by Lizzy Ford
I may have killed the council … I know you and my father had an agreement but … god it felt so good … I need your snout, Ben. It’s against the rules, but she’s been put to earth. I’ll never reach her in time … these are from Myca.
Even understanding the power of the temporary mating bonds, I’m still humbled by how deeply each of the candidates cared for me as well as distressed by their pain. How did any of them survive the trials with their sanity intact let alone follow the plan they’ve created? How can any of them have faith in me? How can they want anything to do with me at all?
I destroyed them, and each of them turned to the only person they could, the one running this elaborate scheme.
I don’t want to read Ben’s responses, don’t want to acknowledge he might have a good reason for being so involved in the most personal details of my life. I’m afraid to acknowledge the presence of someone else in my tortured world of the past few weeks, even if he got there before I ever arrived. It’s embarrassing to admit someone else knows everything I don’t, and I didn’t know he was alive until yesterday!
Reading real-Ben’s notes to the candidates during the darkest days of the trials makes my insides shake with emotion I can’t identify.
To his brother: You’ve got me and your family. We’ll make it through this together, like always.
To the fae prince: Stay strong, Tristan. We’ll find her. Use that huge brain of yours – you said she was in danger. Who’s the most likely to grab her?
To Myca: On my way. Council probably had it coming. I’ll handle your father. Call Tristan and meet at your place.
“This is … crazy.” I reread the messages, stunned by how involved Ben has been in every step of the trials. He admitted to being in contact with Myca’s father, but it seems ballsy, if not suicidal, for him to be stepping between Myca and the vampire king.
Apparently, he was successful. He’s still alive, and so is Myca.
I scroll through more of the texts, this time focusing on Ben’s responses in each exchange with the candidates. I find the long discussion he had with me, too. Occasional wry humor is mixed with quiet strength, patience and unwavering support, no matter what the candidates reveal to him.
Even so, something bothers me about this level of insight into the invisible leader, whose influence has been present in my life for two months at least without me suspecting. Every exchange is thoughtful, smart and confident, but what he feels is impossible to tell from his messages. He doesn’t have Nathan’s moodiness, Tristan’s layers or Myca’s direct yet easygoing nature. Ben has the laser-like focus to check his emotions at the door and persevere with a plan I can’t yet figure out, no matter what happens or how he feels about what his brother and friends are going through. I can’t get a solid read on who he really is beyond the calm, strong leader the others turn to and rely on. He gives no indication he’s worried or stressed, and he always, always responds.
The more I read, the more flustered I become. They told him everything, down to certain details of sex, when I cried and what made me happy, and anything I told them they thought might be linked to the curse.
This man knows everything about me. But why does he need to know some of this shit? He definitely scores points for being an effective private investigator. It hits me that a man this rational, thorough and calculating doesn’t stake the fate of his entire clan, or the Community, on a feeling!
What else can he possibly be hiding? Can I handle learning more?
“Nothing interesting yet,” Erish observes, uninterested with discovering who Ben is like I’m trying to. “We need to see the earlier texts to see their plan.”
“No,” I whisper. I’m close to a panic attack.
“We need to know what their end game is!”
“I know what it is!” I all but shout at him. “It’s to get rid of you!”
“And if they don’t know how to do it right? Are you willing to risk spending the rest of your life with me?”
“Even if they fail, I won’t be stuck with you long, and there’s no way in fucking hell you’ll haunt the next generation, because there won’t be another generation of Kingmaker!” I place the phone on the counter and go to the pantry.
“What’re you doing?” Erish demands.
“I’m hungry, you ass.”
“You can’t eat at a time like this! We have to find out how far they’ve gotten!”
“The less I know, the better their chances are, right?” I counter. “You can’t outsmart them if I don’t know what they’re doing.”
“Unless they’re on the wrong track.”
My hand pauses in the air, halfway to a jar of caramel sauce on the shelf before me. My sweet tooth gets worse when I’m stressed and right now, I’m fucking stressed.
“You wouldn’t tell me if they are,” I reason aloud.
“If your ancestors and father leaked secrets, then obviously I have limited ability to help.”
My insides are shaking, and uncertainty tears through me. I can’t tell the difference between when he’s fucking with me and when he’s telling the truth. What if he’s right about something, no matter how small, and I’m too twisted up inside to act on it?
I snatch the caramel sauce off the shelf. “You’re fucking with … me,” I say with a grunt as I try to twist the top off. It’s useless. The thing is jammed.
“Can you take that chance?”
Where is my alcohol or N-Thrall when I need them?
“Tell me what I need to know or leave me alone!” I snap in frustration and nudge the door of the pantry open with my hip.
“It’s not that easy. I’m –”
“Bullshit! You’re picking and choosing when you tell me what! Either you stop lying, or you stop talking, because I’m sick and …” I freeze as I leave the pantry.
The man who knows everything about me, down to the fact I’m a fan of vibrators, is standing in the middle of the kitchen, watching and listening, his head tilted.
