The Rogue King

by Abigail Owen

  “He looks nice,” she couldn’t resist murmuring to Brand under her breath.

  “Only when he wants to be.”

  If he kept this lot under control, she imagined that had to be true. Kasia had no doubts Hershel could handle himself in a fight. The guy was basically bone and muscle. He prowled around the end of the bar, moving in a way that reminded her of predatory animals, and held out a hand to Brand. The two did that manly shake-while-slapping-the-back thing that men did when they didn’t want to seem girly with their hug technique.

  “What brings you here?” Hershel asked as he stepped back, mustache twitching.

  “We could use a place to stay for a night,” Brand said. No smiles from him, though. Not even for an old…acquaintance…or whatever he considered this man to be.

  Hershel glanced down at her and gave her the kindest smile she’d encountered in a long while. “You look like trouble.”

  Kasia grinned back and held out a hand to shake. “Kasia Amon.”

  Brand turned his head her way sharply enough that the action snagged her attention. Right. She hadn’t given him her last name in the hospital. But that was when she thought he didn’t know she was a phoenix. No need to hide it now—the proverbial cat had scrambled out of the bag days ago.

  Hershel shook her hand. “American?”

  She shrugged. “In a roundabout way.” Hell, she’d been one of the first people to travel there after the Europeans discovered it existed. She had even lived with the land’s indigenous people on a few occasions, but that had been over a hundred and fifty years after her birth.

  “We all come from several somewheres,” Hershel agreed. White eyebrows winged up as he assessed Brand. “Your mate?”

  Brand shook his head.

  Hershel glanced between them, as if trying to size up the relationship going on there.

  Good luck, buddy. Let me know if you figure it out, ’cause I sure as hell can’t.

  “You runnin’ from something?” came the next probing question.

  “A lot of somethings,” Brand confirmed.

  “Bad?”

  “I wouldn’t bring her here otherwise.” Brand didn’t apologize, but somehow the sentiment was implied.

  Hershel rested his hands on his hips, his glance going behind her to the strange assortment of bikers filling the bar. Then he gave a small nod. “They could use some action, I’m thinking.”

  Finally, Brand’s lips tipped in the barest of smiles. “I hope it won’t come to that.” He left the “but it might” hanging silently in the air between them.

  Kasia’s opinion of her reluctant rescuer crept up a notch or two.

  He’d brought them here on purpose, to a place housing supernatural creatures who could fend for themselves if things turned ugly, but who, apparently, wouldn’t touch her because of Hershel. Not instant victims, like humans would be, or immediate threats, thanks to their host.

  He might not like to think so, but Brand Astarot was a decent man under all that tough guy bullshit.

  “In that case, welcome to my five-star hotel, Kasia.” Hershel offered her his arm.

  After a quick glance at Brand’s passive face, she accepted, tucking her hand in the crook of Hershel’s elbow.

  He tugged her along the length of the bar, through swinging doors into the kitchen, Brand following more slowly. “I’m going to take a quick shower, then I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” he said.

  Hershel nodded an acknowledgment and turned to Kasia. “You hungry?”

  “Starved.” She hummed in appreciation as stronger scents of garlic and tomato swirled around her.

  When was the last time she’d had anything to eat, anyway? On the plane? And Brand had to be worse off, because he’d flown them for hours across the English Channel and up to northern England, injured and on an empty stomach. How was the man still standing?

  Food. Shower. Sleep. In that order.

  Hershel settled her at what appeared to be his personal desk, tucked back in a private office off the kitchen. Brand showed up while she waited, smelling of soap and fire, his hair damp from his shower. Obviously, he knew the place well enough to be aware of where to shower and change.

  Shortly after, Hershel brought them steaming plates of hardy noodles covered in marinara and juicy meatballs as big as her fists, accompanied by a salad with all the trimmings and garlic bread. The food claimed her immediate attention.

  After the first bite, she groaned. “You should be doing this in some big city, Hershel. This is fantastic.”

  “Nah.” He waved away her comment, though his blue eyes twinkled. “Too many people.”

  Kasia didn’t even try to be ladylike, shoveling the food in as fast as she could scoop and chew. Brand did the same. Their host waited in silence, obviously recognizing starving people when he saw them.

  “I like a woman with an appetite,” Hershel teased after she’d devoured everything but the plate and silverware and asked for seconds.

  “Really?” Kasia mumbled around a mouthful of meatball. “I think men who eat are gross.” She winked.

  Brand choked on his drink.

  “Was that…a laugh?” she asked.

  He ignored her, but Hershel snorted, those crinkles around his eyes deepening. “She’s got you pegged, son,” he said to Brand, who ignored him as well.

  “So, what’s the story?” Hershel asked as they both slowed in their eating frenzy.

  Kasia wiped her mouth with a napkin as she sat back and shared a long look with Brand, one she was strangely reluctant to break. Aware of Hershel waiting for an answer, she raised her eyebrows, deferring to the shifter. She had no idea what he wanted shared with this man.

  For his part, Brand also leaned back in his seat, seemingly at ease. “Bad people are after Kasia. I’m trying to get her to someone who can help.”

