Page 89 of Mate of a Monster

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.