God, the men in this family … Six and a half feet tall and absolutely ripped, Ben’s wearing jogging shorts and sneakers and is naked from the waist up to reveal a muscular, wide chest and round shoulders, thick biceps, roped forearms … slender hips and waist … and unlike his brother, he has a sprinkling of dark hair across his chest that forms a happy trail leading down his belly. Identical twin probably means he’s got the huge dick Nathan does, too.
Holy shit. How can I think of something like that at a time like this?
Aware of his gaze, I clear my throat. “You know I’m not talking to myself, right?” I ask the stoic alpha before I can stop. “You can’t see him, but someone is there.”
“Yeah.” Amusement flickers in Ben’s gaze and he glances down at the jar in my hand. “Breakfast?”
“Well … I …” I’m not normally nervous around men, awkward or self-conscious. At least, before the trials I never was. I’ve felt all three during the trials, but that was the magic.
There’s no magic here, just the sexiest man in the world and me holding a jar of caramel.
I never tried dripping warm caramel over someone’s body but it seems like a fantastic idea. The errant thought sends heat into my blood, which I quickly try to suppress. Werewolves can smell arousal.
Ben doesn’t seem interested in a real answer and closes the distance between us. He takes the jar and pops the lid off with an effortless twist.
My face flares red. “You could’ve pretended it was hard,” I mumble.
“You loosened it up for me.”
That’s even worse. He’s being as supportive towards me as he has been the candidates. He was with me last night in wolf form until I fell asleep, comforting me as only a four-legged, furry creature can.
Maybe last night is why this is awkward. I don’t know what to say to him. Thanks? No, thanks? Just let me rot in the miserable world that I deserve? Why does he care that I’m sad or hurting? He’s not a candidate, and me crying myself to sleep isn’t going to be
the determining factor in the curse breaking. What’s in this for him?
“You want some real breakfast?” he asks and moves away from me. I almost sigh, relieved when the heat of his body is gone.
“Yes.” I could definitely use some bacon and abs. I mean … bacon and sex. Shit. “Just bacon is fine,” I say loudly.
“Bacon and sex?” Erish repeats.
“Shut up!”
Ben glances at me. I turn away and silently scream for Erish to leave me alone.
“Find what you were looking for on my phone?” Ben asks casually.
This morning can’t get any worse. “No,” I murmur.
“Maybe if you ask, I’ll tell you.”
Being gently schooled by someone like him is so much worse than him screaming at me. Yelling, and sudden exits, don’t seem to be real-Ben’s style. I’m not about to tell him I learned a lot more than I cared to know by reading his texts. I have to say something, though, because this is torture.
“Were all your employees in on the twin swap?” I ask.
“No.”
“So they all thought I was asking about you. Real you.”
“Yeah.”
I was hoping to find out that maybe they were lying to me and Ben isn’t the kind of person I sense he is.
“Are you the one who had to kill all the wolves after my trial or was that Nathan?”
“I did,” he answers.
Why isn’t he angry? Or is he, and I can’t read him?
“Is Nathan going to be okay?” I manage to voice the question in a steady voice. His text from the day she died, and Ben’s response, is fresh in my mind. “After Jenny.”
“Eventually.”
Ouch. I sigh. “Isn’t a wolf’s mate the most sacred thing ever?”
“It is.”
I could use more than the one or two word answers. I face him. Ben’s organizing the bacon on a plate before he pulls out a skillet and places it on the stovetop.
“Aren’t you upset?” I venture.
“It’s not my place.”
“You’ve been stalking me long enough to know I was fucked up before the trials! I bear a curse no one knows how to break, destroyed your twin’s life, made you kill twenty wolves, caused complete havoc for the fae and vampires, and it’s not your place to be upset?” I ask incredulously. “Can you just … I don’t know … yell or scream at me? Tell me how horrible I am and how I deserve to be trapped in this curse?”
“What would yelling accomplish?”
“I don’t know. Make you feel better?”
He glances at me, silvery gaze intent. It’s a definite no.
“Fine. Make me feel better?” I snap.
“You want a spoon for your caramel?” he asks instead.
“I want a world without the curse!”
Ben slides a spoon out of a drawer and places it on the breakfast bar counter. “One step at a time, Leslie,” he says.
I have no fucking clue how to respond. Snatching the spoon, I sit on the stool and plunge the utensil into my caramel and watch the muscles beneath Ben’s taut skin move as he prepares breakfast.
Something about his calmness is contagious. I feel myself relaxing despite the weight of the Community’s fate on my shoulders. Erish is nearby, silent and … stalky. He hovers around Ben and makes the occasional swipe that yields no result. I think he’s as confused by Ben as I am. Maybe that’s why Ben is the way he is, to keep the curse from knowing who he is and what he’s doing. It seems too natural to be a façade, though. He’s quiet. Confident. Calm. Always in control. He makes wielding power look effortless. You can’t fake this shit.
But he has to feel something about all this, doesn’t he? Anger? Sorrow? Regret?
“Are you a sociopath?” I ask.
He laughs quietly. “No.”
“Just good at controlling your emotions?”
“I’m an introvert. A very private one.”
“Ah. Okay. Your brother definitely isn’t. At least you have that luxury,” I mutter. “My life appears to be public record.”