  Hershel’s thick mustache twitched. “Forthcoming as always.”

  Brand hitched a shoulder. “Forthcoming can get you killed.”

  “You brought the fight to my door,” Hershel pointed out.

  “Can’t deny that fact,” Kasia said around another bite of bread.

  She glanced up to find Brand watching her with an indecipherable look that turned the food in her mouth to dust. She had to swallow hard.

  “What?” she said. “He has a point.”

  Brand stretched out his long legs, tipping his chair back. “If I did my job right, the only thing at his door will be us. For the night. Then we’re gone.”

  “Did you do your job right?” Hershel asked. His voice jolted even her—a mix of no-nonsense and “you better fucking answer.”

  Kasia did a double take between the two men. Brand didn’t seem offended, but it was hard to tell with that indifferent expression of his.

  “I did my job right,” he said. “But if your people haven’t heard the rumors of what she is yet, they will.”

  Again, Kasia glanced between them. Waited.

  Nothing happened except a showdown staring match.

  Another glance. Waited again.

  As the staring continued, she gave up. “As fascinating as this conversation is, I could use a shower and bed.” She pushed to her feet, her chair scraping across the tiled floor with a squeal of protest.

  Hershel also got to his. “I’ll show you to your room. Brand?”

  The two held another one of those silent conversations. Eventually, Brand shook his head. “I’m going to have more to eat first.”

  He didn’t look her way, and Kasia tried not to let herself feel oddly cut off from him. Without comment, she followed Hershel out of the office. Only she didn’t like it, walking away from Brand. Strange how fast his mere presence had become her new normal.

  “So how do you know Brand?” she asked as Hershel led her out the back of the building. She gave her head a mental
shake as the scenery changed from fancy, well-stocked kitchen into a shack with worn-out wood siding, tires and barrels and other junk strewn about the grounds, and the stench of the large garbage bin permeating the air—the structural equivalent of Clark Kent versus his less-mild-mannered alter ego, Superman.

  Actually, Clark Kent was in much better shape than the dilapidated outside of Hershel’s bar.

  “He didn’t tell you?” Hershel asked.

  “He said you raised him.”

  He huffed a laugh. “That kid practically raised himself. I just gave him a place to do it.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll have to take that up with Brand.” His long loping strides ate up the ground, and she hustled to keep up.

  She cast him a sidelong glance. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”

  “Nope. That’s Brand’s story to tell.” He led her through a copse of tall trees, behind which stood an old cottage of gray stone with a steeply angled thatched roof, similarly banged up in appearance on the outside as the bar.

  She sighed her disappointment that he wouldn’t be a source of information, but relented. “I can respect that.”

  He flipped open a panel beside the door that had been hidden under a layer of old wood. As she watched with blatant curiosity, he punched in a code, and the door lock clicked with a soft snick.

  “Your code is 0717,” he said.

  The old house had serious security. “Should I be concerned about all this?” She waved at the panel.

  “Not really. Comes with the lifestyle.” Hershel held open the door and ushered her inside.

  This time, at least, she was prepared for the contrast. As opposed to the rickety front porch that protested with each step, the interior was a homey hideaway. Decorated in rustic mountain colors of browns, greens, and blues, with lots of natural wood, exposed beams, and comfy leather seating, it rivaled most luxury mountain cabins she’d seen in glossy magazine pictures.

  “Okay. You have to tell me… Why the discrepancy between outside and inside?”

  Hershel grinned. “Lots of reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  “Keeps outsiders away. Thieves and looters are less likely to bother. Doesn’t raise government suspicions more than any other pub. Taxes…”

  “Taxes?”

  He snorted. “You think I’m giving more than a token cent to those assholes in government? The key is an appearance of compliance.”

  Kasia shook her head, but said nothing. Her mother had insisted on paying taxes in order to keep off government radar. Centuries of life meant she’d met Hershel’s attitude—to various empires, principalities, classes, and governments—with surprising frequency. What was that quote about the definition of insanity meaning repeating history with an expectation of different results? Not that dragons seemed to learn any faster than humans.

  “And you’re not afraid of the Slingers…doing stuff?”

  Hershel glowered. “They wouldn’t dare. I provide too much for them to screw it up—a place to meet, hide, and sleep, storage, safety, food—”

  “They stay in your house?” She glanced around, trying to figure out what she’d missed. The structure hadn’t appeared all that large from the outside.

  “Nervous?” He grinned.

  “A little. I have my virtue to consider.” She gave a little wiggle.

  He chuckled. “Not to worry. They stay in a building farther to the south.”

  “Quite a setup you have here.” She didn’t fail to notice the state-of-the-art media panel by the door, either, a bigger version of the one on the outside. She nodded at it. “What’s that for?”

  “Security.”

  Ha! So he wasn’t as confident as he’d sounded about the Slingers invading his space.

  “For non-club-member contingencies,” he added.

  Kasia blinked, then looked closer at his face. Who was this guy?

  “Because of Brand?” she asked.

