The Goblin King (The Kings)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  What she absolutely hadn’t counted on was the appearance of the stranger.

  He was beautiful.

  It was that kind of beautiful that one percent of actors and models possessed. He was tall – so tall. His hair reminded her of the wings of a raven or of the iridescent ultra-black of a beetle’s carapace. It was thick and wavy and framed a face that women were afraid to dream of. Imagining such male perfection was the kind of emotional shock that brought a delicious dream to an abrupt end, resulting in a split moment of heart-breaking hope and severe disappointment.

  He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, all strong jaw and slightly scruffy chin and mysterious, hooded brow. He had a scar that ran from his cheek through his upper lip, wicked and dangerous. He was dressed in jeans as tight as hers and motorcycle boots with scrapes and cuts and scuffs that proved he actually used them. Stretched tight across an amply muscled chest was a black t-shirt, covered with a black leather jacket, and crossed with a leather strap that apparently held a sword sheath across his back.

  In one strong grip, he held that unsheathed long sword. It shimmered, sharp and deadly in the low light.

  But most importantly, his eyes were glowing like two lit-up torches welcoming stray, wicked souls through the gates of Hell.

  And every ounce of Diana’s reason was torn between awe and terror.

  It should have been too much to reason with, but somehow – some miraculous how – Diana squared her shoulders and concentrated on the massive, furry, devil-clawed monster and the fact that it was in pain. She just wanted to make it better.

  It was positively ludicrous, absolutely suicidal, and a good deal more than a touch bonkers, but there it was. It was just her. She was a healer and she wanted to heal.

  So when the gorgeous stranger used a magic as seemingly powerful and alien as her own ability to heal, but used it to harm the beast rather than help it, she became outraged, yelled at the stranger. Then she’d tried to brush past him to get to the monster she was quickly coming to think of as her patient.

  That was when she’d touched him.

  Hard came the visions that landed her on the ground at the stranger’s feet. She lay there still, with his warm hand holding up her head.

  “You can let me go now,” she said, secretly hoping he would do anything but let her go.

  The stranger’s eyes seemed to have settled down. The fire in them had receded, leaving behind a smoldering jade that twinkled in places like emeralds. They were entrancing.

  He gazed at her through them and she felt as though he was peering right through her and into the deepest, most secret parts of her soul.

  As he very gently smiled, that scar that ran through his upper lip turned the smile into something beautifully wicked. It made every last butterfly nesting in her stomach suddenly take to frenzied, frantic flight.

  “Must I?” he asked softly.

  Diana’s inner desire shook its head.

  The stranger’s smile broadened. “What is your name, raven one?”

  “What?”

  He chuckled softly. “I want to know the name of the woman who can not only see through the fae glamour otherwise disguising my goblin, but would attempt to come to its aid, even against the wishes of its king.”

  Okay, thought Diana. I don’t understand a goddamned thing he just said.

  “Why did you call me a raven? And… did you say king?” she asked anyway, as if she totally did understand it.

  His smile never wavered.

  “And that animal is a goblin?”

  “The term ‘raven’ refers to great beauty among my people,” he told her while he continued to gaze down at her, his burning green eyes moving over her face. It was like he was memorizing every inch of it, every freckle, every quiver of her lips. “And yes, I’m a king. And yes,” he finished as he re-locked gazes with her, “that is a goblin.”

  “I thought goblins were tiny little things that couldn’t be fed after midnight and that couldn’t get wet.”

  “You’re thinking of gremlins,” the stranger said. “And that’s not at all what gremlins look like, either.”

  Diana’s fingers and toes felt tingly. Her chest was starting to feel a little too tight and a little too warm, and her stomach was churning. His eyes were doing strange things to her. Not to mention his voice, a rich baritone rumble with an accent that she couldn’t place.

  And he smelled good. Like leather and wood smoke and her absolute favorite scent in the world – freshly fallen rain.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Names hold a good deal of power,” he told her. “But I will tell you what I’m called if you’ll give me yours.”

  “Diana,” she responded. What could it hurt? “Diana Piper.”

  He went still as something flared in his eyes, a brief spark that was there one moment and gone in the next.

  “Diana,” he repeated, speaking the name as if it were a magic spell. “Goddess of the moon.” It rolled off his tongue and poured from his lips in a way she’d never before heard. She liked the way it sounded when he said it. She liked it a lot.

  “I’m Damon,” he told her then. He scooted back a bit and his gaze moved down her body. “Damon Chroi, king of the goblins. And that beast you are so determined to help behind me is known as a xenobe goblin, the most deadly variety of the most dangerous species known to the fae world.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Now then,” continued the stranger as if he hadn’t just told her that he was a goblin king or something insane like that. “What happened that has left you with severely bruised ribs,” he gestured to her chest, and then held up her left hand, “and an injured wrist?”

  He asked the question as if he had a right to know. As if the fact that she was hurt actually concerned him. Furthermore, he asked the question as if he could see the bruises on her ribs, right through the material of her shirt.

  She tried to sit up, and he moved back a bit, affording her room. Once she was upright, she pinned him with a hard gaze. “Let the…” she almost choked on the word, but managed to get it out, “goblin down from the wall. He’s hurting.”

