by May Sage
Ok, he really, really envied his brother for it, but no point dwelling on that fact.
“I wasn’t,” William replied. “Since I’ve met Fay, I don’t know, man. I haven’t drunk blood for a week now. I don’t think I need to. And… You know how shifters say they hear their animals?”
Michael stared at his brother, lost for words at first.
Then, he just had to say it.
“Holy fucking shit.”
William chuckled in response. He dared to chuckle.
“Brother, Adrian isn’t just a shifter, he’s the last of the…”
He couldn’t even get the name out.
“Dragons,” William finished for him.
Four
Michael sat down, unsure what to do with that new piece of information.
Being William Drake’s brother had often felt like he was the geeky guy in the shadows of the cool quarterback, but he’d grown out of the funk and embraced his strengths.
Strength one was being his brother. There was no denying that he wouldn’t have been elected King otherwise. The ancients knew for a fact that he was the only one able to exert any kind of control over William; any other man would have had to live in fear of ever disagreeing with him.
Michael was also a powerful psychic – something people feared, with good reason. There was no possible way to look at him in the eyes and lie.
His life wasn’t all that bad, all things considered…
There was one but. Just one.
He’d known without the shadow of a doubt that he’d spend it all alone.
He might take a consort someday, for practical reasons, but he couldn’t even fathom forming an attachment, because Michael was monogamous.
Being the lesser one of the two brothers in every aspect had made him quite attached to what he had. His books, his stamps, his furniture; everything he owned was his.
He didn’t wish to own a woman, but whenever he spent a longer time in a relationship, he wanted his partner to look at him a certain way – like he was the only person that mattered in her world. He craved it. But they never did.
His Aspirants knew the score; vampire politic was of second nature to them. Whenever he took one of them to any functions, they made it clear that they were willing to do whatever he might need. Contracts and agreements were signed in bed, and they had nothing against it.
He did. He hated it. But he’d known it was the way of the world – there was no way around it.
Now his perfect brother was telling him he had the one thing he’d ever wanted: an exclusive partner. Someone who would never need anyone else than him.
Just to make things a little bit more freaking awesome, he also might possibly be turning into a dragon at some point.
Michael loved and hated William with an undiluted passion but for the first time, the scale was tipping down towards hatred.
“I’m so happy for you,” he heard himself say. Because he wasn’t a liar, he had to add, “but I really want to kick the shit out of your lucky ass.”
In his usual fashion, William shrugged carelessly.
“You can try, little brother.”
It was Michael’s turn to waggle an eyebrow.
The fact was, in all their years, they’d never sparred, not even once. He wasn’t really sure why; his brother had probably wanted to spare him the humiliation…
Now, it didn’t matter, though. He knew he was likely to lose, but he just wanted the chance to punch his brother’s perfect face.
“You know what, William? I think I will.”
The sudden commotion in the penthouse called her away from the computer at dawn, when she’d been applying for another handful of dreary jobs. Truth was, she’d rather munch her arm than clean toilets for a living, but she needed cash, and that was the only kind of job she was qualified for, with her clothes on.
Her clothes were staying on – she was adamant on that point. In other circumstances, she might have considered stripping – there was nothing wrong with that – but the thing was, she was in no state to work in an environment infused with sexual tension. She’d end up doing some patron in an alleyway and that was beneath her.
Never again would she do anything that made her feel cheap. She wasn’t cheap. Five years ago, before Vincent took her, she’d been a virgin; not because she’d lacked offers, but because she had standards. She was going to find her way back to that person.
The frantic knocking on her door pulled her from her dreary thoughts.
To her surprise, Fay was standing on the other side, wearing a long dressing gown over what seemed to be the outline of some interesting piece of lingerie.
Were those suspenders?
“They’re fighting!” Fay exclaimed, her eyes wide open. She was jumping up and down, bursting with excitement.
“Sorry, what?”
“Michael and William! They’re fighting in the gym. Xeva says they’re half naked. Come on!”
She didn’t have to say it twice. Half naked, presumably sweaty hunks.
She had a crappy few years. She deserved this shit.
They ran out, towards the one room Cece hadn’t stepped a foot in since her tour. Gyms were for post-Christmas damage control and the occasional after cake guilt trip.
Now, she reevaluated her assessment. It turned out, she should and would spend a considerable amount of time in that room – the treadmill seemed to be at a perfect angle to look at the boxing ring in the middle of the room.
Xeva hadn’t lied. Michael and William were indeed half naked and oh, my.
Both were the epitome of sculptural Grecian gods, and should be immortalized in marble.
Common ground: six packs, defined shoulders, biceps, triceps, legs, and pretty much anything that could be defined. William was bulkier – his back and legs was more prominent, and he was groomed; there was no hair anywhere on his chest at all.
