The Big O Series

by M. S. Parker

  The tracks were easy to follow, cutting off at an angle that took me into a forested area with a gentle downhill slope. At least it was gentle for the first part. Marcel and I loved this trail and had raced on it any number of times. We knew it like the back of our hands. The more erratic the tracks got, the more I worried.

  The steering in my snowmobile seemed sluggish too, but maybe it was all in my head, a perception brought on by my urgency to find my brother.

  Under cover of the trees, the shadows were thicker, already piling high, and I pulled back on the speed. At the same time, my eyes caught something that made my heart freeze and my limbs go numb.

  “Oh, no…”

  The steering caused me more trouble as I adjusted direction, and I almost crashed into a tree before bringing the vehicle to a halt several meters from where my brother lay mangled amid a wild disarray of branches, debris from the wrecked machine…and vibrant splashes of red.

  The next few moments passed in a blur, climbing off the snowmobile, running to him.

  He lay on his back, a track of blood leaking from his mouth. He’d been lying here long enough that the blood had frozen. Guilt choked me. I should have been here—I should have come with him.

  “Marcel!”

  His eyes rolled to me, over bright with pain. His lips were pale. “Bastian.”

  Frantic, I looked around, my mind whirling. I went to grab my phone, but Marcel caught my hand, clinging desperately. “Bastian,” he said again.

  I looked him over, and for a brief moment, I couldn’t even think. His dark, puffy coat had hidden it, and I hadn’t noticed it at first in my panic, but a jagged, thick branch punched up through his abdomen. An odd smell drifted to my nose, something beneath the blood, something bitter, putrid.

  “Marcel, I’ve got to call Gian, Jakob. They saw me leave, but we need to get help…a helicopter, doctors.”

  His grip weakened, and he gave a small shake of his head. “No.” He shuddered, then a spasm of pain escaped him. “Bastian…”

  His voice was so low, I could barely hear him.

  Bending over him, I tried to focus on what he was saying. I missed it, panic gripping me as he coughed and more blood spilled from his lips. “We’ve got to get you out of here. You need help.”

  “Highness!”

  The sound of the voices coming from behind me was a welcome relief, but the fist around my heart didn’t let up.

  “Gian and Jakob are here,” I told Marcel. “We’ll get you to a doctor.”

  Once more, his hand tightened on mine. “…take care…”

  “Marcel?”

  He rolled his head toward me, focusing on me. Despite the blood on his face, despite the pain wracking him, he smiled. “I am so sorry, brother. I have so many things I must tell you…no time.”

  Footsteps pounded up behind me. Jakob swore. Gian barked out orders, directing Jakob to call for help while he ripped off his coat.

  He spoke to Marcel, but Marcel didn’t even seem to hear. His gaze stayed locked on mine. “Take care…” He started coughing again, and when the fit passed, he had gone paler, and his hand lay limp in mine. “Bastian. Take care of everybody…tell them I love…”

  His lids drooped. A shuddering breath escaped him, followed by a rattling one. Each breath grew more and more faint.

  “Marcel!” I bent over him, shouting.

  His eyes were closed. I couldn’t even hear him breathing now.

  Terror seized me. “Marcel, damn it, you bastard! Look at me!”

  Jakob caught my shoulders and pulled me back. “Your Highness, let Gian try to help,” my guard said.

  Try…

  Desperate, I stood there, watching. Dimly, I heard a familiar, distant sound, one that grew louder and louder. A helicopter. Some functioning part of my brain acknowledged that. The rest was focused on what was in front of me.

  Gian, slowly pulling back from Marcel.

  Jakob, letting me go to move to my brother’s other side, his broad face twisted.

  Marcel, his mouth slack.

  Marcel…gone.

  Two

  Regan

  Five months later…

  Sitting in the New York office of Dr. Melanie Vaughn, the obstetrician/gynecologist who had been providing my care since I was a teenager, was never fun, but I was dreading this visit. It was never good when the doctor called and asked you to come in to discuss results.