  The man who called himself Damon studied her closely for several long, heart-pounding moments. Then he stood, towering over her like a drop-dead gorgeous giant, and turned to face the beast.

  The goblin let out another mewling, pathetic sound, which seemed to draw the stranger up short. He looked back down at her, confusion plain on his handsome features. Then, his eyes burning uncomfortable, hot holes through her, the stranger Damon Chroi offered her his hand. “Very well,” he said. “On two condition. One, you stay behind me until and unless I think it’s safe to do otherwise.” He paused, and added, “And two, you’ll have dinner with me.”

  Diana was not so proud that she was one to scoff help when it was offered to her, so she took his hand. She wasn’t cast into some vision-seeing oblivion when she touched him this time, but her hand tingled and her arm grew warm… as did other places on her body.

  She let go quickly as she regained her feet, though she had to admit that she was a touch dizzy and her body was beginning to ache.

  “Make it coffee and it’s a deal,” she told him.

  Damon smiled that deadly smile of his and waved his left hand at the goblin. His right hand, he used to grasp the hilt of the sword he had clearly re-sheathed during her strange vision attack. He unsheathed it again as the goblin dropped to the ground, its long claws scraping up sparks on the wet pavement as it hit.

  Damon faced the goblin, turning his back to her. “Even if you’re right,” he addressed her over his shoulder, “I’m not sure what you think you’re going to be able to do for him.”

  Diana didn’t bother responding. Instead, she concentrated on the beast. It looked at her, terrifying with its Great White maw and its burning red eyes. She concentrated. It whimpered. She concentrated.

  Time slowed down. She zeroed in on the goblin’s eyes, noticing that they did not
literally burn as Damon Chroi’s seemed to have burned. Instead, they were tri-colored. The inner circle was red, the next orange, and the outer yellow. They were also very brightly lit, and this combination gave them the illusion of flame. The teeth were not sharp – but broken. They’d grown in so plentiful and crooked, they’d smashed against one another and chipped, giving the illusion of razor-edges.

  She zeroed in on its claws next. In essence, they were nails, not claws, but were simply thicker and stronger than a human’s. They obviously grew very quickly, and just as obviously, no one had considered trimming them for the goblin. As a result, the xenobe could not even trim them himself. The nails scraped and bumped against everything the beast passed. Just as she knew she would, when Diana checked the animal’s nail beds, she found blood and scabs and swollen fingertips. They’d been put through endless blunt force trauma.

  The goblin was most definitely in pain.

  “I’ve never seen a xenobe just stand there like that,” said Damon softly, his deep voice touched with awe. “What are you doing back there?” he asked, apparently afraid to take his eyes off the animal for too long.

  “Nothing,” she told him. “Just looking.”

  She tried to step past him, but Damon’s hand shot out, blocking her way.

  Before he could say anything, she spoke up. “You have to let me help him,” she insisted. “And that means getting close to him – even touching him. He isn’t going to hurt me.”

  Damon looked from her to the goblin and back again several times. Finally, he dropped his hand. “Anyone else, anywhere else, I wouldn’t believe it.” He lowered his sword arm as well. “But I think this time, I actually do.”

  Diana nodded and moved toward the goblin. The beast’s eyes bored into her, making her feel small. So small.

  You can do this, Diana, she told herself. Just pull some strength from somewhere inside. Believe in what you’re seeing and believe in what you’re doing.

  There was a gentle bump at her ankle and she glanced down. The cat she’d rescued earlier had moved up alongside her. It peered up at her now through beautiful blue eyes. They reminded her of what she was capable.

  I’m a healer.

  With that, Diana raised her right hand and placed it to the beast’s furry chest. It whined, but did not move back. She could swear that there was hope in its tri-colored gaze. There was trust.

  Diana closed her eyes and imagined. She saw the goblin with fewer teeth, straight teeth, and gums that were not torn up and bleeding, but whole. She saw shorter nails and mended fingertips. She saw magic move from her and into the xenobe like warm and sparkling pixie dust, healing him from the inside out.

  When she felt her palm begin to heat up, her confidence that this would work was bolstered. The heat left her, infused the matted red-brown fur beneath her palm, and the goblin’s whine quieted. He took a deep breath beneath her touch, his massive chest moving slowly and evenly.

  A few moments later, Diana felt the drain that meant she’d successfully expended the magic. The dizziness that had swept through her earlier came back full-force and she swayed.

  A strong arm slid around her middle, pulling her securely up against a hard body. The scent of clean, fresh rain brushed through her senses. A wash of heat instantly chased away the dizziness as the stranger leaned over her. Gently accented words spoke softly into her ear. “Never in my very long life have I seen anything like what you just did.”

  Diana opened her eyes and looked up.

  The xenobe goblin had been transformed. His once obscenely long claws were now short and well-trimmed nails, appearing for all the world as if he’d just come from a manicure.

  The maw of shark teeth he’d sported only moments ago was now a mouth with teeth that were straight and rounded and had been reduced to two simple rows, top and bottom.

  There were no wounds in the gums or nail beds; there was no blood.

  Diana exhaled, feeling suddenly light as air.

