Prince of Honor (House of Terriot Book 1)

by Nancy Gideon

  Book 1 in the “By Moonlight” spin-off series.

  Meet shape-shifter prince Turow from the House of Terriot

  PRINCE OF HONOR

  The hunter becomes the prey, a prisoner to his own desire . . .

  It was early. Faint daylight crept in through cracks in the curtains, but the room was still quite dark.

  Turow couldn’t move. Couldn’t manage more than a quiet moan. His body wouldn’t respond, his mind refusing to engage. A huge weight of sated bliss layered over him, making simple actions impossible. Every breath he took reminded him why.

  The covers tossed over his naked body held her unique smell. His tongue still tasted her. But it was what he didn’t feel that finally goaded him into awareness.

  Her heat didn’t rest beside him. In fact, the sheet was cold.

  Empty.

  He tried to sit up but something jerked him down. That something a metal bracelet about his wrist, shackling him to the bed frame. His hazy mind recoiled in surprise. How could she have gotten to the key where it lay a room away in the pocket of his coat?

  Alert and now wary, Turow let his senses sharpen before opening his eyes to a sight that scarred him, heart and soul.

  Sylvia stood on the other side of their shabby room, dressed in her castoff clothes, her lovely, kiss-bruised lips narrowed, her expression carefully masked. She met his gaze directly, hers betraying nothing.

  Because they were not alone.

  “The Terriot Princes . . . Holy Hotness. There is so much deliciousness between all them it’s hard not to drool!” – Sara Kate, Goodreads

  Deadly, Damaged, Delicious

  Brothers too H.o.T to handle!

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Nancy Gideon

  All rights reserved. No part of this book or portions thereof may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Cover Design: Patricia Lazarus

  Interior Design: The Novel Difference

  ASIN: B01MG3XHEH

  For Beverly Hansen, who gave me a place to call home.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For every glossy production, there’s the unsung folk who scramble behind the scenes to make everything look effortless. My team ROCKS! My critique group of PotL pals who always encourage and yes, sometimes kick butt; my BETA readers Sandra Hoover and Elizabeth Hinds who brought their eagle eyes and different slants to help shape the big picture; my copy editor/line editor, Laurie Kuna who has a way with those pesky commas and saved my bacon with her WTF catch; cover girl Patricia Lazarus who always makes magic from my ideas, and Florence Price of The Novel Difference who puts it all together. Shiny!

  And thank you, Sara Kate, from my Nancy Gideon by Moonlight Goodreads Group for the delicious quote!

  BY

  Nancy Gideon

  Book 1

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  A SNEAK PEEK FROM PRINCE OF POWER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS BY NANCY GIDEON

  PROLOGUE

  He’d always been excruciatingly shy, an awkward stray in a fierce clan of pedigreed predators.

  Forced into the company of his half-brothers, an outsider who’d just lost his mother as well as his footing in their often vicious world, Turow Terriot hung back, kept his mouth shut, and prayed for invisibility, hoping they’d see him as too boring to bother with. For a while, he'd stayed under their radar, but that luck didn’t last.

  When the runt of the litter, Cale, the usual object of their torment, managed to rise in their esteem by besting Colin, who was a head and shoulders taller, in a violent contest that left both of them bruised and sullen, the pack’s merciless baiting shifted to him. For a week, they’d found every excuse to bump, push, and taunt him. Turow's best defense was an impervious, unresponsive wall they could batter against, but never break through. But they could, and did, wound. Today, as always, all he had to do was wait for their mercurial attention spans to turn from him to their favorite topic.

  Sex.

  On the cusp of awkward maturity, Row felt those same stirrings of curiosity and hot-blooded adolescence that were the mainstay of conversation amongst his brothers. While Wesley, Stephen, Rico and Colin boasted of salacious, and probably highly exaggerated exploits his cheeks burned and his imagination prowled as he lingered, listening, on the outskirts of their discussions, having nothing to contribute on the subject even if he could find the voice to speak of it.

  It was then Wes’s half-sister Sylvia appeared. A provocative early bloomer, she inflamed their imaginations with her barely-there skirt, twitching stride and bold interest in their attentions.

  As she strutted by, pretending not to hear their lusty speculations, Stephen, the worst bully of the bunch, gave Turow a sudden hard push in her direction, loudly goading him to make a move. Horrified at becoming the focus of attention, especially when hers turned his way, he froze, earning whooping laughs and ridicule from the others.

  The worst moment of his life, a culmination of all the terrible things that had preceded it . . . until the goddess he'd adored from afar came to his rescue.

  Without a word, she sashayed up to him, taking his hot face between cool hands, and pressed her lips to his. So warm. So soft! When his jaw went slack in surprise, her tongue intruded. Tongue! The others stared, astonished and envious to think the bashful one amongst them would be the first to actually claim that coveted experience.

