King of the Wicked (The Banished Series Book 1)

by T. R. Hamby

  She pulled away, grinning and flushed. She had such blue eyes. A very deep blue, like the ocean.

  She caught him staring and smiled. “Don’t let me break your heart.”

  “I’ll try not to,” he shot back dryly, though he was smirking.

  She flushed again, but it seemed, for whatever reason, like her nerves had returned. She shifted antsily, still touching his shoulders.

  He was patient. He removed his hands from her waist, touching her knees instead. He didn’t want her to feel threatened.

  “You can do whatever you want to me,” he offered, smirking. “I won’t move.”

  She let out a chuckle. “Anything?”

  He shrugged and nodded. “You’re not going to hit me, are you?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “I won’t do that.”

  “Good.”

  She smiled, studying him, before looking down at his shirt. She reached for his buttons and slowly undid them, exposing his chest. He helped her slip his shirt off, but other than that stayed still.

  She ran her fingers down his chest, shyly.

  “You work out,” she murmured, smirking, and he chuckled.

  “Not really,” he said without thinking.

  She frowned. “But you’re so fit.”

  He shrugged. Working out wasn’t necessary when one was Immortal. But he wasn’t going to mention that.

  She ran her hands down his ribs, touched the scar on his side. “What’s this from?”

  It was the scar Mel had given him in the War, when his sword had knocked Michael’s Blade into his side. The first time he had ever been injured.

  He would have to lie. “Car accident.”

  “You like your cars, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I don’t like crashing them, though.”

  She smiled, amused. He could see she was starting to relax, a happy smile on her face, her hands exploring him more freely. He remained still, enjoying her touch.

  She looked at him, then leaned in and kissed him. He felt a jolt, and he had to concentrate on not grabbing her, pulling her closer. She did move closer though, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him hard.

  Then she pulled away. “You can touch me,” she breathed, gripping the hem of her shirt and slipping it off.

  He took her in. She was beautiful--even more beautiful than he had imagined. He thought he should say something endearing--comment on her beauty--but he had never been good at that, even with his mates. He found those kinds of words awkward, even hollow.

  He settled for touching her instead--very gently. He brushed at her cheek, and she flushed, leaning her head into his palm. He smiled at her, trailing his fingers down her neck, along her collarbone. She took his hand then, cupping it on her breast, and he let out a hiss. Now she looked smug, and he chuckled.

  He leaned in and kissed her neck, and she let out a moan, touching his hair. He went slowly, kissing her shoulder, her chest, brushing his fingers up her waist. She squirmed slightly, moving against him, and he shivered.

  “What now?” he murmured in her ear.

  She thought for a moment, blushing. “Well...your pants are still on.”

  “They are.”

  They stood up. She was almost as tall as him, thin and graceful. She helped him with his belt and zipper, giggling as he looked at her. They removed their clothes, then drew to each other, kissing hard, looking at each other and chuckling. She was growing bolder, more relaxed, touching his chest and gently pushing him back onto the bed. He leaned back on his elbows, and she hovered over him.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and there was relief in her voice.

  He looked at her and nodded, brushing a soothing hand through her hair. Tonight hadn’t turned out the way he had expected, but he wasn’t complaining. Right now it was good.

  They talked for a while--afterwards. She seemed like she needed someone to talk to.

  In the morning he woke to the smell of coffee. He sat up drowsily, and found Gilla in the kitchen, wearing his shirt and standing at the coffeemaker.

  She caught his eye and smiled. “God morgon,” she greeted quietly.

  “God morgon,” he replied, leaning his arms on his knees. “How are you?”

  She shrugged, fiddling with the coffeemaker. “I had a good time. Did you?”

  She looked at him, and he nodded. “Yes.”

  He had had a good time. Yes, Gilla had been nervous--almost very nervous--and he was curious as to why. But it hadn’t bothered him. Seeing her at ease, making her smile, had made things all the sweeter.

  The coffee finished, and she poured two cups and carried them back to the bed. He took a cup from her, accepting a kiss. She giggled happily, and leaned against him, sipping from her cup.

  It didn’t change how he felt about sex with humans, though. He still didn’t like it. He remembered this as they sat back against the pillows, his arm around her. The affection. The closeness. The little kisses, the little touches. He wasn’t used to it. It felt strange.

  He sipped his coffee. He knew why it was strange. It was because Angels didn’t fall in love, and humans seemed to fall in love with each other at the slightest touch, the smallest look. Gilla may have been falling in love right then, while he was suddenly wondering when the next car show would be.

  “You’re afraid I’m in love with you now,” she suddenly said, a teasing in her voice.

  He looked around at her, and chuckled. “You’re not?”

  “We spent one night together,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Of course not.”

  She sipped her coffee before continuing, “It was nice, though. It’s hard to find a good lover when you’re moving all the time.”

  He shrugged. “We could do it again.”

  She chuckled. “We could.”

  He picked at the blanket, thinking. “I heard you mention a Sofia last night. An old assistant?”

  “Yes, my personal assistant,” she said, nodding. “Why?”

  “I was wondering if she was available for hire,” he replied. “I could use one. Do you have a card, by chance?”

