by T. A. Grey
Broderick looked back at her, his brow furrowing at the messy tomato in her hand. Before he could move to snatch it from her, she devoured the whole thing, then gave him a smug look. He grinned at her and shrugged.
He led her through halls, past rushing servants busily at work and guards stationed at their posts. She received death glares from many of them. Some even muttered under their breath as she passed.
“Whore,” they whispered.
“Die bitch,” said another.
She swallowed back her replies, literally biting her tongue to keep from screaming at them. No one was here to defend her. She was a murderer in this place, not Hanna MacKellen.
“She wants to see you,” Broderick said leading her into the throne room.
Hanna paused at the door before someone shoved her from behind. She went forward on feet that carried like sludge through molasses. The queen didn’t look at her but laughed at something someone said. She was always surrounded by a crowd, Hanna noticed.
“Ah, alas, here she is. The murderer.” The queen wore something of a triumphant grin on her face, like she was secretly winning a game that only she was playing.
The crowd dispersed, openly gawking at her. These people carried wine glasses and picked up hors d’oeuvre off silver trays that servants held for them.
“We are just making plans,” the queen said. “The festival is coming up. My favorite time of year. Every December we celebrate the winter solstice with a festival here in the castle. The whole pack is invited. Distinguished guests from all over the country will be attending as well. It’s the liveliest week of the year. Five days of celebration here in the Gerioux pack. We have ciders and roast meats, and music. Ah, the music is so delightful, isn’t it?” The crowd nodded enthusiastically.
“The best,” someone chimed.
Then the queen’s smile faded. Disappearing entirely. When the queen didn’t smile she didn’t just look angry. She looked like a lykaen that could kill. That had zero qualms about strangling another person. In this case--Hanna’s throat. Hanna swallowed over the knot in her throat.
“Only this time we’ll be celebrating a funeral as well. Won’t we?” The crowd murmured, looking away. “Ah, everyone meet Hanna MacKellen. The murderer of my boy Remi. The great prince of Gerioux.” Her eyes were cold and bitter as the snow. Expression death-like as she looked upon Hanna.
The crowd whispered, nodding, pointing at Hanna. “That’s her,” someone said. “The murderer.”
Hanna’s cringed and looked away, feeling her face flame with shame. Those words felt like a lie. She wasn’t a murderer. She’d never killed anyone in her whole life....
Until now.
She didn’t want to accept this new title. It wasn’t one she could ever be proud of. But, she was a murderer. Nothing could ever change that. There was no turning back from death.
“Broderick, where is the other one? The man?”
“He’s set to chop lumber today.”
“Fetch him please. Oh and the other one too. Jonas I believe his name is.”
Hanna flinched at the sound of her cousin’s name. How did the queen know his real name? Most people figured his name was a shortened form of Joseph, but it wasn’t. She’d always believed that Jo got a little kick out of people assuming incorrectly. That was the kind of guy he was.
“As you command,” Broderick said. He left to do her bidding, and instantly Hanna felt bare. Naked in front of all these people. They surrounded her, following the queen’s lead.
She grabbed Hanna’s handcuffed hands, the chain rattling between then. The silver burnt her wrists like a steady sunburn, but she refused to complain. The queen’s brows raised as she turned her palms over, eyeing the red sores and callouses. She smiled at Hanna, appearing pleased.
“What say you all? I need suggestions for work for these murderers. I’m afraid I don’t know what all to have them do.” Her statement belied the certainty in her voice. This woman didn’t need suggestions; she likely already had every detail of Hanna’s soon-to-be death planned.
A loud noise at the door had Hanna turning her attention away. Alex was there, cuffed and being dragged by a large bearded fellow. “Come on you dog!” the man ordered, tugging viciously on the chains.
Alex stumbled forward, then as if at a final straw, he snapped. With a feral growl, his eyes glowed yellow and he lunged at the man catching him unawares. He crashed into him, slamming the man down to the floor. He moved quickly, taking everyone by surprise as he raised his fists, like two big clubs in the air, and swung down. Only to be ripped off the man before his blows could strike by Broderick. Who had his gun leveled on Alex’s temple?