Michael may be the leaner of the two, but the trail of dark hair leading down his shorts made him manlier, edgier.
He was also winning. She didn’t know a thing about whatever kick ass thing they were doing, but the fact that William didn’t seem to get one hit in, while Michael landed all of his made that clear.
She had no idea how he did it: at the last second, when it seemed he was just about to get punched by a tank, he moved ever so slightly, used William’s strength against him and had him growling on the floor.
Be still, my throbbing pussy.
Such displays of masculinity were just not fair on any woman.
“Come on, man!” Mark, one of William’s soldiers, yelled encouragingly.
Cece took a step back, totally hiding behind Charlotte.
She knew Mark – quite intimately. She’d given in and screwed him once. Hell, she’d even begged for it.
Funny how she’d done so many things that might make a porn star blush, but that one was the only one she was ashamed of. The only one she’d done of her own volition.
Sure, there also was that little intercourse with one handsome stranger in the gardens… but that one didn’t count. That one, she didn’t regret.
Charlotte, as the crazy endearing vampire she was, put an arm around one of Cece’s and whispered, “I always knew Michael would win; I just hadn’t realized he was going to wreck the shit out of our poor big brother.”
Cece was too busy drooling to catch on for a little while but eventually, the words hit her.
“Wait. Michael is your brother. As in, your King of a brother?”
“That’d be the one.”
Holy fuck, she’d been licked out by a King. She couldn’t even begin to process that.
Her smile disappeared pretty damn quick; if he was the King, that meant he knew everything. If he didn’t, he would soon. He’d know how weak she was, how disgusting she’d been. He would know everything Vincent had done to her and see her as damaged goods.
Fair, though. That was exactly what she was.
Five
Michael had thou
ght no cloud could possibly ruin the day whence he’d kicked his perfect brother’s ass without breaking a sweat.
Ok, he’d sweated a little, but still, he’d won against William Drake – something just about no one could say. No vampire, in any case. Aiden, as the one witch-dragon-vampire in the world, didn’t count.
But what his brother had just said did the trick in two seconds flat, pulling him right off cloud nine.
From what William had just revealed of Cecilia Turner’s past, he knew she was broken. He hadn’t seen it, not even in her thoughts, when he’d scratched the surface, but she must be, there was no other option after what she’d lived through.
He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms and never let go. Tell her things would be alright eventually. They would. He was going to ensure they did.
First, he had a phone call scheduled.
“Knox.”
His tone must have been transparent, because the Knight immediately asked what was wrong.
“You hold a certain Vincent in custody, don’t you?”
“Yeah; that guy’s a real piece of shit, but we can’t really do much. He’s linked himself to a poor girl William took with him.”
Only then did that part of the deal register in his mind. Shit. Anything they did to him, she’d feel. She’d lived through enough, dammit.
He visualized her quite clearly in his mind. Her bright red hair and those green eyes that met his gaze without blinking. Nothing intimidated her.
“Cecilia had an interesting request,” he replied, before relaying her idea. “I am granting it.”
It was quite brilliant, really. Most men he knew would love to get a pretty little sub to play with, but the idea of someone ever going anywhere near their own asshole was a no-no, for some reason. From what he knew of Vincent, he’d be no exception.
“Michael, that goes directly against your own law.”
He shrugged, for no one’s benefit.
“Fuck the law.”
She knew right away when she heard the knock and she lifted her head to see the King leaning against her door frame: someone had told him.
Pity was written all over his features. She wanted to scream and pull her hair out. A few hours ago, he’d looked at her as though he wanted her. Now he didn’t.
Whatever he had to say, she didn’t want to hear it, but she couldn’t very well kick him out of her room without reason.
“Am I interrupting?”
Universe, thank you for throwing me a bone.
“Well, I’m in a middle of an application…”
For some reason, instead of chasing him out of her room, that just made him walk in and peek behind her shoulder, to spy on her computer screen.
“Janitor?” he said, his voice making it clear what he thought of it.
“Yes, Mr. Drake. Without people cleaning up after you every day, you’d have to take care of your own shit. Imagine that.”
“There are two kinds of janitors: those who plan to do it for the rest of their life and those who use it as a stepping stone to pay the bills while pursuing something bigger. You know the common denominator of either party? They don’t have a choice.”
“Well, that makes me part of group two.”
She hadn’t expected his face to be quite so close to her when she turned her head; she could feel his cold breath on her lips… And she got a front row seat to witness his flash of anger.
Mr. Hotpants was very, very pissed off, that much was clear. She saw it in his usually grey eyes; they’d changed to the same blue as his siblings’.
What was noteworthy was that instead of yelling whatever had his knickers in a twist, like William or Charlotte might have, like Vincent most definitely would have, he breathed out slowly until they returned to their usual hue.
