by Juniper Hart
“What do you have to be so bitter about?” Poet demanded, a spark reigniting in her gut. The imaginary conversation she’d had with Max had empowered her somewhat, despite her weakened state.
“Oh, that’s fresh!” Mya chortled, beginning to pace in front of her. “The princess is telling me my life isn’t so bad!”
I didn’t say your life isn’t bad, Poet thought angrily. I’m just wondering what sent you over the edge completely. She stared steadily at the girl pacing before her like a caged animal.
“We’ve been trying to get our hands on you since the day you took off with your boy toy at the Cloak and Clock. We planned it down to the second, and suddenly you have new security? Indoor security?”
Poet’s mouth dropped open slightly, her body suddenly running colder.
“Every day, we waited for a new chance to grab you from your flat, but then you shacked up with a guard. It was Nick, wasn’t it? He got cold feet and told you about our plan, didn’t he?”
Poet’s eyes widened as she realized what she was witnessing: a crack in the partnership between Mya and Nick. She could… she could work with this. She could use this to her advantage.
Mya whirled and glared at her. “You’re going to die anyway, Poet, you may as well tell me how you knew we were supposed to make our move that day. It was Nick, wasn’t it?”
Poet swallowed nervously, carefully plotting her next words.
“Well, he didn’t exactly warn me,” she started, her mind racing for a way to turn her kidnappers against one another. “But I knew something was up.”
“I knew it!” Mya cried, her face a grotesque mask of fury. “He’s always been hard for you, that bloody idiot. He almost ruined everything!”
“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Poet commented dryly. “He didn’t screw things up that badly.”
“Close enough!” Mya retorted. “He wanted to call the entire thing off that day, but I forced him to stake out your apartment. I knew that boytoy of yours had to leave sometime. I admit, though, I was getting discouraged. I thought he had moved in.”
“Max is going to find you both,” Poet told her conversationally. “And he won’t show mercy when he does.”
Mya scoffed. “You’ll be dead, and I’ll be long gone with my millions,” she retorted. “Your big brain has no use here, Princess. You may have every man you’ve met wrapped around your finger, but now it’s time for me to shine.”
“You don’t understand,” Poet said. “If Max finds you before you manage to get away, you’re going to wish you were never born.”
“Oh, no!” Mya cried with mocking worry. “Whatever will I do in a prison on the Island of Luxe? I hear your jails are like spas there. Taking after the German models, I read, with yoga classes and everything. What is it? ‘Rehabilitation, not punishment,’ or something crazy like that?”
A slow, cold smile formed on Poet’s lips. “Max isn’t a part of the King’s Guard, Mya. He’s not part of anything you have ever seen.”
“Oh, no!” Mya squealed with girlish terror, a smirk crossing her lips. “Is he going to spank me? Rough me up? Poet, I’m not afraid of your boyfriend. I must say, he’s sexy as hell. I wouldn’t mind going a round or two with him. Maybe after I get my money, I’ll go crying to him for comfort…” She trailed off and leered at Poet, sensing the rising fury in her eyes. “Oh, I miss her so much! Please comfort me in those magnificent arms and hold me against your raging cock!”
Poet ground her teeth together so hard, she heard something crack in her jaw. Rage burrowed through her, replacing everything else she felt.
Mya glanced at Poet smugly. “Can you imagine, Princess? Your man taking me like an unbridled horse, maybe in your flat as we go through your things? It will truly be poetic in every sense of the word.”
The numbness in her legs and arms began to subside, and Poet’s rage grew. She forced herself to remain calm and struggled against her fury, knowing that no amount of anger would help her.
“You keep saying ‘your’ millions,” she croaked. “Does that mean that you’re cutting Nick out?”
“Ah, ah, ah!” Mya laughed, wagging her finger. “I don’t know what kind of James Bond moment you’re hoping for here, but I’m not about to let you fill your mind with ideas. I need him. For now, at least.”
Poet bit on her lower lip. If she could get Nick alone, she could surely convince him that Mya was going to double cross him. But how? She had never been left alone with him, as if Mya suspected funny business. When it came to it, Poet was sure that Mya would be the one to end her life.
It’s not going to come to that! Poet snarled at herself. You will find a way out of here. Max will come for you, and everything will be fine.
Inherently, though, Poet could sense that the clock was ticking down the remaining minutes of her life.
“Mya,” she tried, a last-ditch attempt to make nice with the evil witch. “May I please have some water? Just a sip?” Mya grinned, dancing toward her with the cup still in her hand.
“You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since you got here, have you?” she asked.
Poet shook her head, staring eagerly at the tin cup. Mya slid up to her, pressing the cold metal against her lips, but she did not tip it to allow even a drop of water into Poet’s throat.
“Then again,” Mya taunted, pulling the steel back to chuckle. “What do you need water for?”
Poet gawked at her. “Please, Mya,” she pleaded, loathing herself for begging. “Just a little bit…”
“You don’t feel so superior now, do you, Princess?” Mya laughed. “Suddenly your thesis isn’t so important, and the fact that Kincaid likes you best is really trivial, isn’t it?”