“Don’t do it,” Broderick said. No one needed it to be said: there were silver bullets inside that gun. Bullets that would kill a lykaen.
Broderick grappled Alex into a headlock and pressed the barrel of the gun to his temple, digging it in. Alex dug his fingers into the grip holding him, but couldn’t loosen it. His eyes flared with fighting spirit, anger gnashing like a caged animal.
Then, unexpectedly to everyone in the room, Alex performed a maneuver. He turned and slammed his head up, cracking against Broderick’s face and splitting his nose open. Blood burst out like Hanna’s squeezed tomato earlier.
Just as quickly, Hanna found a gun in her face. Broderick’s’ pistol aimed and pointed at her square in the forehead.
Broderick stepped back, his lips snarling in anger. “Move and I shoot her.”
The crowd gasped and watched with delight. This was all so much fun to these rich yuppies, Hanna thought bitterly. Fuck ‘em.
Her jaw clenched and she raised her chin as she met his eyes. As if to say do it. Just...do it.
Queen Lysette stepped forward clapping loudy to break it up. “Enough of this aggression. I have a party and a funeral to plan. Yes, everyone have a good look-see. These are the two murderers. The woman naturally is claiming a potential rape, though we all see how ridiculous that notion is. Remi was the best boy there ever was. Even if he wasn’t perfect. Alex Thompson, a nobody, assisted in the death.”
A man with shiny hair smoothed back in a wave from his forehead, stepped forward. “My queen, then why are they still allowed to live? These mongrels should be put to death.”
“Oh, Howard my dear, I do agree. However, Gavin MacKellen and his...entourage have already been here. They naturally want their little sister back,” she said it mockingly making everyone laugh. Everyone but Hanna, the guard, and Alex that is.
“Well if it’s work you’re looking to make them do, I have a few suggestions,” Howard said. The way he looked at Hanna made her skin crawl. She couldn’t look him in the eyes as he looked at her body as if memorizing it.
The queen looked doubtful. “Oh I don’t think that will be at all necessary. At least not the kind of activities you want to partake in, my friend. Broderick, where is---”
She never got to finish her question before the crowd hushed. Hanna turned to see what all the fuss was about now.
Jo entered the room, a fierce scowl on his handsome face. Her cousin was four years her elder and one of the toughest men she knew. Even if he was a bit of an...well, asshole.
Hanna was shoved to her knees next to Alex, where they shared a glance. She couldn’t believe how ragged he looked. And not ragged in a bad way either. His arms looked bigger, from working with them surely. Even the veins in his neck seemed to bulge more. She eyed them, feeling her tongue come out to wet her bottom lip.
Alex cursed and whispered softly beneath his breath for only her to hear. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Her breath caught. Her eyes fluttered heavily, wanting to close them and soak in his arousing scent. She ached to lean in and press her mouth to his. She nearly found herself doing just that, but the queen ruined their perfect little moment.
That snapped her back to reality. What the hell was wrong with her?
“Jonas MacKellen,” the queen announced for the entire roo
m to hear. He might not like people knowing his name and now everyone certainly knew it.
Judging by Jo’s facial expression, he didn’t give a fuck though. Not in the least. The queen appeared disappointed, probably wishing to get him riled up.
“We have a new offering,” Jo said. Hanna and Alex listened raptly. “The MacKellen pack is prepared to offer --”
The queen waved him off. “Shush now. This is not the time or the place to discuss business. We are here to discuss the winter festival and Remi’s funeral. It is customary for everyone to dress in their finest attire. I take it you have something to wear, Jonas?”
A stiffening in the shoulders, the bulky muscles appearing larger than they had a moment ago. It was the only outward signal Jo gave of his unease.
“Unfortunately, I’ll be unable to attend.” The crowd gasped and hushed each other.
