by Mary Martel
“Those marks on your neck, Shayne, they’re permanent. Same as the one on your thigh. They will never fade. You. Are. Mine. Mine to look after. Mine to cherish. Mine to make happy. Mine to love. Mine to make love to. And mine to protect. Forever. You’re it for me.”
When he stops speaking I don’t say anything. I just stare at him eyes wide, lips parted in shock. When I don’t say anything he continues to speak.
“I have spent the last ten years of my life hiding from the man that, in a few hours’ time, I’m going to be in a room with. Face-to-face. Do you think, knowing what he’s capable of, I would want you anywhere near him?” he shakes his head no, “I do not. I don’t want to leave you anywhere. I want you by my side. Always. It’s where you belong. But this… it will be ugly and things can go very badly for us. I didn’t want you there for it, I still don’t, because I cannot bare for anything to happen to you.” He pauses to take a breath and run his fingers through his long hair before he asks, “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“I… I think so,” I stammer out, my whole world completely rocked on its side by what he just said.
“Good,” he says, “Now, pack your shit. We’re taking it with us.”
After delivering that, he heads to the door but I call out his name, stopping him before he can reach it.
“What, Shayne?” wearily he asks.
“What exactly is it we will be doing?”
“We aren’t going to do anything,” he tells me, “I’m going to kill my Uncle.”
Oh boy.
This gives me second thoughts about wanting to go along so badly.
The look on his face keeps me from asking anymore questions, instead I tell him, “my shits already packed.”
“Great,” he mutters, turns and leaves the room.
Well… at least I know he doesn’t want to leave me behind because he regrets sleeping with me last night.
That’s something.
Right?
*****
Standing hand in hand at the bottom of the stairs, bags at our feet, Ian and I wait for the others.
When I made it down the stairs he was already there. As soon as my feet are off the last step, he takes my bags from me, throws them down next to his own and kisses me.
Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his neck. He cages my jaw in his hands, splaying his fingers on both my cheeks, essentially trapping my face and commanding my attention. Leaning down, lightly he brushes his lips against mine. With one hand I cup the back of his head. With my other hand I run my fingers through his hair. He glides the tip of his tongue across my bottom lip. I don’t want just the tip though, I want all of it. Fisting my hand in his hair I press my body into his. My tongue darts out past my lips and into his mouth. Groaning at my bold actions he reaches down and grabs my ass, holding my body tightly to his. He lets me explore his mouth with my tongue.
Closing my eyes I lose myself in the kiss. Our tongues caress one another. I moan into his mouth as he digs his fingers, almost painfully, into my ass cheeks.
At the sound of a throat clearing we break apart.
I untangle my fingers from his hair while he removes his hands from my ass. I sigh in disappointment.
Dropping my arms to my sides I take a step back. He doesn’t let me get far before he grabs my hand and pulls me into his side. I wrap my arms around his middle and lean into him. He rests his hand on the small of my back, his other arm hanging loosely at his side.
Collette is standing there, not even three feet in front of us. Figures.
“I hate to interrupt,” she says. I roll my eyes thinking yeah right, “but I wish to have a private word with Shayne before we leave. If I may?”
“Honestly,” I tell her, “I don’t know what you’d think we have to talk about in private. Whatever you have to say to me you should be able to say in front of Ian.”
She sighs, looking annoyed.
“I think you should stay here with Caleb.”
“Not this again,” I mutter.
“I think it would be best—“
“What’s this now?” Riley asks, cutting her off, as he descends the stairs, clearly having heard part of the conversation. Brooks and the twins are right behind him.
Knowing I have an ally in him when it comes to this topic I happily share, “Collette was just telling me she thinks its best I stay with the unknown Caleb.”
“Give it up already, Vampire.” He says, giving her a look that clearly says shut the fuck up.
“We do not have time to waste on this again,” Brooks throws in.
“Agreed,” the twins say in unison.
Take that, Vampire.
“But-” she starts to argue.
Ian cuts her off, “The time for talking is over. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Collette’s voice floats through my mind.
I hope you do not get yourself or my King killed.
Me too.
Finally the Vampire and I seem to be on the same page about something.
Chapter 21
Ian
The estate we grew up on is not far from Collette’s. It’s actually on the same dirt road, about fifteen miles north of her place.
There are a lot of Supernaturals that live in this area.
The majority are council members. Most live here to be close to their ruler. My family has lived here for generations, owning hundreds of acres of land. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Collette’s house sits on my families land. There are a lot of houses on those hundreds of acres. All of them lived in by people in the supernatural community.
When my father was King, if you were one of his subjects, it didn’t cost you a damn thing to live on our land. No rent. No taxes. You built your home here, lived your life here, and created your family here. If you did that was that and it was considered yours. For as long as you wanted it to be. My father had loved his people.