  Standing there, stunned stupid, Turow would have let the opportunity slip away from him if she hadn’t gently whispered, “Close your eyes, grab my butt, and give those jackasses something to talk about.”

  Obediently, he did as told, gripping her firm little rear to keep himself upright as her mouth manipulated his in ways even his wildest imaginings hadn’t conceived.

  Of course, it wasn’t about him. She was teasing the others.

  That’s what he’d thought until she leaned back far enough to make eye contact.

  He forgot to breathe.

  A connection sparked that he didn’t quite yet understand. Like they shared an intimate, inside joke.

  His heart was gone, just gone.

  She smiled, touched another quick press against his lips then turned to his gaping brothers to declare, “I’d put my money on the quiet one over the rest of you obnoxious brutes.”

  And Turow’s status within the princely Twelve of the shape- shifter House of Terriot was sealed with that kiss.

  CHAPTER ONE

 
“Get up and step back from the door.”

  Huddled against the wall of her outdoor prison, Sylvia Terriot looked up from a blanket cocoon, green eyes gleaming in the dim light. A subtle parade of emotions crossed her lovely features—alarm, relief, suspicion—before they returned to that beautiful blank slate.

  “Why?”

  “I’m taking you up to the house.”

  She pressed back against the bricks and repeated, “Why?”

  Her jailor provided an indifferent shrug. “If you prefer to sleep out here, I’ll just go back in where it’s warm.”

  “Am I supposed to go in where it’s warm to sleep with you?” she drawled like that would be the worst of two evils.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. Get up. Move back.”

  She struggled to stand, cold limbs and stiff muscles offering little support, but finally got to her feet to ease into deeper shadows. With a careful eye on her, Turow stepped inside. Keeping himself between her and escape, he snaked a chain with cuffed ends free of the heavy iron ring imbedded in the cement floor. He tossed her one end.

  “Put that on your ankle.”

  As she bent to do as told, he ratcheted the other cuff to his wrist, winding the slack about his forearm until the chain put them an unwelcomed body length apart. He kicked the gate open wide and growled, “Walk ahead of me.”

  With a barbed, “So you can stare at my ass?”, she slipped by him to step out into the rain. Tenting a portion of the blanket over her head, she started toward the house at an awkward gait.

  About half way there, Turow caught himself watching the sway of her hips. A grim smile mocked his best intentions.

  “What’s waiting for me?” she called back warily. “Is your brother planning another round of questioning?”

  He frowned, catching the slight note of fear edging around tough bravado. “No. He’s not here. My queen wanted you out of the weather.”

  “My queen,” she mocked. “What a good little soldier you are, Turow.”

  They entered the old New Orleans plantation house through the servants’ entrance, passing by offices where security guards played cards and watched high-tech surveillance feeds.

  When he noticed her speculative look, Turow warned, “Don’t try playing helpless victim. No one here is going to rescue you. Eyes front. Keep walking.”

  “Oooh. All this macho control must be giving you a hard-on. I could do something about that if you’d slip me the key.” A pause, then a rushed, “You do have a key, don’t you?”

  “I won’t be slipping you anything. Shackled to me for life. That would be your idea of hell, wouldn’t it?”

  “Worse than the one I’m already in.”

  “Down the hall to your left.”

  She looked around with interest, gaze sweeping from black and white marble tiled floor to the curved sweep of a wide staircase. “Whose place is this?”

  “No one you’ll get a chance to know. You’re not an invited guest here.”

  “You aren’t either, are you?” she taunted. “I bet they didn’t give you a nice, cushy room upstairs. You’re just Cale’s lackey, no one of any importance.”

  He refused to react to her calculated dig, all his careful barriers in place. “At least I’m not a prisoner.”

  She gave the chain a rattle, glancing back over her shoulder to mock, “Aren’t you?”

  They reached a cozy back room where gaps in the heavy drapes let in flashes of lightning. Sylvia pulled up, glancing toward the half bath across the hall.

  “Can I stop in there first?”

  “I’ve already checked it. You can’t fit through the window, and there’s nothing in there to help you escape.”

  “I’ve other things that need to escape, if you don’t mind.”

  She went inside, scowling when Row made a move to follow. He played out a length of chain and shut the door against it, lingering in the hall, trying to separate sounds of necessity from those of possible mischief. Finally, she exited and pushed past him, her face freshly scrubbed, deep auburn hair finger combed into waves instead of tangles. She surveyed the TV room dominated by a huge flat screen, noting windows, looking for potential weapons, which he’d already done. Then her glare skewered him.

  “Are we going to watch movies together? Like a date night?”