  And as she watched through wide, proud eyes, the xenobe goblin very slowly smiled.

  Chapter Twelve

  My queen.

  The thought had been floating like an incandescent, barely legible string of words through his mind from the moment he’d laid eyes on her in that alley. But now the words coalesced and solidified and shone blindingly bright, shutting out all other thoughts as they formed what felt like the one and only solid truth he’d ever learned in his entire existence.

  Diana Piper was the Goblin Queen.

  Now all he had to do was convince her of as much.

  “Thank you,” Damon told the barista as he took both to-go cups of coffee and left the counter. Outside the window, something small and gray shifted where it sat on the window’s ledge. Diana’s small cat companion. He studied it for a moment and then made his way toward his table.

  Earlier, he’d transported the Atrox Ferrum back to the weapons room at his castle. He’d sent the xenobe goblin next, shielding him in a disguise of invisibility beforehand so that the beast would not be attacked by any of his own kind. He was the exception among the xenobes now, a monster with clipped claws so to speak. But with any luck, and if Damon had his way, he would not be the exception for long.

  Damon looked up at the woman seated at the table by the window. The night buzzed and thrived beyond the glass, all rain streaks and traffic lights. Diana’s long locks had been curled by the humidity, framing her features like a classic cameo. His eyes grazed over the line of her chin, her nose, her neck. He swallowed hard, feeling strange.

  She didn’t slouch in her seat, but sat up straight… almost on edge. As if at any moment, she would have to react, to defend, and fight for her life. She reminded him a little of Lara Croft just then. A true lady, tough as nails, and in disguise.

  She was also a healer. As far as Damon was aware, there was only one healer known to the supernatural world, and that was Dannai Caige, the daughter of the god Amon Re. But Damon had stood there and watched in silent awe as Diana Piper performed the very same magic on a monster three times her size, easing it out of a pain Damon hadn’t even known it had been suffering. She’d changed the xenobe, taking it away from its suffering, mangled up husk and transforming it into what it was always meant to be.

  Making it smile.

  In the thousands of endless years that Damon had worn the crown of the Goblin King, it seemed he’d never done anything but rule by force. He’d been attacked – he’d even been scarred. His relationship with the creatures of his kingdom had been adversarial from the start.

  Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought it possible for a xenobe to treat a human the way one of them had tonight. It had looked upon Diana Piper with silent, desperate hope.

  And she’d saved it.

  She could save all of them.

  “Triple shot, two pump sugar free soy mocha,” Damon said as he gently set the steaming cup down in front of Diana.

  She smiled a little shyly and a touch more color entered her cheeks. “It’s a mouth full,” she admitted. “Thanks.”

  “So tell me,” Damon began, “If you can heal, why are you still sporting a sprained wrist?” he sat down across from her. “And how did you get it in the first place?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve asked me that,” she retorted calmly. “What makes you think you have a right to know?”

  He smiled. “Just curious.”

  She sighed. “The truth is, it was just a little scuffle. And I can heal anyone but myself. It should come as no surprise. The world is a messed up, twisted-around place and no good deed goes unpunished.” She lifted the coffee cup, took a whiff, closed her eyes, and placed it to her lips as if it were a sacred chalice.

  Damon was busy absorbing her words – and imagining himself ripping off the heads of whoever it was that had “scuffled” with her as she carefully pulled the hot chocolaty liquid into her mouth and made a face of bliss.

  “You know, the Vampire Queen is a big fan of coffee too,
” he said, leaning forward across the table so that he wouldn’t be overheard by the other patrons in the coffee shop.

  Diana swallowed her first sip and then lowered her cup, staring at him with a raised-brow and wide-eyed but calculated expression. “Vampire Queen?”

  Damon smiled. “Evelynne D’Angelo, wife of Roman D’Angelo, the Vampire King. She’s a sweet girl. But sweeter after she’s had her daily dose of caffeine.”

  “I thought vampires drank blood, not coffee,” said Diana. It was clear from her tone that she was completely under the impression he was pulling her leg.

  “They can eat or drink anything they like, really,” he told her. “They’re the offspring of Akyri and warlocks, so with the help of a bit of magic, they can enjoy a variety of foods and beverages.”

  Now Diana’s expression changed. She’d been half-smiling before, but the smile melted, and a spark entered her silver-gray eyes. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Damon took a sip of his own coffee. He watched her over the rim of his cup. She was searching his face for some sign of duplicity. She wouldn’t find any.

  She swore softly. “Vampires.”

  Damon noticed a tiny tremble in her shoulders. She was shaking, just a little.

  After they’d accidentally touched in the alley and she’d fallen unconscious, he’d tried to lift her onto his lap, and her shirt had slid up. It had revealed a tempting and flat expanse of muscle and abdomen, but also a quickly bruising set of ribs. Then he’d noticed the swollen wrist and had instantly wondered whether she’d been in a fight.

  Now he knew at least that much was true. Suddenly, it occurred to him that her night might have already been a very, very long one – even before they’d met. And then she’d come face to face with a goblin and its king. And then she’d healed the goblin. And now she was sitting across from Damon and being told about the existence of vampires.