  I could be worrying over nothing, but I’d had more than enough phone calls from this office. Everything is looking good, Regan! See you in six months!

  I wasn’t feeling all that hopeful.

  Too many trips to the doctor over the years had given me a good idea on what to expect when it came to things like tests and diagnoses and all the other assorted bullshit.

  It’s your own fault, a chiding voice said in the back of my head. Immediately, I silenced it. Therapy had helped me learn to cope, and usually, I did pretty well, but times like this always made those old insecurities flare up, and I had to keep them under firm control.

  Insecurity and I were old friends. We’d started our dangerous relationship back when I’d been a teenager and had talked my mother into letting me wade into the pool of modeling and acting. Being surrounded by all those beautiful people, some of whom were not very good role models, had put me on a path that had led to bad consequences.

  I was still dealing with the fallout of that today, but damned if I’d carry the guilt of a silly thirteen-year-old’s bad mistakes the rest of my life. I’d stopped letting my former issues with bulimia define me, and I wasn’t going to let the guilt creep back in on me now. That was a sure way to let insecurity get a foothold again, and when it came to eating disorders, you were always in the recovery phase. Insecurities, guilt, and doubt could knock you right back to the bottom if you weren’t careful.

  A painful twinge down in my right lower side had me shifting, a reminder of why I’d set up the appointment with Dr. Vaughn a few weeks ago. Once more, I started worrying over what she had to tell me.

  The sinking sensation got worse when the door to the back office opened to reveal Stacy, the plump, middle-aged nurse who had been Dr. Vaughn’s assistant for as long as I’d been coming here. She called my name. As I went to rise, her eyes landed on me. She smiled, but it was the professional, polite smile she always gave everybody, not the one I was used to seeing.

  Yep. Something was off, all right.

  Swallowing the knot in my throat, I walked toward her. Although I wasn’t headlining in any major Broadway shows, I’d been working as an actress since graduating and doing fairly well.

  Still, it took all my skill to keep my voice level as I greeted her. “Hi, Stacy. How are you doing?”

  “Ready for vacation.” She winked at me. “I saw you on stage Sunday. My boyfriend got tickets for the matinee. You were amazing. You should have been the star of the show, if you ask me.”

  I laughed, distracted for a moment. “Thank you so much. You should have let me know you were coming. I would have tried to get you backstage.”

  “I didn’t know until we got there.” She grinned as she ushered me through the door. “He surprised me.”

  “Sounds like a sweet guy.”

  “He’s the best.” Her eyes warmed. “We’re talking about getting married. My kids love him too. That makes it even better.”

  I nodded as she led me to the triage area where she took my blood pressure and checked my weight. “Your weight is down a couple of pounds,” she said, giving me a concerned look. “Everything okay?”

  Both Stacy and Dr. Vaughn were well aware of my history. I dredged up a smile. “Appetite’s been a little off. I’ve been cramping more than normal. I’m drinking protein shakes twice a day right now to make up for not eating as much.” With a self-deprecating grin, I looked down at my decidedly curvy body. “I mean, it’s not like it will hurt me to lose a pound or two.”

  “You and me both know it’s not a pound or two that bothers
me. But all right. As long as you’re aware and keeping the nutrients coming in.” Stacy made a note on the tablet she carried, then gestured for me to follow her.

  My blood chilled as she led me to Dr. Vaughn’s office instead of one of the exam rooms. “One of those visits, huh?”

  Stacy rested a hand on my shoulder. “You’re in good hands, Regan. Dr. Vaughn is the best. You know that.”

  “Yeah.”

  I sat down in the chair while Stacy closed the door to give me privacy. Knowing I’d go insane if I just sat there, I pulled my phone out and opened an app. Browsing for possible auditions was as good a way to kill time as anything. The show I was on still had another three months, but those three months would be over in a blink.

