Prince of Honor (House of Terriot Book 1)

by Nancy Gideon

  “That won’t get me out of his heart. I know, because it won’t get him out of mine, either. I’m in love with him. Who’d a thought?”

  He regarded her for a long moment then shook his head. “Oh, hell.” He squinted at her. “You’re telling the truth.”

  “Yes.”

  “So what now? We just forgive and forget? Fat chance.”

  “Help me.”

  “Help you?” A harsh laugh that trickled down into a thoughtful frown. “Why?”

  “So I can make things right.”

  “Too late.”

  “So I can make amends for the wrongs done by my mother.”

  “How?”

  “Trust me.”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Trust me because I love him too much too see him harmed. He won’t let this go, Cale. He won’t let me go. He’ll have to choose between us. It’ll destroy him. Unless you let me do what I came here to do.”

  A long, silent pause.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I know where James is.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t. I need something from him first. Something of my mother’s. It’s the reason I came here, and I can’t go back until I have it.”

  Cale’s attention sharpened. “You said you didn’t know how she made Kick.”

  “I don’t. But I know how to make the cure.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Cale gripped her arm, closing the space between them aggressively. “Tell me!”

  A hard push set him back. “Stop it! You think being a bully makes you a king? Where did that get your father? My mother? You want your people to follow you, act like someone who deserves to be. Make me believe what Turow sees in you is actually there.”

  He studied her through narrowed eyes, not liking her words, not liking what they suggested or the fact that they might be true.

  “I can’t afford to trust you.”

  “You can’t afford not to. You have no idea how shaky the ground is that you’re standing on. We both have a lot to prove, to our clan, but mainly to ourselves. We can change. We can change our spots, Cale. You did. Let me have this chance. It may be the only one I’ll ever have to earn my place at his side, to be accepted back within our clan. I can’t let him spend the rest our lives defending me to everyone he cares about. It’s not fair to him or to me. If you care about him as his brother, as his king, let me come back to him as a mate he can be proud of.”

  “And if you don’t come back?”

  It was the small hitch in her breathing that grounded everything she said as truth.

  “If I don’t come back, you tell him it wasn’t because I didn’t try my damnedest.”

  “One more thing. If your motives are so pure, how do you explain what you did to Rosalee?”

  Sylvia stared at him blankly. “What?”

  Turow paced the hallway, nerves strung tight. He eyed Cale’s massive bodyguard who stood between him and his mate like a mountainside. Could he take him? A suicidal thought if there ever was one, but his grasp of logic slipped farther away by the second.

  What could they possibly be talking about?

  He listened, trying to tune out his thundering heartbeats. No sounds of argument or struggle. That was good, right? Right? Cale would never harm her, knowing how much she meant to him. Right?

  He slid a glance toward Bull. Looking for a weakness was like searching for a flaw in a solid block of granite to pick at with a fingernail.

  Sylvia was right. They couldn’t go back. He’d never know a moment’s rest, fearing for her safety, wondering if he’d wake up and find her gone.

  They could get a place in Reno. He could . . . what? What did he know how to do? He was a hunter used to living off his wits, not a clerk chained to numbers and accounts. He’d suffocate in that cage of sky-rises, inhaling processed air instead of freedom.

  But to have her . . . Was there anything he wouldn’t sacrifice?

  They could get a small place . . . Hell, he could build her a mansion. He had no idea how much wealth lay dormant in his bank account, put there by his grandparents’ estate and his Terriot trust. He didn’t have to work at doing anything except making his mate happy. Squiring her about the city’s amusements, lavishing her with clothes and jewels, sharing a passionate bed with her every night while he happily, steadily . . . went insane.

  That claustrophobic scenario disappeared when the apartment door opened. Sylvia beckoned him inside, looking no worse for wear.

  Shaking with relief, he scooped her up against him, registering her surprise but finding no resistance to his urgent kiss. She returned it just as desperately.

  What had she and Cale been talking about?

