by Eve Langlais
“We don’t eat them if that’s what you’re implying.” She rolled her eyes as she grasped what he thought she said. “We use them as bait to capture meat.”
His jaw might have dropped. “You use your own people.”
“Not alive.” She snorted. “Dead is dead. If it could help keep us alive, then no one had a problem with it.”
“We put ours on a barge and set it on fire.”
“Polluting the air.” She sniffed. “Barbarian.”
“Says the marauder,” he grumbled as he tapped on the stone door. Three, two, then four taps.
A pause and it swung open.
Stepping inside, she saw no one there. She glanced side to side. “How did it open?”
“Remote controlled. The person on door duty listens for the correct code. Get it right and the latch is released.”
“And if you get it wrong?” she asked.
“There’s a reason why this door has remained secret.”
“How do you know the code?”
He tapped his temple. “Now shh. We aren’t exactly supposed to be in these tunnels.”
The rebuke made her realize how complacent she’d gotten. She usually wasn’t the one yapping in situations that required caution.
He led the way to the back of the tomb. She saw the opening in the wall, big enough to slide a body through, too dark to see inside.
At the far end a stone altar with candelabra on each end awaited. He twisted the arm on the left and a grinding sound preceded the alter sliding aside and revealing an opening.
Yet another hole she’d have to blindly climb into. It was becoming a habit with this king.
At least this one was well lit. She found herself in a short corridor that led into a big one, the walls crumbling somewhat and showing signs of patching. At least some kind of maintenance occurred but didn’t extend to the floor. She noticed it was broken up in some spots, untouched in others. Oddly rusted rails remained bolted into the concrete. Did they once have an underground train?
She’d spied a train once at the mountain pass—the only way out of Emerald that she’d known of at the time, and heavily guarded. It appeared as a centipede chugging along a track.
From the shadows stepped a thing, hulking and wide.
“Ambush!” She drew her knives and threw them.
Chapter 18
Roark stopped the blades before they hit Jorah.
“What da fuck!” Jorah jiggled, a mountain of man, beast, and a bit of gelatin, or so his friends claimed. He was Darius’s first mate.
“He’s got a shield!” Casey exclaimed, pulling a gun.
Roark placed himself in between them. “Don’t kill him. He’s part of my brother’s crew.”
“You know him?” She glared suspiciously.
“Yeah.”
“Knew he’d be here?”
“Yeah.
“Yet made me believe we were sneaking in?”
He grinned. “Yeah.”
He expected the slug to his gut. It still hurt.
“You’ll pay for that later,” was all she said as she swept past him.
He looked forward to it. The last time she’d used her mouth. What horrible pleasure would she inflict this time?
“Who dat?” Jorah asked as she kept striding.
“Casey.” He bit his tongue before adding, my future queen. He doubted she’d agree. He wasn’t even sure she liked him yet. But he would keep working on it because there was something about her. Something honest and true, beautiful and fierce.
However, figuring out how to convince her to become his partner in life wouldn’t happen today. Or tomorrow. Not with the danger hanging over his head.
They followed her, and Jorah, eyeing Casey’s stiff posture, said, “I donna think she likes ye.”
“She doesn’t.”
Jorah snorted. “Canna say as I blame her. Ya shoulda warned her ‘bout me.”
“Yes, he should have,” she snapped over her shoulder, showing she paid attention.
“I guessin’ you’ll want two rooms. Or should I ask for a cage to punish de king for being an arse?”
“Hey,” Roark protested.
Casey turned a bright smile on Jorah. “Cuffs would also work, and that will be one room. We’re going to share, aren’t we, Your Majesty?” Her eyes shot sparks.
He got the feeling she really intended to make him pay for his trick. If there was wrestling, he hoped it didn’t involve clothes.
“What’s the situation in the city?” he asked.
Darius had left a good portion of his crew behind while he visited Roark. They’d spent their time on shore visiting family and friends while also watching over the ship, which was berthed in the bay.
“Ye want da rumors or fact?”
“Let’s start with fact so we can see how much the rumor is based on it.”
Jorah’s boots clomped as they walked through the tunnels. “The king is sick.”
“What kind of sick?”
“The kind he won’t recover from. As to what made him ill…” Jorah rolled his shoulders, and they kept rolling until his flesh caught up. “Dere are a few theories and no confirmation. Da first is dat he’s old. Da Enclave says his body is shutting down.”
“He’s only sixty.” Roark recalled the king’s father living to almost a hundred. Although he abdicated around eighty.
“Which brings us to da second possibility. Poison.”
“Seems kind of long and drawn out,” Casey remarked. “Why not a knife to the throat?”
Roark knew the answer to that. “Because the king is actually very well liked. If he were killed, the citizens might revolt.”
“Revolt against who, though?” she asked.
“Against the wrong Enclave member who tries to take over. King Phineas is not the best king out there, but he’s decent, and under his rule and his father’s, Port City has thrived.”
“Meaning da king is a harmless old codger who liked everyone to make money,” Jorah said.
“Because a citizen that prospers fills the kingdoms coffers,” Casey said, taking over.