  I’d already received several offers, including the lead in a new off-Broadway production, and I was considering it, but I didn’t much care for the story itself.

  Scrolling the various casting calls, I managed to read a couple before my thoughts wandered back to my surroundings.

  What had the tests shown Dr. Vaughn?

  Was it too late?

  The door opened behind me so abruptly, I jumped and dropped my phone.

  “Regan—” Dr. Vaughn stopped, watching as I bent over and picked up the device. An apologetic smile curled her lips. “I startled you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Been a hectic few days.”

  She came inside, closing the door without taking her eyes from me. “Stressful ones, too, I think. You don’t look like you’ve slept.”

  “Not much.” Managing a smile, I settled more comfortably in my chair as she took her own. “You know me too well.”

  “I’ve been taking care of you since you were thirteen. I’d hope I know you.” She folded her hands in front of her. “I imagine I know at least one reason for the stress, so let’s just get down to business. We’ve received the results of your tests. Overall…” Dr. Vaughn paused and brushed her hair back behind her ear, “I’m afraid your fertility is already starting to decrease.”

  Even though I’d suspected she’d tell me this, it still hit me like a stab in the heart. Tears pricked my eyes. “You’re certain.”

  “Yes. But let me emphasize this…it’s early. None of this means you won’t be able to have kids, Regan,” she said, hastening to reassure me. “You definitely still have time, and we have talked about your other options. Even once the window passes for you to conceive naturally, we can look at in vitro. You’re luckier than many women in that aspect. You have the resources for it. And there is always adoption.”

  “I know.” Grabbing a tissue from my purse, I pressed it to my eyes. “Give me a moment, okay?”

  “Of course. Should I give you some privacy?”

  “No. I have questions.”

  Dr. Vaughn remained silent, and after a minute, I had myself together. “What did the tests show?”

  “The main problem is with your FSH levels.” She paused to see if I remembered our discussion.

  I nodded. I’d studied up so much on fertility, the dual complications of my past problems with bulimia and the polycystic ovarian syndrome disorder I’d received several years back. That wasn’t the end of my problems. I’d lost one ovary at age nineteen after an ectopic pregnancy. Basically, I was a walking disaster when it came to conception.

  “Follicle stimulating hormone,” I said, gripping my purse tightly. “The levels are too high?”

  “Yes. Outside the normal limits.” She gave me an encouraging smile. “But just barely. All in all, other tests still look promising. No issues with your thyroid, and all other hormones that can affect fertility are within normal limits. These are good things.”

  “But…?” I cocked a brow.

  “It seems you know me rather well too.” She sighed and flipped open a file I hadn’t seen on her desk, withdrawing three pieces of paper. “These are the numbers from the most recent lab results, focusing on your FSH levels. Since you’ve made it clear you do want to have kids, we monitor these regularly. The most recent, the one from this year’s check-up just six months ago, and the one from when you came in about your cramping from two weeks ago…you can see there’s been a notable change, especially when compared to the test from eighteen months ago.”

  “You’re telling me the decline is going to continue. Or, well, increase.” I made a face. “These hormone things are so confusing.”

  “You follow along well enough. All in all, I think if you want to have a child, the time to start planning is now. Whether through…traditional methods or perhaps via artificial insemination. The longer you wait, the more problematic things may become.”

  Three

  Bastian

  Six months later…

  Smooth, soft hands slid down my chest, followed by a woman’s mouth. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on her touch and nothing else, but sex was no longer the easy, fun pastime it had once been.

  Even as she went to her knees in front of me, my mind kept drifting to the meeting I had to attend with my father the following morning in Vaduz. Liechtenstein parliamentary meetings held about as much interest for me as state dinners, but I no longer had the option to ignore them.

  A hot, willing mouth closed around my cock, and she caught my sac in her hand.

  I grunted as she tightened her fingers and squeezed. Finally, my body and mind connected, and I was able to get into the moment, gripping a silky female shoulder and rocking against her.