  She pushed away from him, her hands having difficulty leaving the bare skin beneath his jacket. Turow wondered if his king would take offense if he shoved him out the door so they could take advantage of that comfortable new pull-out couch again.

  Apparently so, since Cale hooked him by the elbow, tugging him aside so Sylvia could slip out into the hall.

  Alarm bells rang.

  “We need to talk,” Cale was saying, but Turow’s attention was on his mate.

  She smiled up at him, the blatant adoration glowing in her eyes short-circuiting every thought in his head except one. How had he gotten so lucky?

  “You boys talk it out,” she ordered as Bull moved past her to fill up the already tight square footage of the apartment. “I’ll be right out here.”

  “Syl.” Row began to frown as she backed into the hall.

  “I love you,” she whispered for him alone. “Listen to what Cale has to say. Remember that he’s your king. Our king.”

  His scowl deepened as he glanced to a stoic Cale. When he looked back, she’d closed the door between them. What was going on? He turned to Cale for answers.

  “What were you two talking about?”

  “Salvation, hers and mine.”

  Row stiffened, sensing Sylvia moving farther and farther away from him. When he reached for the door, a gesture from his king put Bull between him and it.

  “What is this, Cale?”

  “Remember I’m your brother and your king, and that Bull can rip off your arms and legs without breaking a sweat.”

  Turow drew a bracing breath.

  “There’s something I need to tell you, and I want your promise you’ll hear me out before you react. Then, if you want to hit me, Bull won’t stop you.”

  Cale sat on the made-up couch holding a frozen Limearita can to one throbbing eye while the other tracked Turow’s travels back and forth across the living space.

  It had taken some doing to get Bull to stand guard in the hall, leaving him alone with his possibly fratricidal brother. The sucker could throw a punch! Knowing he’d probably face worse from Kendra had him waxing philosophical, at least for the moment.

  Doing good deeds was painful business.

  And what the hell was a Limearita? Who drank something like that? Most likely the owner of all the glittery, feathery sequined crap littering the room. A stripper? He couldn’t imagine his saintly brother viewing, let alone knowing, an exotic dancer.

  “How could you just let her go, you sonuvabitch?”

  “Is that any way to talk to your king?”

  “I’m not talking to my king. I’m talking to the brother who said he had my back.”

  “I do. And I have hers. You think I’d let her leave without having eyes on her? Give me some fucking credit, please.”

  Turow stopped his pacing. Emotions ran the gamut across his usually unreadable face. Fury, fear, anguish, loss. Finally, he circled and dropped down on the cushions next to Cale, slumping over his knees, hands locked behind his head.

  “Why would she do something like this without talking to me? Why would you, you shit?”

  That was the closest Turow had ever come to a disparaging word. Proud of him for that growly bit of moxie, Cale pressed one tense shoulder. “Because we know you bet
ter than to think you’d go along with it.”

  “You’re damned right.”

  Anger blown out in the face of a more paralyzing fear, Turow looked to his brother for answers.

  Answers surprising and yet practical.

  The only truth in Rosalee’s letter for Wes was that she was with Sylvia. There was no kidnapping, no use of force, no threats of harm should they be followed. A note meant to put an evil spin on Sylvia’s intentions and leave Rosie the innocent victim. Giving them time to reach James.

  “So, Rosalee was our insider,” Row murmured, coming to grips with that news. “And Syl went along because she thought it was Wes.”

  That explained much. He couldn’t blame her for putting family before their new relationship. He imagined her turmoil, her struggle to be loyal to both of them. It left a sick sensation in his belly. Because he wasn’t sure what he would have done if she’d told him what she suspected. Would he have respected her desire to protect her brother over his allegiance to Cale?

  “She was Kendra’s best friend.” Cale heaved a breath. “Playing her this whole time to get information for Jamie. This is going to kill her. I want that bitch.”

  “So much you’d sacrifice my mate?” He couldn’t keep the edge of bitterness from his tone. “Letting her do your dirty work for you?”

