Prince of Honor (House of Terriot Book 1)

by Nancy Gideon

  Eyes flashing fiercely, Sylvia spat, “You doubt mine? I was abducted from my bed, held in chains, nearly ripped apart by Cale. Turow was taking me to be killed at his orders. I did what I had to do to slow him down in hopes that you’d find me. He’s nothing to me. He has nothing to offer me. How dare you doubt that, or me.”

  James chuckled. “Now there’s something I can believe. Unruffle your lovely feathers, Sylvia. I was just testing you.”

  “Testing me? What do I have to do to prove myself?”

  He tented long, elegant fingers, observing her over their manicured tips. “You could kill Turow for me.”

  Surely, he couldn’t mean that! Sylvia’s smile wobbled. “You have people for that.”

  “They don’t have anything to prove to me. I pay them well for their allegiance. Besides, it’s not like it’s anything new to you, considering the fate of Michael and Derrick. The attempt on my father.”

  She paled. “I didn’t have anything to do with their deaths. Cale killed Michael. My mother poisoned Derrick and would have done the same to Bram.”

  “And you didn’t know? You were just an innocent bystander? Is that how you see it? Perhaps it’s time to get in the game, Sylvia, to get your own hands dirty.”

  She pushed back from the table, upset and alarmed. Angry with James for pushing her sins of passive knowledge in her flushed face.

  “That would be a waste of my talents.”

  Again, the silky chuckle. “Oh, don’t underestimate yourself. You’ve the capacity for murder behind that sexy smile. I won’t push the issue, for now, but perhaps you’d enjoy the chance to discuss his compliance with our closed-mouthed relation before it’s revisited.”

  “I don’t know why he’d listen to anything I had to say.” Her heart pounded in agitation, seeking a means to escape this untenable test.

  “Don’t you? You know he’s in love with you. He has been since you gave him your traditional choice of coming of age birthday present. You didn’t have to sleep with him, and the others. A kiss and a blow job would have been sufficient.”

  Another of her mother’s coldly conceived plans, using sex as a weapon to bind her to a future king. Which prince hadn’t mattered. That didn’t work out so well, did it, Mother?

  Cale was the only one who’d refused her gift. At the time.

  Her gaze narrowed. “You didn’t complain.”

  “I’m not a fool to be played so easily by you or Martine. And you were, and are, very good at what you do.”

  Hardly a compliment.

  He stood and drew her chair the rest of the way back. “Shall we go see how persuasive you can be?”

  The last impact broke something.

  Turow used his shackles to keep himself upright, conserving his waning strength to hold back a scream. Once that first sound escaped, there’d be no restraining others from following. First cries, then words he’d have no control over. From there, it’d be all downhill into hell.

  His ribcage burned. Every shallow breath dragged through coals and spit out flame. Muscles ached, groaning miserably from repetitive abuse. His system shuddered on the brink of collapse.

  He could no longer grasp the steady barrage of questions, and even if he wanted to answer, formulating words was beyond him.

  His interrogator, Misha, knew his business. The beating didn’t drain him to a blissful unconsciousness. No such luck. He lingered on the edge, graying out until a startling slash of pain or shock of cold water jerked him back to full awareness. Over and over, throughout the previous afternoon and long into the night, until hours bled into a limbo of endless torment.

  Compliance meant death. Suffering in silence was the only alternative.

  Something cool touched his brow. A delicious dampness washed down his face, followed by the stroke of a wet cloth. His grateful inhalation brought a sharper focus to his distress as Sylvia’s unmistakable scent teased over aggrieved senses, taunting him into a moan of complaint.

  “It’s all right,” whispered her siren’s voice like a gentle breeze against fevered skin. “Don’t resist. Let me help you. I don’t want anything from you. I know you won’t talk. Just pretend to listen. Let me give you a moment to catch your breath.”

  When her arm encircled him, he leaned. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to. But he couldn’t hold out against the temptation.

  She smelled so good, like daydreams and unmet desires. Her shoulder provided a supportive haven, sheltering him however briefly from the blistering downpour of discomfort that had rained upon him for ceaseless hours. He drew a shaky breath and let it out on a sigh. It wasn’t real, what she offered. Knowing that didn’t make him appreciate it any less.

  “Let me end your pain. You don’t have to die. Don’t let Cale demand your life.”

  These words she spoke weren’t like those before them. Though said with the same intensity, they were louder and didn’t ring true. Just a subtle difference that slipped between his battered and broken ribs like a thin blade of deception.

  “Talk to me, Turow. Don’t let Cale use you up and toss you aside the way he did me. You’ve seen his weaknesses. You know he’s not the one to lead us into a stronger, safer future. You can be a part of that future. Our clan needs good men like you.” Her voice lowered a persuasive notch. “I need a good man like you. Don’t throw us away over some misguided loyalty to a fool who doesn’t deserve it. Let me help you. Just tell me what you know.”

  I need a good man like you.

  Remembrance of their night together gave his weary spirit something to cling to. The feel of her kisses, her caresses, the sound of her low, throaty cries. He could step away from the pain, the loneliness, and that deep, endless ache of an empty heart. With a word. The bonds would loosen, and he could have his every dream. All he had to do was let go and believe.