  Just as I would have emptied myself, she pulled back and rose, pressing her sleek, well-toned body to mine. Her high, small breasts pressed flat to my chest. “Take me to bed, Bastian.”

  Turning us, I nudged her across the few feet that separated us, urging her onto the bed. I paused only long enough to grab the condom from the nightstand. I’d expected this would happen when she’d called me earlier, crying. I went to tear it open, but she caught my face in her hands and kissed me. A few seconds later, she slid one of those hands down my chest, lower, lower, until she could palm my cock and pump in a fast, rough rhythm.

  Moments after that, she was tugging me on top of her. “Now, Bastian…hurry. I can’t wait.”

  Her hands clung to me when I went to pull away. “A moment, love,” I told her, slightly irritated. “I need a condom.”

  After a few seconds, she laughed, the sound oddly brittle. “We don’t really need it, do we? I’m protected.”

  “Then this is extra protection.” I dealt with it swiftly and covered her, sliding a hand down her side to grip her hip. She shivered as I settled between her thighs.

  “Bastian…”

  Reaching between us, I tucked the head of my cock to her entrance and slid inside.

  She caught my hips and tugged demandingly.

  Instead, I went to my back and let her take the lead.

  She seemed content with that, and I lay back, once more letting my mind drift away as my body took over.

  Any more, that was how it went. It was almost like an out of body experience. Something I could observe with clinical detachment, my brain utterly disconnected even as my body took some brief pleasure.

  I heard her ragged moans, and when she caught my hands and guided them to her breasts, I took the hint, tugging at her nipples and plumping the soft flesh together.

  She came with a shuddering cry and collapsed against my chest, breathing hard for a moment before rolling off.

  If she noticed that I hadn’t climaxed, she either didn’t care or decided not to mention it.

  I’d do her the same courtesy because I really didn’t care. Sliding from the bed, I went to the bathroom and dealt with the condom before gathering up my clothes.

  She was lying on her side facing the window.

  “You must think I’m terrible,” she murmured.

  “Of course not.” After dressing, I sat down to put on my shoes.

  She sat up and wrapped her arms around me from behind. “Stay the night, Bastian.”

  “That wouldn’t be proper, love
,” I said softly.

  “Who cares about proper?” she said recklessly. “The nights are miserable right now. I’m so lonely, and I can’t stop thinking…”

  Her voice hitched.

  The guilt raged inside me, and I half-turned, lifting a hand to her cheek. “I know,” I said gently. “It’s hard for me too.”

  “Then stay,” she begged.

  “I can’t.” If she kept pushing, I’d give in, and I’d hate myself even more than before because, even in this modern age, some things just invited too much scandal, especially for people like us.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket in a pattern of three. It served as both a reminder and a rescue, of sorts, and I summoned up a brief smile. “Besides, my father is expecting me to attend dinner with him at home.”

  “Of course.” A shadow fell over her eyes. “One mustn’t disappoint the Prince Regnant.”

  “Even if the Prince Regnant is one’s father,” I added. “Or perhaps especially.”

  She sniffed but gave me a brilliant smile. “Absolutely. Thank you for coming over. Truly, I have things I must attend to myself. I don’t know what I was thinking…” Her voice trailed off, and she coughed a little, covering the waver in her breathing.

  The guilt stabbed at me again, but I rose and headed for the door. “Have a good night.”

  “You as well.” She gave a delicate, watery sniff.

  I didn’t let myself turn around, just slid from her bedroom and strode through the house where Isaak waited discreetly by the front door, out of sight of the rest of the house.

  “To home,” I said wearily. I’d have enough time, barely, to dress and ready myself for dinner with my father.

  I’d have to be on task for that. Unlike with so many things in my life, I couldn’t disassociate when it came to dealing with family.

  After all, I’d done that too much in the months before Marcel died and look at what happened. I’d lost sight of my responsibilities and everything else that mattered.