Roark arched a brow. “You’ve read the Theories of Kingdoms.”
“I was listening when Charlie was taking lessons. What I don’t understand is why your King Phineas took over from his father. Hereditary claims are archaic.”
“But traditional in many places.”
“Not in Emerald. In the Wasteland, the strongest rules.”
“In other locales, it’s the smartest. Or the wiliest.” He winked.
“Darius chooses to only be king of da ship ‘cause he donna like orders,” Jorah confided.
“Darius is a lucky bastard,” Roark muttered.
Jorah halted by a large door. “We’re here.”
Here being the cellar of a building that proved to have a large common hall, dark and rowdy, as people sat and shared pitchers of ale. Casey remained tense but kept her hand off her knives as she followed Jorah’s massive body. A few people addressed him, and he flipped them rude gestures each time to guffaws of laughter.
Inside the tunnels, Roark had let his face change back to normal. He trusted Jorah, but inside the tavern with strangers, he chose to be anonymous again.
They were given the third floor, which meant plenty of stairs but the full attic space to inhabit. It showed signs of being used, the bed neatly made, but clothes hung on a chair, spare boots in a corner.
“Whose room is this?” Casey asked.
“Capn’s,” Jorah said. “And safe as can be.”
Roark tended to agree. Only two windows, one on either end. Easy to escape if needed. Space enough to guard. He knew there would be at least one person watching the roof. More downstairs. This was Darius’s headquarters when in the city and the best place for Roark to stay, especially since it had the basement exit.
Jorah left them, and Casey prowled the room, checking it out, especially the bathroom area. “It has a tub.”
“Have a bath.”<
br />
She shook her head despite the wistful expression. “Now that we’re in the city, we should be on our guard.”
“We aren’t getting attacked in the next hour. You can be vigilant to the extreme after you’ve soaked and eaten.”
The scowl didn’t surprise. “You’re trying to make me soft.”
“Not make. I’d never force you to do anything.” He never even bothered stroking her mind anymore. She was a blank slate to him. He loved the challenge of guessing what she thought. She continually surprised him. And when she did give him the occasional burst of emotion, he felt honored.
“You made me believe we’d be fighting our way through the sewers into the city.”
He shrugged. “Would you have been less on guard if I’d told you the truth?”
She flung a knife, and it whisked past to embed in the slanted beam of the ceiling. He didn’t move, but he was blasé as he said, “I don’t need your dagger. I have my own.”
“Just in case I need to cartwheel out of the washroom naked to your rescue.” She dropped her pack. Then her belt. She kicked off her boots and walked away, pulling off her shirt to reveal the bandeau that bound her breasts, the taper of her waist. When her fingers went to the waistband, he sucked in a breath and turned away.
He wanted to touch her. So badly. But this was Casey. Despite what had happened the night before, he couldn’t just take what he wanted. He’d hoped things would have changed, yet the moment after he’d made her come on his tongue, she’d become standoffish. Since then, he’d caught her glaring at him for no reason, making it obvious he’d displeased her.
Kneeling, he opened his pack, and Sachi yawned before exiting his bag. He’d not lied to Casey earlier when he said he’d had no idea the cat snuck in. He would have sworn it was feline free.
Sachi stepped out of the bag, and he eyed her. “Be good.”
Her whiskers twitched.
Straightening, he heard water running, and rather than imagine Casey naked in the tub, he took that moment to look out the window. The tavern sat on the edge of the bazaar district with shops of all kinds, restaurants, and alehouses, too. The whorehouse next door proved convenient with its stable of men and women to please all types.
Not that he craved anything beyond their doors. The only woman he wanted was mere feet away.
Naked.
And wet.
He exhaled and braced his hands on the window. Port City was a chaotic mess, and he loved it. It was what he wanted Eden to become. Although, in many respects, he was already there. Meaning, if he could put a halt to the assassination and kidnapping attempts, he could enjoy the peace and prosperity.
Until someone wanted to take it.
He stripped off some of his superfluous gear, meaning he answered the knock at the door barefooted and bare-chested.
“Your supper, s—” The boy’s eyes widened, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Casey in a crouch with a knife in her hand. Dripping because she’d not bothered to wrap herself in a towel.
Fuck.
His mind caught the boy’s and wiped the image of her from it. Roark grabbed the tray from his hands and gave him a nudge. You served the guest and saw nothing.
The boy left, and Roark shut the door with a foot, doing his best not to stare at Casey. It was cruel, especially since he heard her padding closer.
“You shouldn’t have answered the door.”
“It’s our dinner.”
“Which someone else prepared.” Her naked body insinuated itself between him and the covered plates.
His willpower stretched especially when she leaned over and began lifting lids. Her wet hair streamed down her back, water beading on the fine line of her spine down to the crack of—
He averted his gaze. “You might want to put some clothes on.”
“I’m debating if I can return to my bath.”
“I’m not in danger.”
“Says you.” She poked the various dishes, sniffed them before saying, “You’re good.”
“As if you’d know.”
She gave him a dark-eyed stare. “I’d know.”
He got the pleasure of watching her naked ass saunter back to the bathing chamber. His appetite wasn’t for the food on the tray, so he sat and waited.