  He gestured to the couch. “Get some sleep while you have the chance.” He played out the chain and settled into an adjacent chair. There was just enough light from the hall to outline her lush figure as she tossed her wet blanket to the floor, stretched out on the cushions, and tugged a fleecy throw around her. The soft sounds she made while getting comfortable twisted through him, drawing the moment out like torture until she quieted.

  He tried not to think of her as the minutes dragged by, as he restlessly inhaled her scent, pulling it in slowly, deeply, as his gaze lingered along the voluptuous shape even covers and borrowed clothing couldn’t disguise.

  “Do you ever think of us together?”

  Her quiet question startled him. “Why would I?”

  His defensiveness provoked a husky laugh. “Of course you do. Wonder if I think of you?”

  “No. You made your opinion of me quite clear.”

  “That’s because I didn’t want you holding on to false hope. I was after a king, and that was never going to be you.”

  “Thank you for that kindness.” His tone gave away nothing.

  “I did like you, you know. I rarely go back for seconds, but I made an exception in your case.”

  “Am I supposed to be grateful for that generosity?”

  “Aren’t you?” When he refused to answer, she laughed. Mockery darkened the pleasant sound. She fell silent for several minutes before asking abruptly, “Is Cale going to kill me?”

  “I don’t know what he plans.”

  “Is that the truth? Please. If you know, tell me. I’d like to be prepared. I’d like to ask for a chance to see Wesley first. He’s the only family I have left.”

  He couldn’t tell if the tug in her voice was intentional, but it didn’t really matter. He hated the thought of her distress, so he gave away more than he should have. “He promised Wes he wouldn’t kill you.”

  A harsh sound. “We both know how reliable Cale’s word is.”

  Turow said nothing.

  “If I’m going to die, I want to be brave like my mother.”

  The slight tremor in those words acted upon him as strongly as her courage, provoking his firm, “I won’t let him kill you.”

  “You’re going to stop him? Stop Cale? On my behalf?”

  He laughed this time, a slightly cynical sound at his own foolishness. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to say?”

  Very quietly, she murmured, “I wanted you to mean it. I never thought of you as cruel. I don’t know why I expected anything different from a Terriot prince.”

  “I meant it.”

  “Could you turn on the light so I can see your face when you tell me again?”

  Turow hesitated. He should ignore her. He knew better than to be coaxed into conversation. But on this lonely, unhappy night, he wanted to see her face as much as he needed to soothe her fears. Leaning forward, he reached toward the lamp situated between the two pieces of furniture.

  Her heel caught him in the jaw with an explosion of pain, rocking him back into a teetering crouch.

  Sylvia was on him in an instant, the length of chain she’d gathered in her hands coiling tightly about his neck.

  ***

  What the hell happened?

  James Terriot stood cloaked in the anonymity of a Garden District tour group as they gawked. The last dark breaths of smoke still lifted from the ruin of what had been a tremendous blaze. The enormity of it sank deep and sour.

  Gone. Everything gone. He couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t accept it.

  As the group drifted reluctantly to the neighboring property, he approached an old man who stood on the opposite side of a shared wrought-iron fence. Still in his bedro
om slippers, he clutched a shivering rat dog to his sunken chest.

  “Quite the blaze,” James remarked when bespectacled eyes turned his way. “What happened?”

  “Called 911 when Daisy here started barking. Nothing gets by Daisy.” An arthritic hand patted the trembling little animal. “Thought it might be a break-in. We gets them ′round here sometimes. Lots of goings on in the house. Thought it curious ′cuz them two kept pretty much to themselves.”

  “Did you see anything?”

  The old man smiled tightly. “Best not to, if you know what I mean.”

  James nodded. “Didn’t want to get involved. Don’t blame you there.”

  Encouraged by his attentive audience, the elderly gentleman continued. “Then the fire started. Weren’t no accident. First upstairs, then in the front room. Saw a bustle of folks coming out, a couple of them tied up, but most carrying things to pickups on the street. Not SUVs like the Feds so I figured something else was going on. Something none of my business.”

  “Do you know if all the people inside got out?”

  The old fellow squinted at him suspiciously. James relaxed his posture, letting him think morbid curiosity rather than desperation fueled the question. With a friendly gesture, he passed the witness the still warm extra coffee he was carrying for someone who apparently no longer needed it. The old man took it with a pleased smile and sipped thoughtfully.

  “Mind you, I didn’t say nothing to the cops. Best not to get their attention.”

  James made an approving sound, biting down on his impatience. “So what did you see?”

  “Nothing at first until the fire took. Then I could see ’em over there in the side yard. Four of ′em, just watching.”

  “Robbers or just troublemakers?”

  Grizzled brows lowered. “Don’t rightly know. They weren’t kids. Three men and a woman. The redhead, she lived there. Snooty piece, but a real looker. Both she and her mama were.”