Princes of Legacy (Royals of Forsyth University, #9)

by Angel Lawson

“You’re not scary, you’re just protective. It’s sweet,” I decide, but then amend, “annoying, but sweet.”

“First my grandfather, then my dad, and now my son. He won’t stop until he’s exterminated my whole fucking bloodline!”

“Now that one,” Lav says, tossing a shirt in the medium pile, “the way he looks at you?” “What about it?” “I’ve seen that before too.” She turns to watch Wicker approach Lex in the middle of the room. “He’s not ready yet, but when he finally is…” She trails off, but honestly, I’m dying to know. “What? What happens?” “It’s going to feel like falling off a cliff.”

“Because she’s our family, and you’re her family.” He dips his chin in a grim nod. “Family is the only thing we trust.”

“A sleuth.” “Huh?” I unfasten my pants and let them drop to the floor. Yeah, I’m stalling. “A group of bears is called a sleuth,” she says, eyes dragging away from my legs to the stack of papers I left on the dresser.

“Never,” I tell her, realizing that I mean it. I am never letting this woman go.

“You think you can annoy me to death.” His voice is dull, bored. “Good effort, but we both know it’ll take more than Led Zeppelin and stealing my Scotch to do that.”

This is my son. I brush my lips against hers. This is my Princess. I gasp for air, tasting the tang of blood and the edge of old, rusty death. This is my legacy.

These men don’t need a King. They don’t need a Princess. They need a mother.

“I used to think I loved you,” I say, looking around the squat room.

But I can’t trust him with my life anymore. Not with my brothers’. Not with my Princess’. Not with my son’s.

“Goodnight, Danner.” He gives me a feeble smile, eyelids fluttering closed. “Goodnight, Whitaker.”

“You are loved, you know.”

Lex takes the knife first, kneeling on the pillow with a crooked grin. “I want you to know this is fucking disgusting, and I’m running a million tests on you tomorrow.” Still, he slices his palm, placing it over the blood-soaked fabric with a grimace. “To create is to reign.” Pace follows, licking his lips as he kneels. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” My laugh is half delirious. “Absolutely.” He doesn’t even flinch when he slices his palm, but then he drops the knife, taking my belly in both hands. “To create is to reign,” he whispers, leaning in to brush his lips against my belly. Wicker, however, is silent as he drops to his knees, cutting into his flesh. “To create is to reign,” he breathes.

And it’s not exactly easy now. Lex is dressed in a dark gray waistcoat and crisply pressed trousers, hair slicked back into its bun. He looks like a gentleman, but only I know how much of a lie it is. Four hours ago, he was pushing his spunk into me while muttering absolute filth into my ear.

“I wonder what we’re going to find in your pants, Ashby.” Wicker climbs slowly to his feet, a cocky smirk plastered to his face. “Just my throbbing, nine-inch cock.”

“It’s… gross. I’m gross. I’m fat and smushy,” I wave my hands around my body, “my tits feel like they’ve been through a meat grinder, and my vagina had the equivalent of a watermelon pushed through it. I’m an abomination and you know it. You all know it.”