The queen cocked an eyebrow appearing pleased. “Is that so? But, I’ve already invited you and it is coming up rather rapidly. Only, what, one week from now?” The crowd nodded enthusiastically in agreement. “Ah, see, so there you have it. And I certainly doubt we will have this...situation...tidied up before then, don’t you?”
“Not at all,” Jo replied.
“Excuse moi?” the queen said, shaking her head to clear it.
Jo took a step closer to her. You could feel the tension between the queen and him, almost as if they were the only two people in the room. How odd, Hanna thought. Strange, certainly.
“There’s no reason why negotiations should take that long. I see no reason why we can’t work out an agreement by week’s end.”
She laughed, the sound hysterical and fake. “By week’s end?” the queen repeated, turning to her entourage who laughed in tandem with her. “How ridiculous. These two are murderous and if you had it your way, I’d accept some goats and a little money for the loss of my precious nephew. Who is irreplaceable.”
“He attacked Hanna first and attempted to rape her. She fought back only to defend herself.”
The crowd oohed and ahhhed at the news, likely having heard this first-hand for the first time today.
“You do not know that for certain. Remi was a sweet boy. And if what you say is true, then why the need of this one. Alex? Your pathetic attempt at a bodyguard.”
“If not for Alex being there, Hanna would have been in a far worse place than she is today.” Jo’s word cut deep, ringing with truth. Hanna shuddered to think of what would have happened had Remi gotten his hands on her. She shivered and dispelled all those nasty thoughts. Like a child not wanting to look in the scary closet, she didn’t want to go there. Ever.
“Alex helped to save her. Maybe you need to rethink defending a would-be rapist. It’s likely he’s already hurt other females. Women who weren’t so lucky as to get away from the bastard.”
A hiss of sound from the queen. Rage brewing into a storm in her eyes. “Leave us. Everyone.”
Jo held up his hand as people started to depart. “No, don’t bother. I’ll be going.” He turned and the queen looked ready to blow a gasket.
“Don’t you dare!” Not used to being ignored, her commands falling on deaf ears. She grabbed a silver knife from the table beside her, the blade wickedly long and arching more than twelve inches of sharp steel. Hanna tried to scramble away but the queen snatched her by her hair, tugging viciously. The blade pressed up to her neck, kissing the skin with icy cold metal.
Jo stopped, unflinching in his expression. The pack was escorted out leaving only a few select individuals behind.
“You don’t seem to understand,” the queen said sweetly. With so much saccharine, the room could be covered in sticky sugar. “I am the queen here. I am in power. And what I say goes. You will attend this funeral and the festival. So will Gavin and Hart. Afterward, I will decide the fate of these two...heathens. Until then,” her jaw cracked as she slid it to the side, “these two are my prisoners. And so are you. Do you understand?”
Jo looked at Hanna, his jaw locked tightly in anger, but his eyes revealing nothing of his emotions.
“Got it.”
“Good.” The queen released her and was once again all smiles. “You’ll need a nice outfit. All of you will. Until that time, I won’t make a decision. You have one week to convince me not execute these two...mongrels...and I can tell you right now, my friends, is that’s going to be a difficult challenge indeed.” With those parting words, the queen exited the room, leaving everyone in a state of shock.
Briefly Jo hugged Hanna and gave her a promise. “I’m going to get you out of this.”
She felt no surging moment of joy. No rush of excitement. Because she knew the truth, as bitter as that made her. The truth that his promise surely couldn’t be kept. Promises were for children. Nothing more than lies. Hope, which was nothing more than false aspirations. Hanna noticed he didn’t make the same promise to Alex. And that worried her more than anything.
Fuck.
Chapter FIFTEEN
Hanna and Alex were back in their secluded apartment. No windows, not even ones with cell bars like in an old western movie. None of that. Just some old rotten wood floors that creaked and groaned with every step, some spots so spot feeling you thought a foot would pass through. They did have a fireplace, though they’d been given no wood. Alex had managed to have a conversation with Jo before being locked away for the night, who in turn talked to Queen Lysette who consented to allowing them a few logs from the pile Alex had chopped. Few being the keyword. They were given exactly three logs. Not even sturdy, large ones either.