  Her fingers combed through his sticky hair and trailed along one side of his swollen jaw in what might have been a tender gesture. But wasn’t.

  It was a lie wrapped in deception.

  He eased back just far enough for their eyes to meet.

  “You’re wasting your time. I prefer honest torture.” He looked from her beautiful face to his smirking nemesis. “Let’s get on with things.”

  Sylvia got to her feet and strode away without another word or backward glance. Turow watched her go, appreciating the sassy snap of her hips for probably the last time.

  Smiling faintly, he turned into the next fierce blow.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Don’t blame yourself,” James said generously. “Turow isn’t like normal males. It’s not that you lack persuasive charm. He lacks a connect between emotion and deed.”

  How wrong he was. Sylvia didn’t betray that with her exasperated sigh. “And what if he won’t break? Him dying out of sheer stubbornness isn’t to our advantage.”

  James looked away from the window of their suite as darkness never quite settled against the glow of lights on the Strip. She was struck anew by how handsome he was. How shallow in his conceit.

  “How would you suggest we use him? You’re the expert there.”

  Her conscience winced but her words remained carefully calculated. “Hold him hostage. Cale won’t strike if he’s our shield.”

  James made an unkind sound. “You give our king too much credit. Cale would cut through him to reach us. He’s a vicious little shit.”

  “No. He cares deeply for those in his inner circle and would do anything to protect them.”

  “Those like you?” His sarcasm seared.

  “He was only interested in what I could do for him.” Like all his princely brothers. Except Turow. “He never cared for me. Not like he does his pale, simpering queen.” That truth still wounded more than she cared to admit. James recognized that weakness.

  “You give Kendra too little credit. Most rivals tend to make that fatal mistake. Cale did where I was concerned.”

  Sylvia kept her thoughts on the matter to herself.

  “So y
ou think we should hold Turow until the time is right to barter his release to our benefit.” James mused for a moment then cut her hopes to shreds. “What could we possibly gain that would be worth having Turow at Cale’s side again? Of the two of them, I think we have more to fear from our silent prisoner than our reckless king. Cale may give the commands, but Turow has the will and strength to carry them out.”

  And then the conclusion Sylvia feared the most.

  “We can’t afford to let him go.”

  Both considered that truth in silence. Turow had one goal, to serve his king in any way requested. And what Cale wanted most was them brought before him on their knees so he could publicly denounce them in front of their family. And then, end their threat permanently. Nothing would deter Turow from finishing his task—not bribes, not threats, not sex. Not love. That left only one outcome. He would have to die if they were to live.

  Sylvia wanted very, very much to live. But as what? A pawn to someone else’s pleasure? Hadn’t she served that role for long enough, trapped beneath another’s thumb? She’d never had control over her own life except in the petty social circles of their clan’s status-hungry females. James had assumed her mother’s previous place as dictator over her decisions, over her survival. What choice did she have? Play the game, or roll the dice on the chance that her family would be forgiving. She couldn’t win either way. Survival at the whims of uncaring others was tenuous business.

  She could walk away, turn her back on the deadly dramas and selfish politics. And do what? What skills did she have beyond a pleasing face and form? She had no resources, no connections, no identity within the human world, no safe harbor with those of her kind. She’d have to do what she’d always done, accept the best worst-case scenario and live. Even a miserable existence was better than the alternative of none at all.

  “So what’s left?”

  James’s question yanked her from glum thoughts. “What do you mean?”

  “In New Orleans. We need to start rebuilding as quickly as possible. What do you need to make that happen?”

  She stared at him, fighting to keep the hate from her eyes as she spat a single truth he’d yet to acknowledge.

  “My mother is dead.”

  “Yes, I know. Regrettable.” He brushed Martine Terriot aside like so much residual ash off his designer sleeve. “But we need to move on so our plans, our business, won’t falter.”

  “My mother was our business.”

  He tipped his head at a curious angle, obviously not getting the point. “She started it, true, but we can build from there.”

  “On what?”

  “I have willing backers, and a more than eager customer base. We’ll find a new location. You can set up whatever you need to replenish our supply. We can weather a bit of delay. How long do you think it will take you to fill Martine’s role?”

  “I can’t.”

  Again, the oblivious blink and shake of head. “Can’t what? Sow a few seeds? Reap a harvest that will guarantee our future?”

  “My mother wasn’t one for sharing secrets.”

  That flat truth struck him like one of Misha’s meaty fists. Sylvia took a moment’s pleasure as she watched understanding settle.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her knowledge went up in flames with her. She kept no written records, no recipe for the mind control of our clan on a nice little typed-out card.”

  Panic wasn’t attractive on James Terriot. His face mottled. His eyes bulged. “But you worked beside her. You helped her. You must know!”

  “She let me tend the garden, weed the beds, but when the time came to measure and mix and process, she never let me near her. Uneasy is the head that wears the crown, they say. She had no intention of letting me snatch hers.”

  In two long strides, he had her in a tight grip, fingers cutting into her upper arms. “I don’t believe you. What game are you playing? What do you want? I’m in no mood for this, Sylvia.”