He heard water splash. The occasional sigh.
The lady did it on purpose. Was this her punishment for him? It was much crueler than what he’d done.
By the time she emerged, he’d taken care of business and didn’t care how randy it made him seem. The woman was driving him wild. And she’d yet to invite him back for more.
“Don’t tell me you waited,” she said, the towel tucked around her breasts, her hair swathed in another.
“I thought we could talk strategy over our meal.”
“That’s easy. We’re here to find out who’s putting out the bounties on your head.”
“And where are you going to start?” he asked, grabbing a piece of bread first. He slathered it with something greasy and salty. Delicious.
“Downstairs for starters. Places where people gather to drink are always good for information.”
“There are easily over a hundred taverns in the city. Will you hit them all?”
“A hundred.” She pursed her lips. “I only need the right tidbit.”
“And do you really think a citizen alehouse is where we’ll find it?” He arched a brow. “If we’re talking Enclave machinations, they won’t be revealing anything to the underlings.”
“They’d have to in order to hire them.”
He shook his head. “This is the city. Communication systems exist. There are hirelings whose sole purpose is to be the voice in the middle.”
“So we find the hireling and they tell us who they work for.”
“I’ve had agents working on that for a few weeks without success.”
“I get the feeling you’re leading me the long way to what we’re really here for.”
“Have you ever been to a ball?”
Her brow knit into a frown. “As in catching and hitting? Not since I was a kid.”
He laughed. “No. Not a ball as in sport. You know what, rather than explain, you’ll see tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight?”
“Because I’m tired.” And then, because he couldn’t help himself, “I know you are, too. Come to bed.”
For a moment, he saw her hesitate, her mouth open, and he was sure she would accept. Then her lips shut, and she shook her head. A pity. He’d hoped she’d be lying down and think the fatigue was normal.
Instead, she yawned on her feet and her eyelids drooped. When she swayed, it revived her enough to eye him and exclaim, “You drugged me.”
“Sorry.”
He truly was. But where he was going tonight, he had to go alone.
Chapter 19
Waking up in a bed wasn’t the worse thing. The pasty mouth, she could have done without. The sluggish remembrance took a moment to filter.
He’d drugged her!
Why? What had he done to her while she slept?
She sat up in the empty bed. She was dressed in a loose gown, the fabric soft.
The entire room was empty. His Majesty had left her alone.
It made her angry to realize he’d left her so vulnerable. Then even more peeved he’d gone off by himself.
Why?
She slid from the bed and quickly dressed in the new set of clean clothes she found on a chair. Stuff she’d have bought herself if given the choice. The shirt was formfitting, the jacket a rugged yet light leather, the slacks a little tight in the butt, but stretchy. Someone had chosen well for her.
She armed herself before heading to the door for a listen. Opening it suddenly meant the body leaning on it almost fell inside.
Thump.
The king hit the floor with a grunt. He didn’t rise. He snored, cheek pressed to tile.
Dead drunk. She hadn’t taken him for the type.
For a moment, she tho
ught about letting him sleep it off on the floor. He deserved it. A movement at the door drew her eyes and her knife.
Jorah appeared. “I was just coming to see if he’d made it up the stairs.”
“Did you help him?” she asked, pointing the tip of her weapon.
He lifted his massive hands. “Don’t gut me. I had nuthin’ to do with it.”
“But you knew he drugged me!” she accused.
“Aye, I knew ‘cause he trusted me to guard ya while ya slept. Said if anything hurt ya it better be ‘cause I was dead.”
It didn’t ease her ire to know he’d ensured her protection. Sachi stepped onto Roark’s prone body, her steps light as she crossed him like a bridge into the room. The feline cast Casey a glance, one that seemed to say, Men! Such idiots.
Casey tended to agree. With her initial shock tempering itself, her mind began to think. Why would he have drugged her? She doubted it was to ensure she got a great night’s rest. Leaving what other reason?
“Where did he go?”
“I canna say.”
Confirming the fact he’d done it because he went to see someone he didn’t want her to meet. Lover? He better hope not. She couldn’t abide cheaters.
“Can’t say?” She arched a brow. “Let’s get one thing clear. That is not an acceptable answer. Meaning, you’d better speak fast, or you’ll be scooping up your guts from the floor.” A menace delivered on a soft growl
“Donna blame me.” Jorah held up his hands. For a big man, he showed a healthy respect for Casey, which she appreciated. It was the only reason he wasn’t bleeding yet. “He made me promise.”
“And I’m sure he’d be perfectly fine with you breaking it if it means you get to live.” She smiled. Not reassuringly.
Poor Jorah blanched. She almost felt sorry for him, and then she remembered his part in what happened.
“It’s nothing bad,” Jorah claimed.
“I don’t believe you. Look at him.” She pointed to the snoring lump.
“He does dis every time he visits her.”
Her? She saw red. “Visits who?”
“His sista.”
The reply rocked her. “He has a sister?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s never mentioned her.” A brother, yes. A dead and two-timing father as well. Not much about his mother, but obviously no longer around either. New Earth was a tough place to live.