  “Because of a lot of reasons.” He stepped around her. “Your room is this way.”

  In other words, question and answer time was over.

  He led her down a short hall to a small guest bedroom with windows that faced the back of the house. An antique brass bed with a navy and white striped quilt graced the room. The only other furniture was a vintage bedside table in a rose-colored wood.

  “You’ll have to bunk up with Brand, I’m afraid.”

  Kasia sighed and shrugged, even as a small part of her perked up at the thought, and another part protested. All night in a bed with Brand… But she shoved that thought away with both hands. Brand wasn’t interested. “I doubt he’d let me out of his sight overnight, anyway.”

  Hershel smoothed a hand over his thick mustache. “You in that much trouble?”

  “Yes. But actually, last time he left me alone, I stole his car and left him high and dry.”

  Hershel stared at her for a long moment, then tossed his head back and roared with laughter. “Where was this?”

  No harm in sharing. “Wyoming.”

  “The Hemi Cuda?” he finally calmed enough to ask, wiping tears from his eyes.

  She grimaced, but nodded.

  “Now that I would’ve loved to see.” Hershel chuckled some more.

  Kasia grinned back. “He was pretty pissed.”

  “I don’t doubt it. It’s rare for someone to get the better of him.” Hershel gave a few more chuckles before he sobered. “You’re not trying to get away from him now, though.”

  “No. I guess you could say our goals aligned. He’s taking me somewhere…safe. Or so he says. I’ll make up my mind when I get there.”

  Hershel gave a slow nod. Then pointed to one of the two doors on the right-facing wall of the bedroom. “You said shower. Your bathroom is through there. Plenty of towels and soap and stuff for you to use.”

  A man with hospitality skills, now there was a rare find. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” She could just picture him tipping a cowboy hat, he gave off such an old cowboy vibe with his countenance and demeanor, despite living in Northern England.

  He turned to go, but paused. “A word of warning?”

  Kasia raised her eyebrows and waited.

  “Brand’s been a loner since he was a kid, by necessity. He’s a tough man because he’s had to be. A true rogue.”

  Everything inside Kasia paused, as she tried to suss out his meaning. He was saying something important, but what? “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Not to frighten you. I would trust Brand with my life.”

  “But?” There was definitely a but in there.

  “Not but. More like unless. I’d trust him with my life…unless a decision came down to my life or his.”

  VIII

  “I’m surprised you told her I raised you.”

  Brand ignored Hershel’s dry comment and took a swig of beer. He’d poured one for himself at the bar before sitting on one of the stools, back to the room, doing his best to give off “leave me the fuck alone” vibes. Because right now all he could picture was Kasia naked and wet in that shower she’d said she wanted to take, and the rock-hard state of his dick had him pissed as hell. He needed to kill this thing he had for her.

  Fast.

  “That’s quite a woman you’ve got there,” Hershel said next.

  Brand lowered his pint of beer as Hershel pulled up the stool beside him.

  “I borrowed your first aid kit,” Brand said. “Hope that’s okay.”

  He’d needed to pull the jeans out of his skin, the material having knitted into the wound as it healed while he flew, part of the trouble with his shift including clothing and the way it absorbed into his dragon form. That had opened up the bleeding again, but at least he’d be recovered in an hour or two.

  Hershel gla
nced at his leg and shrugged. “I’ve seen worse from you.”

  Brand grunted.

  “So…that’s quite a woman you’ve got there,” Hershel repeated. Only this time, he slapped him on the back to make his point.

  Brand contained a sigh. Hershel was in his dog-with-a-bone mode, which meant he wouldn’t let this go. “She’s definitely something,” Brand muttered.

  “What’s the story there?”

  Brand glanced in the mirror over the bar, checking to see if anyone was paying a little too much attention. Most of them had enhanced hearing.

  Hershel caught the glance. “I can vouch for them.”

  “Just a bunch of easygoing murderers and thugs?”

  Hershel huffed a laugh. “Something like that.”

  Brand tipped his beer at his friend. “My kind of people.”

  The problem was, Brand’s kind of people were the type who’d steal a phoenix the second her protector’s back was turned.

  Rather than get sidetracked, Hershel took a swig of his own beer and waited for Brand to answer his earlier question.

  “She’s…special.”

  Thick white eyebrows lifted. “No shit, Sherlock. How special are we talking?”

  Another glance in the mirror and he lowered his voice. “A fire creature everyone wants a piece of, special.”

  Brand waited while Hershel mentally reviewed what Kasia could be. When the old man’s blue eyes narrowed, Brand knew he’d figured it out.

  “Nah,” Hershel denied immediately.

  “Yes.”

  “After all this time?”

  “Seems so. I’ve seen her in action.” Hell, he’d felt her in action. His cock throbbed at the memory.

  “I see.” Hershel combed his fingers through his mustache, thinking. “Are you taking her to Ladon?”

  He didn’t need to answer. Hershel always was rattlesnake quick on the uptake.

  “What the fuck are you doing, son?”

  Brand curled his hands around his pint glass. “I’m taking her to people who can protect her the best.”