  She shook her head. “No--her name is Sofia Toli. I have her phone number. Actually,” she said, pausing, “if you want, I could introduce you. My producer is throwing a gala to raise money for the show next Monday, and she’s supposed to be there, helping him out. She was working for Antonia Romero for a while, but I guess that’s over now.”

  He sipped his coffee, trying to appear casual. “A gala, huh? Who are you going with?”

  She smirked. “Nice try. I already have a date. And you need an invite.”

  She paused again, studying him. “That woman you were with,” she said slowly, “the one that was so nice to me. What was her name?”

  “Eleanora Rossi.”

  “Yes...Antonia said she was going to put in a good word for her with my producer. For a role in the upcoming show. I could get her an invite.”

  Michael nodded. “How generous of you.”

  “Only to see you in a tuxedo,” she replied, smiling wryly. “Is this Sofia supposed to be another conquest?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  “You just want to...how do they say in English? Pick her brain?”

  He smiled, finishing his coffee and setting the cup aside. Then he took her cup, which was only half full, and reached around her, setting it down on the bedside table. She giggled as he drew to her, kissing her neck and pulling her into the bed. He couldn’t leave without saying thank you.

  He showered and changed at his apartment in Berlin before appearing at Nora’s door. She had started getting pissy with him showing up in her kitchen, so he had begun knocking at the door instead.

  “It’s open,” she called wearily.

  He let himself in, and paused. The windows were open, and a warm summer breeze was wafting into the room. The kitchen was sparkling, smelling of cleaner, and the living room had a candle burning. Nora was scrubbing at the stove, wearing a tank top and leggings. The
clothes showed just how much weight she had lost in the past month.

  He stared at her. “What, are you manic now?”

  “Don’t test me, Michael,” she shot back, holding up a threatening dish towel. “I’m in a horrible mood.”

  “I thought you had your medication adjusted.”

  “I did, you weirdo. I’m just cleaning.” And she scrubbed at a spot on the stove. “Are you done interrogating me?”

  He approached her, grabbing another dish towel and spraying it with cleaner. “Here.”

  And he scrubbed at the spot, getting it to shift right away.

  Nora straightened, brushing her hair out of her face. She watched him for a moment, looking thoughtful, before asking, “How was last night?”

  He felt himself flush. “It was fine. I got the name. Sofia Toli.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “It was sex...so...yeah.”

  She shrugged. “Humans aren’t so bad, are they?”

  “Actually,” he sighed, tossing the dish towel to the side, “you all are. You touch too much. And kiss too much. And it’s constant...sweet things. Compliments, flirtations. Little touches. It’s exhausting.”

  She looked surprised. “I see. So you’re not going to see her again?”

  “I’ll have to,” he grumbled, frustrated, “because she’s going to a gala along with Sofia.”

  “A gala?”

  “Yeah. To raise money for that flute show. She says she can get you an invite. I gave her your phone number.”

  She absorbed this, frowning. “Okay--so our best way of cornering Sofia is to go to this gala for The Magic Flute. And Gilla Johansson is getting me an invite?”

  “Right. And I’ll escort you.”

  She looked hesitant.

  “What?”

  “It’s just...kind of presumptuous, for me to waltz in there like I’ve been cast,” she said.

  “She said Antonia was going to put in a good word for you,” he replied firmly, trying to be patient. “Why not make an impression too?”

  “Because it might be the wrong impression. I might look like a prima donna.”

  “Gilla didn’t seem to think so. She liked how nice you were to her. Doesn’t sound like she’s used to that.”

  This seemed to make her reconsider. She bit her lip.

  “Nora,” Michael sighed, “we’re looking for a murderer, remember?”

  She let out a breath. “Okay. Okay. Shit, now I have to go dress shopping.”

  Nora

  She figured Mel wouldn’t mind if she spent some of their money on a ballgown. After all, this would be a decently sized gala, for a show she may be performing in. He would want her to look her best.

  Monday was a week away. She started feeling a little more balanced by the time she picked up her dress on Sunday, although she was still having trouble eating, and she was still feeling a little obsessive. Michael checked on her regularly, to her annoyance.

  Monday evening came, and Nora nervously got herself ready. She had chosen a red ballgown with a flared skirt, matching heels, and her ruby necklace. She styled her hair and put on a dark lipstick. She felt a pang when she looked in the mirror--Mel would have been floored.

  Michael was waiting for her in the living room, looking striking in his tuxedo. He did a double take when he saw her, and his lips twitched.

  “You look--”

  “Please don’t,” she breathed, swallowing back a lump in her throat. “Thank you, but don’t. It reminds me too much of him.”

  He studied her for a moment. “I was going to say that you look like my daughter,” he said quietly. “Serene.”

  She frowned, surprised. She had forgotten that Mel’s siblings had children.

  “I do?”

  He nodded. “With your hair like that.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Back Home,” he replied. His face darkened. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “Oh…” She felt a little awkward, although she was curious as to why he hadn’t seen his daughter. “Do you go up there often?”

  He fiddled with his cufflinks. “No. Just here and there. We should get going.”