“Mya, you have no reason to be threatened by me—”
“Threatened by you?” she snarled. “Why would I be threatened by you? You’re as good as a corpse right now.”
Again, she put the cup to Poet’s lips, but instead of pouring the cool liquid into her wanting mouth, Mya let the fluid dribble down the front of her sweatshirt.
“Whoops!” Mya laughed, spinning to leave. “That’s too bad.” She grinned disarmingly at Poet. “It’s morning, Princess. In a few hours, Nicky will be meeting with your father in the underground at Waterloo Station, and I will be as rich as I was always meant to be!”
A strange feeling of déjà vu swept through Poet as Mya’s words reverberated through her mind.
Didn’t Max say that Papa was meeting the kidnappers at Waterloo Station? she recalled. Was it just a dream, or did I actually speak with Max somehow?
Poet had no reasonable explanation for any of it, but she could not waste time worrying about how she had connected with Max. He wasn’t there. It was only her and the psychopathic wench who was convinced that Poet was the cause of everything wrong in her life.
Mya almost skipped toward the stairwell leading to the main floor of the building, leaving Poet to glower after her, the water soaking through her top. Her body temperature seemed to be dropping with each minute that passed.
“See you later, Princess!” Mya called cheerfully. “When I see you next, it will be for the last time!”
The words should have sent a shudder of repulsion through her body, but instead, they seemed to empower Poet as she watched the vindictive brunette saunter up the stairs.
Her jealousy and pettiness are going to be her undoing, she thought, forcing herself not to focus on the agony she endured. Instead, she focused her mind and tried to return to Max, inhaling deeply as she willed herself to think rationally.
But the act was futile. Mya’s words rolled around endlessly in her mind, the image of Max and Mya engaged in a kiss bringing bile to Poet’s throat.
Max is coming for me, she told herself firmly. He knows who is responsible and he’s coming for me. Aren’t you? Please tell me you’re coming, Max.
Of course, there was no response—only the chitter of rats communicating to one another as Poet fell deeper into an abyss of d
espair.
12
His wings extended over the clouds, sweeping through the wisps of white as the pale light of dawn broke through the misty morning.
Maximus had been in the air since Poet had reached out to him, scouring the industrial area of South Bank for any signs of her. He had been hoping she would visit him again, and while he had been expecting her, her presence had come as a shock all the same.
She’s here somewhere, he thought, his giant body sliding lower toward a mass of abandoned warehouses, sniffing the air with his snout, trying to detect the sweetness of her scent through the foggy London morning. Tell me where you are, Poet, he begged, knowing that he had to return to his hotel before his massive form was seen soaring through the sky. He didn’t want to give up.
The previous night had been spent searching for Nick and Mya, his gut telling him that they were responsible for what had happened to the princess, but he had come up empty-handed. They were not at their respective flats, nor were they at any of their usual haunts, according to friends.
There is only one thing left to do, Maximus thought grimly, turning away from the river and flying back toward his lodgings.
He fell back into his form, his silver-grey body melding into his mortal form in the back alley. A drunk gasped when he landed, but Maximus left him in peace. The old-timer posed no threat to him.
Not the way Poet poses a threat to you, an unwarranted voice chimed in his head.
Maximus scowled and slipped in through the back entrance. His immediate concern was not what was going to happen after he found Poet. It was if he was going to find Poet at all.
You should just let the chips fall where they may, the devil on his shoulder told him. You will be better off without that girl. This problem is taking care of itself.
“Shut up!” Maximus barked aloud as he entered the lobby. Several guests eyed him oddly, but he ignored them. He forsook the elevator and climbed the stairs to his room, grinding his teeth together as he contemplated what he was about to do.
It’s the only way, he thought. If I go to the police with my suspicions, they will wonder how I know so much and probably detain me until it’s too late. Once those two have the money, they will kill Poet.
But Maximus also knew what was going to happen if he reached out for help. He shook his head, vowing to deal with that later. He couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.
Shoving his way into his room, he reached for his cell, dialing before he could change his mind.
“Hello, brother,” Titus greeted him. “I am surprised to hear from you after our conversation last night.”
“I need your help,” Maximus told him without preamble. “I need you to trace two mobiles for me.” There was a long pause.
“I could do that,” Titus agreed.
Maximus knew that. After all, his brother owned one of the biggest technological corporations in the world. Tracking a cell phone was less than child’s play; it was almost second nature.
“Here are the numbers,” Maximus said, reaching into his pocket for the cards he had secured from Professor Kincaid.
“Before I do this for you,” Titus interrupted, “you have to tell me what this is about.”
Maximus was silent, debating lying to his brother, but he knew that Titus would eventually hear the news one way or another.
“I am looking for the girl,” he answered. “She’s in the hands of these people.”
“Max…”
“Titus, I have to find her!” The passion in his voice must have instilled something in Titus, because Maximus heard him inhale sharply.
“Max, Father wants you to go home.”
“And I will,” he replied shortly. “After I find Poet.”
Another long pause ensued.
“Give me the numbers. I will see if I can get their location,” Titus relented.