Then, he changed the subject.
“I came to let you know Vincent will be dealt with in the hour. I understand you may… feel the repercussions.”
“Nice way to say that my ass is going to get drilled by proxy. Don’t worry, your grace. I can take it.”
Michael’s expression changed then – to something wicked that got her nipples poking right up – but he was as quick to repress that, too. Did the guy ever chill out and stop being so politically correct?
Well, to be entirely frank, he had licked her out, so she guessed he did occasionally do stupid stuff.
Michael walked away but rather than heading towards the door, he went to the shelves on the other side of her room.
They were full of books she hadn’t really looked at. Reading wasn’t her things, these days. She used to like it well enough, but being slightly long sighted meant that books gave her a huge headache. Some day, when she could, she’d get glasses. Maybe she could catch up with the young adult romance series she’d given up on a while back.
“These are Fay’s. Books are her thing.”
Everything in this place belonged to Fay; one of the many reasons why she needed out.
“And what’s your thing?”
Cece frowned; she’d never thought of it, because frankly, no one had ever asked.
“Food. I like to cook. And bake, too.”
“You like to bake,” he repeated incredulously.
She would have loved to know what crossed his mind when his eyes narrowed.
“You know, there’s a position coming up at Court,” he said tentatively.
“In the kitchen?”
His laugh was low and rumbly – sexy, like the rest of him.
“Not quite. There’s… I have what we like to call Aspirants. Vampire politics often require to turn up with a plus one – as I don’t have a consort, there’s a few women, both human and vampire, who fill in that position.”
She only realized she’d been smiling when the corners of her lips fell right back down.
Right. Of course he’d offer for her to be his interim plaything. He knew she had plenty of training to be good at that.
“Don’t look as though I kicked a puppy, Cecilia. There’s nothing insalubrious about being an Aspirant. Sure, I’ve had sex with some of them, but it’s not part of the deal. The position involves a lot of smooching with politicians. That means you’d need to memorize names, little facts, make excuses to get me out of awkward situations… In short, Aspirants are personal assistants who get paid far too much because they also happen to be pretty.”
“Oh.”
She could do with the getting paid far too much thing, frankly.
“In fact… There’s a party this weekend.”
There was a party this weekend; Fay and Charlotte hadn’t shut up about it. They’d actually invited her, but she’d declined, not very fond of the prospect of sticking out like a sore thumb at a posh event.
Yet for some reason, she felt some excitement bubbling in her chest; she was having a total is he asking me out??? moment, like a silly fifteen year old.
Job, Cece. This was a job proposal; or maybe a job interview.
But first, she had to clear something up.
“Why are you asking me?”
The accurate question was are you asking me because you feel sorry for me, and if there was a chance the answer was yes, she should respectfully decline.
“I hadn’t planned to make it, so I haven’t requested the presence of any of my Aspirants,” he replied with a shrug. “No one likes to have their weekend taken up on such short notice. Besides, I was entirely serious. I only have four Aspirants – two in LA, two in Washington. I’ve considered employing one in New York. We could see how it goes Saturday, couldn’t we?”
That sounded like a major lie, because she didn’t know any straight woman in realistic or fictitious literature, movies, or trendy song, who wouldn’t be excited at the prospect of going to what had been described as a ball with a guy who looked like that, weekend or not.
But at the same time, she also really, really didn’t want to have to decline.
“Okay…”
Then it hit her.
“Actually, I don’t think I can.”
The eyes were back to blue in a flash. Damn, she was going to have to explain.
“I don’t exactly have anything to wear. Fay’s clothes are fine, but I can’t exactly raid her wardrobe for an evening gown.”
She pointed to her leggings, which were cut off mid-shin. Good thing that was supposed to be a style. They might be the same size, but Fay was a good five inches shorter than her. That didn’t matter with casual clothing but anything formal would be ridiculous on her.
“You mean to say that you don’t have clothes,” he said slowly.
She just shrugged. It had been a long, long time since she’d had anything of her own.
Five years, three months and seven days ago.
She’d made it. She’d managed to break out of Vincent’s clutches, and everything would be fine, now.
Cece knocked frantically at the door, until it opened in front of her mother.
She saw her expression changing from incredulous to fearful, but she ignored it all and threw herself in her arms.
“Oh mama, I’m so glad to see you.”
She told everything to her parents. What Vincent had done to her; what he’d gotten his men to do to her, too. She explained she understood she couldn’t stay in Riverville. They would need to send her far, far away right now, and that was fine.
Her parents exchanged a glance. She ignored that, too.
It was the last time she’d ever ignore the signs; from the next day, she’d read the expression on everyone’s face quite carefully.
“You’re tired baby girl. Go to bed. We’ll make things right tomorrow,” her father swore.
The next day, she woke up at Vincent’s.
