by Emma Alisyn
“What a stupid bet. I thought you weren’t attracted to me.”
“I never said that, you did. Is it a bet?”
“What do I get when I win?”
He eyed her, curious. “What do you want?”
Eyes narrowing, she considered. “I want to be Prince for an hour.”
He blinked, long lashes fluttering. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I want to be Prince.”
“Do you have any kind of idea what sort of damage you could do as Prince for an hour?”
Rhina smiled.
“I see you do. Fine.” He snapped his fingers, and produced several more balls. “May the best warrior win.”
13
He trounced her. “Told you I was letting you win. I’ve been coming here since I was a boy.”
She turned, and stared at him expressionlessly.
“Don’t worry, I won’t claim my kiss right this moment. I’d rather watch you stew in nervousness, anticipating when I might swoop in to steal my prize.”
Rhina rolled her eyes. “I’m hungry, and you talk way too much for a male. Are you planning on feeding me?”
“Of course. You need fattening up.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. There was really no way to respond to that statement. Geza’s eyes glinted with the pleasure of taunting her. He held out an arm, waiting expectantly. “Take the arm, female. Where are your manners?”
“Back in the trash bin in your office.” But she took the arm, gritting her teeth against the necessity of touching him for any reason other than murder. As she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, her stomach didn’t roil. There was no urge to vomit.
Amazing. She’d have to ask the bartender what he’d put in the drinks she’d been sipping.
He led her to one of the round tables in the food court area. It was covered in a white cloth, the chairs scrubbed ruthlessly clean, and set as if they were in a fine-dining restaurant. She took a seat, staring up at the starry sky, and wished she could let the wind ruffle through her wings.
“You’ve never played mini golf before,” he said as he sat opposite her.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Rhina shrugged, eyes sliding away from him, then looked at him sideways. “My mother didn’t let me out much.”
“You had a strict upbringing?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Uniformed servers brought out more wine and two tiny plates of hors d'oeuvres. After explaining the selections, the server poured their wine and then bowed and left.
“Was it religious?”
She placed the bite of food in her mouth, flavors bursting on her tongue. This wasn’t food court cuisine. He must have had one of the downtown restaurants cater. Of course, he had. Any of them would bend over backwards to serve the Prince Ioveanu.
“No, family issues.”
“Hmm.” He sipped this wine, leaning back in his chair with eyes closed. “I know about family issues.”
“More than most, I guess.” She stared into her glass. “I don’t envy you.”
“Oh? I’m rich, educated, privileged, and powerful. Hot as hell. It’s so unfair to other people how much the universe has favored me. Even Malin is jealous.”
“Add ‘blatant, unrepentant liar’ to your list of attributes. You’re trapped, in constant threat of assassination, and required to fulfill a role with no regard to if you want it or are particularly suited towards it.”
“This is what I keep telling Malin. He refuses to be grateful.” Geza sounded amused, undisturbed by her pithy tone of voice.
“He’s the lucky one, really,” she said. “He has the best of both worlds. The power, the fortune, the fame, the inherent authority of the bloodline, but with none of the true responsibility.”
Geza’s eyes opened and he stared at her, eyebrow snapping up in irritation. “He is—was—afflicted with the degenerative disease of our bloodline.”
“Lucky break. If only I could escape my bloodline with a degenerative disease.” A moment later, she set her glass down carefully, and pushed it away. “I have a bad habit of drinking and talking when I should keep my mouth shut. My apologies, Highness.” Not that she was sorry if she’d offended him, but she had a cover to maintain . . . she was certain she had a cover to maintain?
“I don’t want your apologies,” he said, head tilting as he watched her. “I enjoy your frankness. Your lack of apparent greed for what I may be able to give you is refreshing. Stupid, but refreshing.”
“Are there no females who’ve been with you just for you?” Rhina could have smacked herself as soon as she asked the question. Was it because he already felt familiar to her that she was able to speak so freely? The questions would be considered an insult to males with only half of Geza’s ego.
“Not that I know of. Don’t feel sorry for me. I get what I want out of such liaisons as well. I never leave a female wanting.”
“But now, you want a wife.”
“Now, I want a wife. I find myself with a more pressing issue, an offer I made years ago that takes precedent.”
“Old offers always seem to bite one in the ass.”
Geza smiled inscrutably. Servers brought the first course, and they busied themselves with eating, surprisingly comfortable in the several moments of companionable silence. “So, tell me,” he said. “What do you want?”
Rhina speared a steak tip. The cutlery was pure silver, an unexpected boon. Certain brands of stainless steel contain more iron than others, and she was sensitive. She didn’t need blisters on her fingers while she was trying to concentrate on dinner.
“Freedom,” she said. “To make my own choices. Freedom from anger, and vengeance, and hatred.”
She realized, as she spoke, that the words were true. She did want to be free from the all-consuming need to avenge her mother. It was exhausting, and would soon be heartbreaking, and deadly, as well. Being here with him like they were friends was causing an instinctive flinch when her mind brushed up against the reality of her assignment. Was she so weak, then, that a few moments of conversations that reminded her of the Geza of her youth, caused her resolve to crumble?