Alex was busy building the fire. The room was quiet as a funeral parlor, only a slight cough from Hanna here and there.
Hanna sat on the corner of the cot facing the locked door. She’d heard the definitive clink of the lock being thrown only minutes before. Another long, cold night in here. Hanna hid the tremble in her hands by grasping them tightly. She didn’t know if she could last another night.
Her stomach rumbled viciously.
It was coming, and it was coming quickly like a great surging tidal wave. Its deadly force destructive and chaotic. What the hell was she supposed to do?
“What’s wrong?”
Hanna stiffened. Caught in a moment of pure dread, all color vanishing from her face.
He knew.
“I think we need to talk.” Alex stood.
Well, maybe Alex didn’t know, but he’d already picked up on the weird vibes she’d been putting off. And to think she’d been trying to stay quiet and still so as not to provoke any kind of interaction with him whatsoever. Her efforts were fruitless in this confined space and Alex far too clever. He read through her like a large print, pop-up Children’s book.
Hanna counted the minutes, the seconds, until he turned to her.
God, Alex smelled good. Heavenly. Like musty sweat from the work they made him do, and as the fire began to roar, tendrils of smoke wisped into his hair, giving him a mixture of smoky scent. Some of her favorite aromas. She could smell him from across the room--and that was a good thing. A very good thing. Except, not for her. In this very minute. It was actually quite problematic.
Letting her eyes fall closed, Hanna sat back on the cot. Her mind wandered, filled with worry. Did she confess to her sin or did she not? If the latter, she’d have to try to hide it. Oh boy, she didn’t know if she could ever be that secretive.
A part of Hanna wanted to keep her secret hidden for as long as she could. To try to deny it. As if that could keep her cycle at bay. But she knew the hard truth. The real answer.
The cycle could not be denied.
When it came, it came and must be dealt with swiftly. Days of agony, of intense pressure both mentally and physically was to come. The anguish a female lykaen’s cycle brought was said to toughen a woman up, to keep her from going soft, and to one day prepare her for the pressures of childbirth. Or so Hanna’s mother used to say. That seemed like an old wives’ tale now that Hanna was older. One told from mother’s t
o daughters to help them cope with difficult times. Perhaps she’d been wrong about her mother; maybe the advice was sound after all.
Hanna’s eyes popped open at once, caught guiltily thinking about Alex’s hard body. But when she looked over at him--wickedly handsome lit by the fire--his head having fallen back to expose his throat. He looked like a man lost to the world. Troubled. Without a paddle to swim in a great storm. Guilty didn’t begin to cover how she felt. Alex shouldn’t even be here. It would be one thing if it was her head on the line, but as far as she was concerned, Alex was innocent in all this. He hadn’t wanted to take the job to be her “babysitter” that night. He should have been home, where he’d be safe.
Still, she wondered: Did he have any idea how much she wanted him?
Alex’s eyes had that soft dream-like quality to them, yet he saw everything. A clever man, sharp to wit and he had the eyes of a dreamer--forever giving him that just-awoken appearance. His mouth was wide, thin-lipped but she’d kissed that mouth first hand to know his tongue was soft and warm, his kiss hungry. Hanna’s body tingled in places, her blood pressure rising. His hair had started to grow in, much as his beard had these past few days, making him look rough around the edges, almost unkempt. His wide-set shoulders filled out the chair he sat in and dipped down to that slender waist. She’d seen his body first-hand when they slept together and knew he had large chest muscles, pecks they were called, with little brown nipples. Tom hadn’t looked like that. Tom had been soft, perhaps even touch flabby. Hanna had never been with a fit man before.
Alex had scars on his fists and in spaces across his back and chest. Lord telling where those came from. Such as the little hooked scar he had on his left cheek. One she hadn’t really noticed until forced into close proximity to him. It looked deep like a gouge but only half-an inch across or so. What other little mysterious did he hide? He must have many secrets.