Brooks has shared with me this is no longer the case. If you live on this land you are now responsible to pay rent for doing so. If you can’t pay it then you are forced to leave. That rent money goes straight into my Uncle’s fat pockets. Money he doesn’t need while he controls our family funds.
We own land all over the country. Most of it farm land. Land we make a fortune off of. And not a small one either. We have investments in companies all over the world. Well, last I knew we did.
My grandfather had bankrolled several of his peoples businesses. People who had big dreams but lacked the money to chase those dreams. Someone approached him and he gave them money on loan. They were successful and paid him back plus interest.
Word spread like wild fire causing more people to approach their King. He gave them all they asked for but he changed the terms of what he got in return. Instead of just getting back the money he fronted plus a small amount in interest, he partnered with them. Silent partner, of course. They agreed to those terms and people just kept on coming. Making his fortune even bigger.
Not every venture was a success, however. He took those losses in stride, not doing it for the money, but for his people.
Times were changing and living the simple life, hidden away in the woods amongst your own kind was getting harder and harder to do. He made the transition easier. That’s not to say it was a smooth transition, a lot of people fought it, were against mixing our lives with humans, but in the end they could do nothing to stop it. It was a necessary evil if we wanted to keep thriving. And thrive we did.
Now, not so much.
My Uncle, consumed by his greed and lack of care for his people, is taking more and more from those businesses. He is taking so much that he’s crippling his own people. Crippling my people.
They work hard and have nothing to show for it but a fat King with even fatter pockets.
According to Brooks and Collette, the people are ready to revolt. They want my Uncle gone. The problem with that is he’s so heavily guarded and never leaves the estate, no one has the chance to
challenge him. My people may want him gone but they will not go about it in a dishonorable way.
Brooks tells me the best hope they have is to wait for him to die naturally and then fight amongst themselves for the throne. And when I say fight amongst themselves I mean to the death. The last one standing, the strongest one, the victor, takes the throne.
It is savage and many people will die. Men and women.
This is how my family acquired it and the family before us and so on. That’s just how it’s done. Sometimes heirs will fight it. Whether they are successful, whether they live or die, all depends on their strength.
My grandfather wished to dispense with his. He wanted to change our laws to better suit the times. Our people are no longer savage in nature. He was hoping that with coming out of the woods to live civilly and not like the animals we can sometimes be, we could change our laws to be less barbaric.
He died before he could change it. My father made great strides but he too died before he could change the laws.
They wanted there to be a succession to the throne set up in place. A permanent one. One without bloodshed.
All talk of change died alongside my father. Under the rule of a vile, greedy man who gave not one fuck about them, the people were falling back into their primitive ways.
There’s rumors of the Vampires, Elves and Fairies all wanting to divert back to the old ways. They used to rule themselves.
They also used to wage war on one another. Fighting for land. For coin. For pretty much anything they could come up with to fight about.
The last war damn near wiped out the entire species of Fairies and Vampires. It is also the one that brought us together as a people united. Granted, it did not happen overnight, it took years of negotiations to get the majority on board.
The shifters have ruled ever since. The leadership going to the top of the food chain amongst the Supernaturals.
All of these things are my Uncles fault.
I know this.
Still…
I cannot help but feel as if they are my fault.
Things would be different had we never left. I cannot help but think had we stayed maybe I could have fought my Uncle. Maybe I could have exposed him for murdering my father and my people would not right now be suffering.
These thoughts weigh heavy on my heart and for the first time in my life I felt shame.
I’m ashamed of the fifteen year old boy I was.
The only thing I can do now is try to make it right. Try to right my Uncles wrongs. Try to right my own wrongs.
I hope I get the chance to.
I might not, though.
Who knows, my people might hate me as much as they do my Uncle.
I should never, ever have brought Shayne into this.
*****
“This place looks like a ghost town,” Shayne whispers.
She’s not wrong.
We had just turned onto the lane that will go right up to our home. On both sides sit buildings. Supermarket, strip mall, diner, coffee shop, bar, gas station. The list goes on. All there to accommodate my people.
And, very weirdly, as Shayne mentioned, looking like a ghost town.
Empty. The place is completely devoid of people.
“It’s the middle of the day,” she continues, still whispering, “Where are all the people?”
Again, she’s not wrong. It is the middle of the day.
A feeling of unease sweeps down my spine.
Where are all the people?
Where are my people?
My brother, probably sensing my unease, quietly reminds me, “It’s an open council meeting taking place in the throne room, brother. This is rare and will not want to be missed. They are likely attending it.”
“Right.” I mutter.
Shayne, in attempt to probably calm my nerves, reaches over and takes hold of my hand, lacing her fingers through mine.
It has the opposite affect though, only serving to remind me of what I now stand to lose.
Something, or more aptly put someone that holds more meaning to me than my people.
Her.
Why did I bring her with me?
Why?
I had not wanted her to come along.
Too late now to turn back.
My childhood home looms before us. It looks much the same. Huge, vastly so. Beautiful. Welcoming.