“Who have you sworn vengeance on?” he asked softly. “That’s very gargoyle.”
It was, and she was betraying herself again. Did she want to get caught? Was she hoping that if he saw through her disguise he would stop her, and the Princesses would be saved?
“I guess,” she said. “My mother wanted me to be a certain way, do a certain thing, and I could not tell her no. She died because of me. My family raised me after she was gone. They could have killed me or given me away, but they raised me and made me useful. I can’t turn my back on them.”
“How have you?” he asked, voice gentle. “You’re a secretary. What is it they want you to do?”
She looked at him sidelong, then turned her head away completely. “Something terrible.”
“Will you do it?”
“I don’t know.” Did he know? Did he suspect? Of course, with his accusations of her being a spy, and all the hints she’d been throwing around like droplets of spit . . . how could he not? “I . . . would you ever harm a child, if the Ioveanus demanded it?”
He was like stone, his gargoyle aspect rolling over him. “They would not demand it.” Rhina was silent, and he sighed. “Not in this generation, they wouldn’t. I’m not that kind of Prince.”
“If they did?”
“No. I wouldn’t.” He stared at her, eyes hard. “They are my blood, but my soul is my own. A warrior doesn’t harm females, nor children. There is no reason, not even blood vengeance authorized by the court.”
“If you were offered something you’ve always wanted? Not money, but something else. Would you do it, then?”
“What could they offer?” Each word was ice. “Not honor, not peace. Not sleep when you have to live each night with what you’ve done.”
“No.” She let out a breath. “Not honor or peace
.”
“There is nothing else that matters . . . Rhina. We may think we’re trapped by our families, but the only thing permanent is death. Everything else is negotiable.”
He was clearly not a Mogren.
“I’m drinking too much,” she said.
“When is the last time you talked to someone?” he asked gently.
She blinked, startled. “Just a few days ago a cousin of mine. That was the first time in decades.”
“What did she tell you?”
A bitter smile curved her lips. “Pretty much the same thing you did.”
“Ah. A smart female. I’d like to meet her.”
Common sense slapped Rhina upside the head. “She’s afraid of gargoyles. She wouldn’t come within ten blocks of one.”
His eyes widened innocently. “I am as harmless as—”
“A vat full of acidic snake venom.”
Geza paused. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t like me?” Then he laughed crazily, as if that idea were impossible.
She continued eating, refusing to respond.
He flew them back to the balcony of his tower, though he’d offered to drop her off at her home.
“No,” she’d refused flatly.
“What? I’m not permitted to walk you to your door, give you a goodnight kiss?”
They set down on the landing, but he didn’t release her.
God, she hated this male. He mocked her at every turn. “You’ve already won the right to one kiss. And I don’t want you at my door. This isn’t a date. It’s an experiment to see if you can spend time with a female when sex isn’t involved.”
His lips were close to her ear. “Who said sex wasn’t involved?”
Rhina stiffened. Well, she was already stiff, but now her gargoyle aspect threatened to overwhelm the glamour. It took enough energy to remain in humanoid form, so he wouldn’t feel her wings, fighting the nature of the moon.
“I said it wasn’t involved,” she replied, pulling away and facing him.
“A challenge.” He regarded her coolly, all insouciant humor fled. “I can’t decide if you are silly or very, very clever.”
“What?”
“If a human woman wanted to capture my interest long term, this would be the way.”
Rhina didn’t move, mind scrambling to catch up with him.
“You are somehow managing to activate my hunting instincts," he continued, voice clinical. “I should know better—knowing what I know.”
“What do you know, Ioveanu?” she asked hoarsely. Because the effort to keep her talons retracted, to not rip off the glamour and attack him, strangled the breath in her throat. For once, it wasn’t vengeance fueling the urge but . . . defensiveness. His words, the whiplash caress of his voice, the speculative way he stared at her, was activating her instincts as well.
She was as gargoyle as he was. She was as much of a hunter.
Geza’s wings flared, snapping open. Rhina jumped, shifting into a defensive stance then covering it with a start.
“You’re losing it,” he said.
“Losing what?” She inched around him, heading for the door, but he only shifted, blocking her. It became an almost dance—not the ballroom kind. The fighting kind.
“Your mirage. The mystery shrouding you. I’m almost there.”
Rhina froze. “What are you talking about, Highness? There is no mystery about me.”
The Prince smiled, fangs flashing in the moonlight. With the glittering beams bouncing off his cheekbones, his skin appeared to shimmer with a silvery-pearl light, dark eyes deep pools of obsidian.
“It’s not too late,” he said, voice gentle. “You can still remake yourself. You haven’t done anything unforgivable, yet. I never rescinded my offer.”
In that moment, Rhina realized he knew.
He reached out, fingers curling under her jaw. Rhina flinched back, and he stilled, then withdrew. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears. For a moment, she felt trapped in the power of his gaze.
“I won’t ever hurt you,” he said. “I won’t allow anyone to hurt you. You must come to me first. You must make the first step. Or, they will make me kill to keep you safe.”