Maximus sighed with relief, almost shouting the numbers into his brother’s ear.
“Hang on the line,” Titus instructed.
Maximus sat on the edge of his bed, his heart racing with anticipation. Outside his window, the sun fought to break through the gloomy clouds. Maximus took it as a good sign.
It’s going to be a good day, he told himself optimistically. A quick glance at the alarm clock told him that it was eight thirty, and his optimism was immediately gone. In a few hours, it would be too late.
“Can you go any faster?” Maximus finally asked, the stress of the moment affecting him to the point of shaking.
“I’m going as fast as I can,” Titus replied smoothly. “Talking to you is prolonging the trace.” Maximus chomped down on his lower lip to prevent any more outbursts. “Okay,” Titus said. “I have a trace on one phone. The other one is off.”
“Text me the address,” Maximus said tersely.
“I already did.” As he said it, Maximus’ phone pinged.
“Thank you, Brother,” he said sincerely.
“Maximus!” Titus called before he could hang up.
“Yes?”
“You better know what you’re doing,” his brother said. “By saving her, you’re only prolonging the inevitable. If she knows what we think she does, there is no way to protect her from Father.”
“I will deal with that later,” Maximus said grimly. “I have to go, Titus.”
“Max…”
“Titus, I don’t have much time.”
“Be careful,” Titus murmured. “Despite his unbalanced mind at times, Father can still be a ruthless enemy when he’s lucid.”
“I am perfectly aware,” Maximus replied tensely. “You forget I have lived it for the past seven hundred years.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” Titus answered. “On the contrary, it seems you are the one who has forgotten. I am just reminding you. Do what you must and get home before he comes looking for you. God knows he hasn’t been out in the world for centuries. Who knows what he’ll do if he finds you and her together.”
“I have to go,” Maximus said again. He had enough to worry about without imagining Rui flying into London like some mad dragon king, hellbent on killing Poet. He disconnected the call before Titus could say anything else.
Glancing at the address, he felt his heart welling with disappointment. The phone had pinged from the apartment Maximus had listed as Nick Taylor’s last known address. Either Nick was there, or his phone had been left behind. In any case, Maximus had no choice but to go back to Oxford and look for Nick again.
On a whim, he texted Titus, not wanting to be kept on the phone with his brother again.
Can you check the numbers and see if they move or relocate?
Slipping the phone back into his pocket, Maximus opened the door to his hotel.
“Mr. Maximus Williams?” the plain clothed policeman in front of him asked, flashing his badge. Maximus stifled a sigh and nodded.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Chief Inspector Charlie Downs,” the policeman introduced himself. “Will you please come with me, sir?” His question left no room for argument, and Maximus suppressed the urge to run, knowing that it would only cause him problems in the future.
“Of course,” he replied tightly. “Where to?”
“Scotland Yard, sir. We have some questions about your whereabouts last night.”
Maximus drummed his fingers on the table impatiently, glancing at his wristwatch again.
They haul me down here and then leave me waiting for an hour, he thought grimly, pulling out his cell phone. There was no text from Titus yet, so Nick Taylor might still be at his flat, if he had been there in the first place.
It was ten o’clock, and Maximus had had enough. He rose to his feet, pulling open the door just in time to see Chief Inspector Downs walk in.
“It looks like we keep running into one another when you’re on your way out,” the copper joked. Maximus did not smile.
“I’m sure you’re aware that King Henry is supposed to be making a ransom drop in exchange for his daughter so
on,” he said curtly. “I would rather be waiting on news about Poet’s return than staring at the walls in here. No offense.”
“None taken,” the detective replied, smiling. “And I can see your eagerness to leave, so let me get right to it, shall we?”
“Please,” Maximus agreed, turning to take a chair across from the inspector.
“Can you tell me where you were last night?” Downs asked, and Maximus felt his back tense.
“I was out looking for Poet,” he answered, trying to keep his voice steady. “I haven’t been able to relax, and I needed to keep myself occupied, futile as that seems.”
“I see. How did you do that?”
Maximus’ eyes met the inspector’s, and he felt a small fission of alarm coursing through him.
“On foot,” he said slowly. “Why do you ask?”
“Why would you think she’s within walking distance?”
“Can you tell me what this is about?”
“I would prefer to ask the questions here, Mr. Williams,” Chief Inspector replied evenly. “Can you tell me where your search took you?”
Maximus shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t. I am not familiar with London, actually.”
The lead detective’s face twisted into a smile that didn’t meet his cold, grey eyes.
“That was going to be my next question,” he sighed, sitting back. “How did you manage to weasel your way into the princess’ life, under the radar of her security?”
Maximus bristled, fully understanding that he was being questioned about the kidnapping again. There was no time for these trivialities. “We met on campus at Oxford. I was auditing classes, considering taking some of my own. I happened to see her, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Ah, love at first sight,” Downs said. “How romantic.”
“Look, mate,” Maximus began, “I know you have a job to do here, but I really think you would be better off getting ready for the hand-off, don’t you? Something tells me these people are not pros. They are taking on a kingdom, after all.”
