The Goblin’s Bride (A Feud So Dark and Lovely, #1)

by Leigh Kelsey

Marrying a goblin and plotting a murder is not a recommended replacement for therapy.

"I'm ready," I replied, after discarding a half dozen replies. Bring it on didn't have the right ring to it. Lead me to my victim definitely wasn't right.

That's how I'd write this long walk down the tower aisle when I penned my memoir; I'd write myself as a gallant saviour, sparing the other women from a cruel goblin.

I was doing them a favour by taking out their prince. And if I wasn't, I honestly didn't give a shit. He'd slaughtered my sister first; I was just returning the favour by stabbing him. Or carving out his heart. Or hacking off his head. I was keeping my options open.

"Do you dedicate your love and your life to this man?" I dedicated both to murdering him. That counted, right? I dragged in a sharp breath and said, "I do."

"Will you, to the best of your ability, care for this man through light and dark, sickness and health, fortune and mischance?" Not in a million fucking years. "I will," I agreed, sweat rolling down my spine.

"Hello, brideling," he purred,

"Really, Rook?" Kier growled, slumping into the corner of the carriage. "I've been married for two minutes, and you're already trying to seduce my wife?"

"Fine," he spat, his tanned face twisted with displeasure. "But you stay with me—you don't budge an inch from my side." "Or what?" I laughed quietly. "You'll lose your wife to the fog? I'm sure you'd be devastated." "I married you to end the fucking war," he snarled, teeth bared and sending a flash of primal fear through me. "Getting you killed would only launch it twice as violently."

"I'm your husband, not your owner. I won't tell you what you can't do." Huh. That was inconveniently admirable.

I gave him the finger, watched his empty look, and gleefully explained, "The finger means fuck you." "I don't fuck humans," he laughed scornfully. "I don't trust you; you'll stab me in the back while I sleep."

"Mother save me from mouthy wives," he muttered under his breath. "Wives, plural?" I tilted my head. "How many do you have? Are they stashed in a basement, each behind a locked door? I'll have to liberate them." "You talk too much," he groaned.

"You can probably talk someone to death," he muttered, getting my attention by taking a knife from inside his jacket. It had five gems down the handle, each bezel set and darkest sapphire. My covetous heart fluttered—and skipped when he handed it to me. "But just in case your tongue fails you, have this."

"I thought the Haar could only be stopped by fog's ruin," I mused. "Also, I'm keeping this. Forever. It's mine now." I stroked the sharp edge, my stomach full of butterflies. I couldn't wait to christen this baby.

Ugh. People were touching me now? Why were people touching me?

"I'm disgustingly attracted to you right now," he hissed, eyes black and nostrils flaring.

"Likewise," I bit out, my teeth bared. "I hate you so much." His mouth flicked up, his sharp-planed face taut with desire and revulsion. "The feeling, Zabaletta, is mutual."

"A mating bond is a gift from the Mother. Someone who's the perfect fit for you in every way—physically, mentally, emotionally, and on a soul level. Denying your mate is like carving out your lungs. He's an essential part of you."

"Does she look like that when you go down on her, or is it just food that gives her that face?" Rook asked casually.

"What are you two doing here?" "Enriching your night with our presence?" Rook offered, a dazzling smile splitting his dark face. "Cock-blocking you?" Xiona countered, flashing her teeth in a crooked smile.

"Fierce bridling. Were you leaping to our defence?" "To my own," I corrected, narrowing my eyes further. "I see you've chosen your cause of death. I wouldn't have picked provoking me into stabbing you for touching me, but you do you, Rook." Xiona barked a loud laugh, grinning at me. "I didn't know humans could be this interesting." "I didn't know goblins could be this maddeningly normal," I fired back, extricating myself from Rook.

"Kiss me again, and I'll kill you," I threatened, and swallowed hard when Kier's eyes flared with obvious arousal. The psycho liked when I threatened him? Well, he'd love it when I buried my knife in his throat on the goblin moon.

"If only we had time for me to show you just how long I can make you scream, mate."

The fucking psycho. He liked all my sharpness, my knives, my ... me. He liked me, abrasive and threatening and prickly.

Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts. Allenon's guts spilling out, his cut throat burbling with blood, the stupid choking sounds he'd make as he bled to death.