“I—” she squeezed her eyes shut, a childish thing, and opened them again, but he was still there, and this wasn’t a nightmare. “I can’t.”
“You can.” He took a silent step forward, wings now tight against his body. He was making himself as small as possible, attempting to make her feel safe. “You’ve taken the first step. I need you to trust me, Rhina. Trust that at the end of the path, there is honor, and life, and freedom.”
Free will, she realized, was more painful than blind obedience. Because now, she had to begin to face what she’d allowed herself to become. She thought she knew herself, was fully aware of her own darkness. Lie. She hadn’t even begun to face the truth.
She looked up at him. Only an inch or two because with her Fae blood she was tall for a gargoyle female. “Why are you doing this?”
His smile was exquisite. His hand rose, and this time when he cupped her cheek, she didn’t flinch away. Not because she was more comfortable, but because she was beginning to recognize the inevitability of it. “I could say because I made a promise and pride will not allow me to break it. I could say because of a whim. The truth?” He shrugged. “The truth is far more elusive. I’ve decided . . . Rhina . . . to accept the inevitable, even if I don’t fully understand.”
“What is inevitable?”
His fingers tightened. “What is mine.”
He was a gargoyle Prince. He would only let her go in two ways. If she embraced what he wanted . . . or death. Whatever mental or emotional boundary around her mind and will that her family had used to control her was rapidly disintegrating.
“My forfeit,” he said, then his lips descended.
14
He tasted like wine, and carefully hoarded power. His lips covered hers with care, the lightest caress as he waited for her to open, the slight softening of her body that gave him permission.
The Prince could have taken, could have demanded. Could have confused her sense with the leashed sexuality he kept banked in her presence, the glimpses she’d seen in his eyes ruthlessly suppressed behind his indolent, flippant exterior. The mask he used to conceal his true self.
Her hands rose an inch at a time, as she fought with herself, fought the new sensations shivering through her body. They smoothed along his shoulders, then lifted, fluttering with the hesitance of any trapped, hunted creature.
Geza pulled her closer, one arm sliding around her humanoid waist, hand pressing against her back. Her head tilted back as the kiss deepened, and she felt the rumble of a growl deep in his chest. Rhina stiffened.
He pulled away immediately, lips brushing along her jaw. “Ssshhh. It’s alright.”
Her forehead creased. He was attempting to soothe her as if she were a child or a broken thing. If he thought she was broken, how could he think she was able to accept his kiss?
“Why?” she asked.
“I needed to know.” He eased away from her, then smiled, but it was an honest, rueful smile. “I wanted to discomfit you. I think it backfired.”
He held himself still, gaze unblinking. What was under the stony, too casual mask? Rhina took a deep breath, stepped to the side.
He tracked her with dark eyes. “Rhina.”
She fled, aware he allowed it. The Prince could have halted her, could have engaged her in battle. Could have used the knowledge she was now certain he held to force her into his bed. Could have called down the guard on her. He did none of those things, but simply allowed her to bow, and walk around him. Calmly, steps steady until she exited the office, made it to the elevator. By the time she hit the ground floor, she was sprinting across the grounds, the urge to unfurl wings and lift off in flight literally causing her arms and shoulder blades to tingle.
If he knew, why did she bother to stay in disguise? Because no one else knew, damnit. If Sir Nikola
u was privy to Geza’s suspicions, the head of security would have already attempted to capture her. She understood enough of the dynamic between Geza and his team. She knew they frequently acted without his permission to secure his safety.
And begged pardon later.
If a warrior among the Mogren family behaved like that, it would be certain death.
She sprinted down the block, running was a poor escape for flying, thoughts of a pack of rabid dragons at her heels.
How much did he remember about her? If he knew she was Moghrenna, did he know she could never again be that Moghrenna?
Why did his offer matter so much?
She slowed her flight and stopped, realizing then that the answers to those questions would change her path. Did she want them to change her path?
Eyes closing shut, Tyra’s voice echoed in her mind. Surah’s brisk kindness, Bea’s frazzled offer of friendship as she balanced duties and relationships in the gargoyle court no human female had ever balanced. The little garling Princess, beloved by her entire family.
Geza Ioveanu. Prince, the young male who’d coaxed her into a wary friendship when she was a new woman. She’d been shy, hesitant. Suspicious. With her status a precarious thing, a male of his rank could take her, break her, and there would be no consequences. So, she’d guarded herself because she didn’t want to be broken. He’d worn down her barriers under her mother’s indulgent eyes.
A swoosh of air warned her a moment before wings shadowed the moon and stone arms reached out, grabbing her off the street and sweeping back up into the air.
She knew who it was. His scent, the boldness. He pumped higher and higher into the night sky, flying away from the compound, past his guards. He must have ordered them to remain behind.
Then he threw her.
Rhina screeched in fury. Not fear, she could fly after all. If he’d wanted to force her to break her cover, this was the cleverest way he could have.
The glamour shattered as she shifted, wings spreading to halt her free-fall. Laughter sounded in the wind behind her, and she whirled, fangs bared in fury.
He dove after her, teeth flashing white. Did he want a fight? She would give him a fight.