  “No. You don’t get it. I did that for Sylvia. We understand each other because of what we shared.”

  “Just because you had sex with her—” Row began with a fierce rumble.

  Cale made an impatient sound. “It has nothing to do with that. I’m talking about darkness, about a past so filled with it you don’t believe you’ll ever see light again. Kendra’s my light. You’re hers.”

  “So why couldn’t she come to me?”

  “She needs to wash her hands first.” Cale examined his own, turning them from front to back as if he’d never seen them before. “Mine had so much blood on them, I was afraid to touch her. My queen,” he amended quickly. “Not Sylvia.”

  Turow nodded, relieving Cale from the worry over his other eye. “She thinks she has something to prove, but she doesn’t. Not to me.”

  “To herself. And to our clan. She’s not running from you, Row. She trying to find a way back to you.”

  “He hurt her, Cale.” Turow’s tone went flat and grim. “Jamie hurt her. She’s afraid of him. I told her I’d protect her.”

  “He’s not going to get his hands on her,” Cale promised. “She’ll never be out of our sight. I promise you.” He reached for his brother’s hand and pressed two small items into his palm. “She said for you to hold these for her.”

  Row looked at the Terriot diamond studs in the well of his hand, too choked up to respond as Cale’s phone buzzed.

  Cale glanced at it in mild annoyance then with a sharp intensity that had Turow straightening.

  “What do you mean?” Cale demanded, low and harsh, after listening for a brief second. “Explain that in words that will save your miserable life.”

  Turow studied his body language as he held the phone to his ear. His posture grew rigid, his grip on the phone popping his knuckles into an aggressive ridge. Finally, he disconnected the call without another word and sat silently for a long moment. Then he turned, and Row’s world collapsed as he spoke of the news twisting his expression.

  “We lost her.”

  While Sylvia found a gaudy kind of class along the Strip, Old Vegas’s seedy adult vibe never appealed to her. She’d picked the covered five-block Fremont Street pedestrian mall not for the nostalgic taste of neon fronting the aged casinos or the hourly light-and-sound show that dazzled across the canopy overhead, but for the crowd packed in tight to enjoy the street performers, cheap souvenir kiosks, quirky characters and chance to pose outside the Golden Nugget with fat Elvis and barely covered hookers.

  She blended into the tacky carnival atmosphere garbed in a glittery “What Happens in Vegas” hoodie that covered her hair, huge flamingo-bowed mirrored glasses that engulfed her features, and the expected tourist map clutched in her hand. While others gawked upward at the musical laser screen, she scanned the crowd for a familiar face outside the Heart Attack Grill with its “Over 350 lbs Eats Free” beckoning in mile-high letters.

  Rosalee waited out in the open, making no attempt at subtlety as she bounced on her toes, peering up and down the mobbed thoroughfare. Sylvia brushed by her without a glance.

  “Follow me.”

  Inside the neighboring old school arcade filled with gamers of all ages, Sylvia pulled Rosalee behind one of the ticket machines. It took all her control not to knock the pseudo-innocent, Bambi-eyed bitch on her ass. To keep her temper in check, she got right to business.

  “Have you seen James?”

  “Yes. You were right. He was so glad to see me, and he looks scary, like a downed power line, all twitching and sparking.”

  Sylvia brushed off her fond reminiscing with a terse, “What did he say about me?”

  Rosie blushed. “Some pretty unflattering things. He was awful mad at first. But he wants to talk to you. There’s a car waiting.”

  Sylvia didn’t have to pretend to be fearful. “What do you think, Rosie? Can I trust him not to kill me right off?”

  Rosie hugged her arm in encouragement. “I think he’s happy to have you back. He’s so all alone. Follow me. Let’s go someplace quiet where we can talk.”