Welcoming…. If only.
Many different vehicles are parked on the side of the land and in front of the house. Some are even littering the front lawn.
“Ian?” Riley asks.
“Right up front, brother. I see no point in trying to hide.”
Chapter 22
Shayne
People are staring at me. And not a small amount of people. Hundreds of people. Some taking in my features. Others, my plain, ordinary clothes. The majority, however, have their eyes locked on the teeth marks on my neck. The marks their, thought to be dead, Prince left on my neck.
And some of these people are most definitely not normal people.
Some of them have pastel colored hair with delicate, no fragile looking bodies. Tall and extremely thin. And, I cannot tell their genders apart, there’s nothing to specifically mark them as male or female. Very bizarre.
Some of them are short, so short they barely come up to my elbow. They have squat faces and despite their height (or lack of) they look anything but delicate. In fact, they look the opposite of delicate. They look… sturdy.
Mixed in are people with Collette’s paleness and gaunt features. Obviously Vampires. Although, none of them look to be as thin as she is. What was up with that? Is she some sort of anorexic Vampire or something? Wouldn’t surprise me to hear it.
And the others, well, they are built like how I’ve come to notice shifters are. Tall, broad, sturdy. Even the females look sturdy. These people I find intimidating.
And they all, each and every one of them, look downright pissed off.
For some reason, I have no idea how, I can tell they aren’t pissed at us though.
Suffice it to say, things at this juncture are not going so well for good ole Uncle Roland.
Oh no, they are not.
The old, obese and extremely unattractive man is fucked and he damn well knows it.
He’s trying, and failing spectacularly, to cover his ass. Acting like he’s ecstatic to see his nephews alive and well. Acting shocked to see them alive. Which in all fairness he probably is shocked but clearly for different reasons seeing as he knew they were alive. I’m guessing he’s shocked they waltzed on in here like they own the place and announced to the entire room what he did to their father. And that is exactly what they did.
As soon as we stepped foot into this opulent room I saw it on everyone’s faces. Instant recognition.
Questions were hurled around the room.
Mostly Ian, but sometimes Riley, answered.
The obese, old and extremely unattractive man sitting on a throne (a real freaking throne, no joke.) faked outrage and hurt. Well, I’m sure he’s outraged but just not for the reasons he’s sputtering out.
As for me, well, I only half listened to them.
My mind was elsewhere because from the moment I set foot in this mausoleum I was assaulted by thoughts that did not belong to me.
Alive.
How could that be?
Decapitated.
Poor boys.
On and on and on it went. It was freaking relentless.
Which brings us to now with everyone staring at me.
Mate.
I hear whisper through my mind in many different voices. So many it’s overwhelming.
Mate to the true king.
I put my fingers to my temple and painfully press them into my skin, hoping to alleviate the pain and drown out most of the voices. It’s no use, though. I can feel a migraine start to take form in my head.
It’s overwhelming. Deafening. So very overwhelming.
Too much.
I
blink as dark spots start to erase my vision.
Too much.
Too many voices inside my head that aren’t my own.
Half blindly, I swing my arm out. Coming in contact with something solid, I grab hold.
“What’s wrong?” a male voice murmurs close to my ear.
“My head,” I whimper, “Too many voices. It hurts.”
“Stay back,” I hear Ian menacingly growl.
“I can help her,” a singsong voice calls out.
“Last warning,” Ian growls, “Stay back.”
“I will not harm her, my King,” says the singsong voice, “Clearly, she is unwell and I can help her. That is all I wish to do.”
“Shayne,” Riley whispers in my ear, “What is wrong?”
“I can hear them,” I whisper, “In my head. It’s too much. Riley, it hurts.”
“Where is he? Where did he go?” Ian demands.
“He’s gone. Fuck, brother. He’s gone,” Riley angrily responds.
I hear a commotion and people start to scream. I try to block it out but I can’t. I let go of whoever I’m holding on to and press my palms into my temple.
A cold hand touches my cheek and, just like that, my pain is gone.
Lowering my hands I slowly blink open my eyes, lift my head and come face-to-face with a pastel haired, fragile featured boy/girl person with eyes the color of steel.
“Better?” the singsong voice from moments ago, the one who’d said they wished to help me, asks me.
Hmm… it would seem this person is female judging by the voice.
“Yes. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.” I whisper tentatively, afraid if I speak too loudly my migraine will return.
Then, stupidly and intrusively, without thought, I ask her, “What are you?”
Her face changes from concern to amusement and she smiles brightly at me. “I am a fairy,” she boldly states.
“A fairy?” I stupidly repeat. At her nod I feel my eyes bug out and I whisper in wonderment, “Wow.”
She continues to grin at me.
Her grin quickly fades and is replaced with a scowl which she aims over my shoulder.
“Vampire,” she says, her beautiful, singsong voice coming out sounding harsh and unfriendly.