“Out of necessity, and only to those who absolutely need to know.” He turns as he speaks and places a plate in front of me.
I meet his gaze, uncertain why his words make my stomach flutter. “So you’re what? Protecting me?”
“Yeah.”
My face is hot again and I focus on the food instead of him. “I don’t need protecting. I’ve got the most lethal guard dog in history.”
“You’ve got two.”
It takes a second for his subtle pun to hit me. I don’t laugh but I do smile.
He’s not supposed to be funny. Or nice. Or protective. He’s not supposed to exist at all.
But he does, and I kind of like how he can deflate my fear with a couple calm words, as if he’s the first person I’ve met who knows what’s going on and has a real plan to take out the curse without the world exploding.
I really, really like the idea of someone around me knowing what to do.
“Thank you for last night,” I say, toying with my food. “He kind of won’t leave me alone.”
“I figured as much.” Ben is piling eggs and strips of bacon onto three English muffins.
“Can you tell me what my great-great grandfather told you?”
There’s a pause. I wait, hoping he answers without believing he will.
Ben faces me again and leans his hips against the side of the counter opposite me, plate of three sandwiches in front of him. “He said only one person can break the curse.”
I lift my eyes to his, startled by the answer. “The Kingmaker on trial?” I guess.
“Exactly. And he said there’s only one way the Kingmaker can do it.”
“How?” I hold my breath, sensing I’m on the verge of everything I need to break the curse.
“Don’t listen to him,” Erish tells me tersely.
The asshole knows.
“He said one word,” Ben replies. “Exiled.”
My brows furrow. “Exiled? As in … dead? The candidate …” Erish kills during every trial.
It clicks then. Erish is reliving his original betrayal, and the murder of his true love, every generation. To do that, he’d have to kill the intended mate of whichever Kingmaker is on trial. He’s revealed to me that he murders the candidate whose bond doesn’t break with the Kingmaker during the trials.
He hid the fact that there’s a second reason he kills this candidate – because he or she can help the Kingmaker break the curse.
Maybe … if Erish can’t relive his original betrayal, the curse will break. Is it that easy?
It doesn’t seem like it. Nothing has been simple during the trials.
Then what am I missing?
Ben walks away with his plate.
I twist on the stool to follow him with my gaze, my mind racing. I know I should ask him questions, but I’m on the verge of something really important here. He disappears into the house, leaving me with my thoughts.
Erish kills the candidate who can help break the curse.
Erish claimed two days ago none of the current candidates are the one he’s seeking.
Ben swapped places with his twin.
I snatch my phone and text the same message to both Tristan and Myca. They answer seconds apart.
Yes, I’m really Myca.
Yes, I’m Tristan, the fae leader.
Only one of the candidates is fake, meaning …
“Did you know?” I demand of Erish.
“I do now,” Erish returns. “But he can’t be your mate, if he’s not in the trials. That’s the rule.”
“Is it really? My father chose him, right? Is it a rule that I can only mate with someone in the trials, or is it assumed the intended mate chosen by the outgoing Kingmaker is supposed to be in the trials?”
“Semantics.”
I gasp. “He outsmarted you!” I cry almost gleefully. “He knew he was supposed to marry me and ditched the trials. Once the trials started, you couldn’t
do anything about it!”
“Trust me. I’ve got all week to work on you.” There’s a dangerous note in Erish’s voice. He swipes at the jar of caramel – and manages to move it a centimeter or two.
I clutch the amulet at my throat, suddenly aware of how dangerous it is to provoke a curse that knows how to cripple me. He’s won this game twenty times in a row. I can’t afford a victory party now, not when I’ve got four more days to survive. Ben and the candidates have given me the upper hand. I can’t lose that by being stupid.
In the quiet standoff that follows, I start to comprehend exactly what I’ve said.
Real-Ben is my mate. Or … was supposed to be, before the trials started.
Is he still? If so, where is the magic bond? I feel attraction but not the bond I experienced with the others.
“That’s going to make things a lot more awkward,” I murmur, puzzling over my latest realization.
I’ve seen the possessive streak of a werewolf mate firsthand. I no longer question why he delved so deeply into my life but am curious as to how he stood back and watched me fuck three other men without being upset by it. Of course, everything about him is suited to leading, and his ability to serve the greater good – instead of answering to his emotions – appears to be key.
My great-great grandfather was murdered a little over a hundred years ago. Has Ben spent over half his life preparing to take out the curse? Is it possible there’s a non-Kingmaker as obsessed with the curse as my family has been?
“He can’t be the Community leader, can he?” I ask Erish. “Since he’s not in the trials?”
“Nope.”
“But can he be my mate?”
No response. Either Erish doesn’t want to answer or doesn’t know.
So Ben’s sacrifice was more than watching his brother’s life crumble. He had to give up leading the werewolves into becoming equals in the Community and being the Community leader, no matter how many hundreds of years his clan worked towards those goals. All without the guarantee that his plan would work.
Jason’s letter has haunted me since I read it. Whether he wrote it about Nathan or Ben, he’s right to believe marrying a Kingmaker to be beneath his brothers.