  They drove to the gala in Michael’s 4C, which was even nicer on the inside. Nora sat still so she wouldn’t wrinkle her dress. Both of them were quiet, and she snuck some glances at Michael, who looked brooding.

  “You know you probably have to buy something, right?” she said, breaking the silence.

  He shrugged. “I’m sure there’s a vase or a decorative plate I can spend some money on.”

  “I wonder what they have up.”

  “Just leave Sofia to me,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “If she’s the killer, she’s very dangerous.”

  “She’s all yours,” she murmured vaguely as they pulled up to the curb.

  She slipped out. The front steps of the ballroom were littered with people--women in long shining gowns, men in suits, a couple of photographers. She caught sight of Gilla Johansson, standing with a man in a blue suit. She seemed to look lonely despite being in company.

  Michael handed the keys to the valet, and then together they ascended the steps. Nora held her head high, knowing the producer for the show would eventually see her. Her hem trailed the steps, and Michael linked arms with her. She had never felt so glamorous.

  Gilla caught sight of them and smiled.

  “Ciao,” she said in her Swedish accent. She gestured to the man beside her. “This is Boris Gode, my agent. Boris, this is Mr. Michael King, and Miss Eleanora Rossi,” she said in shaky English.

  Nora smiled at her. “Thank you so much for the invitation,” she said, trying not to gush. “I hope I’m not...pushing in.”

  But she shook her head. “All okay. I will introduce you to Enzo--our producer. And you,” she said, winking at Michael, “to Sofia.”

  The three left Boris by the door, and swept across the ballroom. Nora glanced at Michael and was surprised to find his eyes trained on Gilla, instead of hunting for his target. She elbowed him, and he looked around at her before scanning the ballroom.

  They stopped at a tall thin man with sandy hair, who was sipping on champagne.

  “Enzo,” Gilla said, gesturing at Nora, “this is Eleanora Rossi. Antonia told you about her.”

  Enzo brightened, smiling, and looked over Nora. “Ciao, Signora,” he greeted, and he waved for more champagne. “Yes, Antonia told me about you. You speak Italian? My English is not great.”

  “Si.”

  Gilla and Michael walked off, leaving the two alone.

  Enzo looked enthusiastic. “You played your role in last week’s performance so beautifully, my dear. I was very impressed,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she breathed, beaming.

  “And I’m sure you’re interested in my production.”

  “Of course--if I’m wanted.”

  “Well,” he said, looking her up and down, “the part for Pamina hasn’t been cast yet. You would do wonderfully...of course…” And he paused for just a moment. “If you aren’t doing anything after this.”

  She felt her heart sink. She stared at that knowing look on his face, and tears pricked at her eyes again.

  Of course. She should have known it would be too easy, that she would have to provide some form of payment. She had seen her fair share of harassment in the theater world, but it had been quite a while since she’d been propositioned. This wasn’t some sideshow in L.A., after all.

  She had an almost overwhelming urge to leave, to find a bathroom or quiet place to cry. Why shouldn’t she? Mel wasn’t there, Michael found her annoying, she was depressed and now she was just a piece of meat.

  But she looked at the stupid grin on Enzo’s face, and she felt a flash of anger.

  She raised a dangerous eyebrow. “I’m busy later. I’ll be talking to my boyfriend. Antonia may have mentioned him to you; he’s a patron of the theater. Mel King. You know, it’d be a shame
if he heard about this. He may not want to help fund the show anymore.”

  Enzo looked pale, but before he could speak she continued, “And my date tonight is his brother Michael. He was thinking of buying...whatever shit you’re planning on selling tonight, but after this, I bet he won’t. He’s pretty protective of me.”

  He let out a nervous laugh. “We have plenty of other patrons,” he said almost warningly.

  She cocked her head, feigning thoughtfulness. “That’s true. But Mel King and Antonia are good friends. I bet she’d have a bone to pick with you if he decided not to give money to her theater anymore. She might not want your production there anymore.”

  Now he looked steely. He studied her for a long moment.

  “You have my apologies,” he said. “What can I do to make up for my mistake?”

  She folded her arms, thinking. “I want Pamina,” she said firmly.

  “Done,” he said easily. “I’ll have my casting director get in touch with your agent.”

  “Perfetto,” she said, giving a little curtsy. “Pleasure doing business, signore.”

  He smiled slightly. “Very nice to meet you, Signora Rossi.”

  And she walked off, smirking. She felt a huge thrill--it had been a while since she had been in so much control. It felt good.

  She scanned the ballroom and spotted Gilla standing alone by the buffet table. Nora approached her, and she smiled brightly.

  “How was Enzo?” she asked in her broken English.

  “Wonderful,” she replied. “He’s offered me Pamina.”

  Gilla beamed, and took her hand. “Excellent! You are my daughter now,” she said, referring to their roles. “I’m sure you will be very good.”

  Nora looked around. “Where’s Boris?”

  She sighed and waved a hand. “He go home. It was...what’s the word...a favor?”

  “I see,” she said, nodding. She studied Gilla; she looked a little downcast, though she had a smile on her face. She was a young choice for the role of the queen in the show; she could only have been in her mid-thirties.