend he isn’t. A woman near the aisle leans forward and her companion grabs her wrist without looking.
They wanna fuck me. Every single one of those depraved Argent fools.
I can smell it thick and obvious and impossible to scrub away no matter how much Argent breeding tells them to sit up straight and keep their mouths shut. Arousal, shame, and fury all tangle together because they don’t want to want the Exile girl walking through their sacred ceremony.
They don’t want to risk their royal bitch having a tantrum.
I drag my finger along the first Argent shoulder I pass, a lazy touch across silk. He jolts. His pulse stutters. His eyes flare wide before narrowing like he hates that his body reacts.
My laugh slips out, bouncing off bone arches, marble and all their carefully held breath.
I do it again. Another shoulder. Another throat bobbing on a swallow as if he might choke.
The Nightkin shifts in my ribs. “If you don’t quit playing, he might kill us both, Hellpet.”
“Trust me, beast. It’s working in our favor,” I promise. The more I touch, the longer he will watch. The more he watches me, the harder she’ll have to work to get in his head.”
His response is a deep rumble.
Knight stands off to the side of the dais in ceremonial black, arms crossed.
His stare meets mine and a flicker of satisfaction moves across his mouth, quick as a blade flash.
London wears a matching gown, her eyes brightening when she sees me.
Maybe she felt bad for all the shit she said and did. Or maybe they finally know the truth.
I was never the enemy, just hard to handle. And his.
My laugh turns rough. Oh, how I’d love to smear all this pretty shit all over the place.
The music playing is too soft and mellow for my taste.
I want chaos.
But I can feel the Nightkin using Legend’s powers from within me, keeping the place tame. Me included.
Zev makes sure his strides match mine, mask back to cover his face. The Nightkin’s mask. Mine.
“Yours,” he purrs; his response vibrates through me and straight for my fucking clit.
Zev’s presence anchors me when little else does.
Arabella curls around Legend’s forearm like she’s afraid he’ll drift away if she loosens her grip. Her gaze rakes over me with open disgust.
Legend doesn’t look at anyone else.
Stubborn bastard.
I reach the steps to the dais, where the bone arches rise behind them as if to protect.
Zev’s hand slides around my waist and lands on my lower belly, warm even through the thick leather.
I sink back into him, letting my spine brush his chest.
“I hope you don’t mind me crashing. Figured I might find my own mate here.”
Arabella’s face twists. “Ew. No one here wants dirt.”
My laugh comes easy. I let it roll out, let it cut through the music and remind them I don’t belong here and I don’t give a damn.
My eyes slide back to Legend’s, my smirk pulling at my mouth like I have a secret lodged under my tongue. Because I do. “Huh, you sure?”
Zev’s fingers flex against my stomach. His other hand slides up, knuckles grazing my ribs, then his mouth lowers to my neck.
His lips brush my skin.
“Hellpet, I will cut his lips from his face.”
Everything in Legend changes, and the Nightkin goes quiet.
The air thickens. His nostrils flare as his gaze drops to Zev’s mouth on me, and violence lights behind his eyes. Whether he’s aware or not, he doesn’t give a damn about ceremony, crowns, or the bitch at his side right now. His entire focus is on me.
As it should be.
His hand tightens on Arabella’s back hard enough that she winces, though she’s quick to mask the pain in a pathetic attempt to maintain her poise.
Legend looks like he’s about to murder everyone.
Cool. He can start with me—I’ve never turned down blood play.
But first, I wanna play a game.
“Hellpet…”
My mouth curves in a dark smirk.
I feel him there, humming beneath my ribs, coiled and ready, his power pulsing against my bones like a second heartbeat asking permission. The Argent nobility watch me with those hungry eyes, their bodies already betraying them, already leaning toward me like flowers starved for sun.
They have no idea what’s coming.
“Do it,” the Nightkin purrs. “Show them what we are.”
My lips curl.
Zev’s hold tightens on my stomach. He knows. He can feel the shift in me, the way the air changes pressure when that ancient magic I’m apparently made of decides to wake up.
Legend’s eyes haven’t moved from my face. He seems seconds away from tearing me apart with his teeth. The worst part is I want him to try.
But that’s not the game we’re playing tonight.
“Arabella,” I say her name like a curse. “You look tense.”
Her perfect mouth twists. “You shouldn’t be here. Guards—”
“I already told you.” I tilt my head, letting my dark hair fall over one shoulder. “No one’s coming to save you.”
The Nightkin laughs inside my chest, a sound that vibrates through my blood and settles low in my belly.
“Release me, Hellpet. Let me show them what chaos tastes like.”
I exhale.
And I let go.
The power tears out of me like a scream made of smoke and hunger. It rolls through the architecture in a visible wave, distorting the air, turning everything hazy and thick. The temperature spikes. The incense turns to something sweeter, darker, muskier.
The first Argent drops his champagne glass.
It shatters against marble, but no one flinches.
No one even looks. Because the woman beside him has grabbed his lapels and dragged his mouth down to hers, kissing him like she’s trying to consume him whole.
Her fingers tear at his buttons. His hands shove up her skirts.
They crash against a pillar, grinding against each other with zero shame, zero awareness, zero anything except raw, desperate need.
The sound ripples outward—gasps and moans and the wet slide of mouths meeting skin.