  Voice low and cold, she said, “I want you to acknowledge my mother’s part in saving your miserable life. If it hadn’t been for her, you wouldn’t be standing there in that exquisite suit talking about a bright future. She made you what you are. She made both of us.” Damn her.

  Reason seeped back into frantic blue eyes. His hold on her eased, becoming a gentle massage. “Yes, of course. Forgive me. I’ve taken her passing too lightly. I didn’t mean to dismiss her as unimportant. I apologize for that. And to you.”

  As if she could believe one word from those insincere lips.

  “Thank you.” She pulled away carefully. “Perhaps I can recreate her work. I spent my whole life involved in her magic and herbs. I’m not without knowledge. I was working closely with her on a new project that might become even more valuable.”

  Greed erased his tension. “I’ll provide you with whatever you need. Or want.” Before relief could settle too deeply, he added, “Just be sure you don’t disappoint me.”

  “Have I ever? In anything?”

  Appreciation warmed his gaze, and with it came a different kind of fire. A predatory, hungry heat.

  “Shall we consummate our new arrangement?”

  Without waiting for her response, James caught the shoulders of her designer dress in fingers that had become claws, and tore it from her, not caring that he ripped skin in the process. The scent of blood mingled with her perfume, an erotic fragrance.

  Sylvia held her ground, posture straight and proud, her stare challenging. He liked a challenge and a fight. Tonight, she’d give him both to seal the deal.

  As she began to plan a new future.

  His figure slumped forward in the sturdy metal chair, held up by the cuffs binding his hands behind its back, his ankles tied to its front legs. Bared to the waist, his corded arms and shoulders documented the abuse he’d suffered. Those muscles tensed at her approach but his head didn’t lift.

  Sylvia paused in front of him, taking a moment to gain control of cramping emotions that brought a surprise burn to her eyes. She’d thought she’d cried them out over her mother’s body. Drawing a fortifying breath, she knelt and whispered his name.

  “Turow. I know you can hear me.”

  He answered with a low rasp. “I don’t think you have anything to say that I want to hear.”

  “You’d be wrong.”

  Slowly, he lifted his head to regard her, his stare a searing blue against blackened eyes. “I doubt it. Why would I believe anything after all your lies?”

  “Because I don’t want to see you die.”

  “Then don’t watch.”

  She uncapped the water bottle she carried, putting it to his bloodied mouth. He refused to drink, turning his head aside.

  “Don’t be fool,” she snapped. “It’s just water.”

  “It’s not the water I object to.” He glared at her, but finally thirst won out. When she touched the opening to his lips a second time, he drank deeply, hurriedly to the bottom of the bottle. Panting slightly, he straightened to lean back in the chair, stoic expression fixed, giving nothing away.

  “Did you come to gloat over your clever revenge?”

  She struggled not to wince at the harsh slash of his tone. “My argument has never been with you. It’s with your king.”

  “Then it’s with me.”

  “You are the most stubborn creature.” She sighed in exasperation. “I’m trying to save your life.”

  “I won’t betray my king. My brother will realize that in time. I’ve got nothing but time.”

  “You’re wrong. Your time’s run out. He’s going to kill you in the morning and send your head back to Cale as a warning.”

  He stared at her, betraying no reaction.

  “Did you hear me? He’s going to kill you!”

  A soft laugh. “What did you think would happen when you left that message? A very clever move, by the way. That I’d spill my guts to James, we’d embrace, crack a beer and all would be forgiven? There’s no way I was coming out of this
alive. Jamie can’t afford to release me. He’d never sleep knowing I was out there.”

  And Sylvia would never be able to close her eyes if she was the cause of his death.

  “What if I let you go?”

  Her calm question shocked a response from him. He blinked, brows lowering in a moment of confusion. “Why would you?”

  “You stood up to Cale when he would have killed me. Granted, you were willing to let him torture me, but you saved my life. I’d return that favor.”

  “James would know it was you. How do you think that would end?”

  “Badly. Unless I went with you.”

  He concealed his surprise better this time. Slowly, his eyes narrowed. “With me where?”

  “Home. I want to go home. I want to see Wes. This,” she gestured to their cold, grimy surroundings, her voice thinning with desperation, “wasn’t what I signed on for. Cale forced me to run, to leave everything dear to me behind. My mother. . . my mother is dead. I have nothing else, nothing to lose.”

  “Except your life. You think Cale would welcome you any more than James was happy to see me?”

  “If I save your life he might.”

  She looked sincere. She sounded hopeful. But she was lying.

  Turow knew better than to believe what she wanted him to see. What he wanted to see. He ached all over from his last lesson. Better to die with some dignity intact than to lead this lovely serpent to the bosom of his family.

  Did she really think she could sway him when she reeked of evidence contrary to her supposed good intentions?

  “You probably should have washed off Jamie’s stink if you wanted to convince me you were going to betray him.”

  Instead of looking sheepish or annoyed, Sylvia unfurled a cat-in-cream smile that made him long to lap it up. A rich, dark amusement rippled through her soft chuckle.

  “How else could I have gotten this?”

  He stared at the key she dangled before her. To his cuffs and his freedom.