  Sylvia threaded through the throng, hurrying to keep up with the treacherous girl. The humiliation of being duped by the little schemer, who was drawing an unsuspecting Wes into betraying of their clan, made her angry but not careless. Never forgetting that she sported a protective tail that would keep her out of Jamie’s maniacal grip, she tried to stay in plain sight as they dodged around vendor carts and torch jugglers before turning sharply into a side alley.

  Rosie slid by an off-duty cab parked to one side of the narrow street, breaking into a jog. To keep up, Sylvia quickened her pace, so focused on not getting left behind that she missed movement right behind her.

  Rough hands shoved her against the side of the cab. A stunning blow to the back of her head calmed her struggles as her glasses were pulled off and the sweatshirt yanked over her head. Through dazed eyes, she saw her clothing passed to a skinny street kid who quickly donned them and ran after Rosalee in her place while Sylvia was pushed into the rear of the cab. The fare light went on as the vehicle crept down the alley and turned onto the next street while Rosie and the double would lead her watchers in the other direction.

  And just like that, her safety net was stripped away.

  A shadow-cloaked figure sat next to the driver. Once they were well underway, he turned to regard her over the seat back.

  Bart.

  “So,” she drawled in ridicule, “you’re back in the fold. How did you manage that and still be alive?”

  “James appreciates me. And he also doubled my pay after a brief negotiation.”

  “How entrepreneurial of you.”

  “And he knows I’ll never turn my back on you again, so don’t bother.”

  She returned the flat smile. “I wouldn’t waste my time. Where are we going?”

  “To a long-awaited reunion. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  Sylvia sat back for an hour but found no enjoyment in the trip that took her farther and farther away from the security Cale had promised. With Las Vegas a mere shimmer in the dark, they traveled Highway 160 through the Spring Mountains toward the high desert between Nevada and California. She leaned back in the uncomfortable seat, trying to rest so her senses and sensibilities would be sharp when required. She asked no questions on that long, silent ride and tried to keep them from entering her mind. But she couldn’t block out that final image of Turow as she stepped away from him and perhaps out of his life forever. That look of longing, of hope and trust shifting gradually into doubt and the beginnings of alarm. She didn’t envy Cale’s job of keeping her mate in check. But she smiled ruefully, picturing it.

&
nbsp; What she was doing was for him, for them, for their chance of a future together. And if it didn’t work out for her then at least there’d be no shame associated with her memory to plague Wes and haunt her love. If that was all she could give them, it would have to be enough.

  It must have been well past midnight when they entered the town of Pahrump. She’d never heard of it. She would have remembered the name. Quiet residential clusters and a business area gave way to the 24/7 gleam of small casinos and R/V parks. Their driver pulled in to one such establishment. The High Roller Hotel and Casino. Running lights outlined a façade that was a mix of Tuscan and Adobe, the central multi-storied structure for gaming and rooms, with wings angling back on either side housing a restaurant and longer-term accommodations. The signage claimed daily bingo, slots and video poker with a free buffet chaser. The parking lot boasted a good crowd.

  “Why are we stopping here? Planning to try your luck?”

  Bart grinned back at her. “Here’s where you find out if your luck holds out.”

  James was inside.

  Sylvia waited for Bart to open the door for her then let him shepherd her inside the main building. She took everything in, the surprisingly tasteful décor with its cluster of gaming tables, rows of armchair seating facing a wall of flat screens, the student-like carrel desks with their individual video monitors where tourists and townies alike hoped to make it rich, and, especially, the exits and personnel working the floor. If help didn’t arrive, she’d be on her own to find the best escape possible. If possible.

  That depended upon James.

  The two of them took the elevator up to the top floor where a key was needed to open the door. One of the keys Bart wore on a chain around his neck along with a rabbit’s foot. Like that luck would hold once Turow arrived!

  Instead of revealing a hall of numbered doors, they walked into a business-like office with glossy plants and plenty of posh seating leading to an unmanned front desk. Behind it were several glass-fronted rooms for conferencing and copy/computer access. Bart directed her to the right through a set of double doors, also with a separate key, into an executive living space.