Rise of the Lost Prince

by London Saint James

  “Pay proper homage to me.”

  He kissed the tip.

  “More.”

  He grabbed her ankle with his good hand, fingers wrapping around the joint, mouth working the top of her foot. She laughed, yanking her leg free of him, before placing the sole to his chest. She pressed. Raked the spiked heel down the front of his shirt, popping buttons free as she went. Moved the material aside using the tip of her pointed shoe. Applied pressure to his stomach with that sharp-looking heel once his flesh was bared. Slashed. Grapple jerked, stomach muscles jumping, but he remained silent. Blood trickled over the ridges, into his navel, pooling there before dripping onto the ground.

  Kros held in his groan as Ariette flipped her robe aside, placed the foot his father had kissed onto the seat of the throne, exposed herself fully, and pulled on the leash until she brought the despicable bastard’s nose to the glistening pink flesh of her sex.

  “Now,” she said. “You shall begin your payment.” Grapple burrowed his face between her legs, lapping at her. Kros stroked himself. She tugged at the leash. He gained a sick pleasure hearing Grapple grunt a breathy sound. “Finger me.” When Grapple inserted a finger into her, the demoness moaned. He worked her, in and out, while Kros fisted his cock, imagining the slick warmth of her cunt gripping him. “More,” she demanded. His father met her terms. Two fingers plunged into her. She shuddered. “Harder.” Three fingers shoved deep as Grapple licked her clit had Ariette making a low growling noise in her throat.

  “You will make me come one time for every darkling you lost this night,” she said, head falling back, the hand not yanking the leash around his father’s neck, cupping a breast.

  Biting his lip until he tasted his own blood, Kros spilled himself inside his palm, feeling somewhat vindicated for the asshole’s harshness and earlier cruelty, figuring Grapple was indeed in for a long night of groveling with the tip of his tongue.

  Chapter Six

  Wyndi stepped out of the shower enclosure into a heavily steamed bathroom to find her dirty pant suit gone. In its place, displayed neatly on the counter next to a fluffy towel, a black T-shirt and some sweatpants had been placed alongside her white lacy bra and panties. On top of the shirt was a brand new toothbrush. She smiled at the thoughtfulness. It had to have been Petúr who left her the stuff. This was his bathroom.

  Her attention darted back to her undergarments. Heat infused her cheeks. Petúr had to have seen the underwear she’d had on. The heat deepened when she gazed over her shoulder to study the half opaque glass door. Had he seen her inside the shower?

  Pushing the thought aside, she dried off and quickly dressed. She’d never keep the sweatpants on. They were far too big, so she folded them and placed them back on the countertop. Besides, the shirt was huge and hung to her knees like a nightgown, so she was covered.

  After vigorously brushing her teeth and tongue, rinsing, and doing the whole brushing routine over again, she opened the bathroom door. Steam trickled past her as she walked into the cavernous bedroom. In the middle sat a huge four poster bed. Instead of night stands, ruby candelabra were positioned on each side. Overhead, black crystal chandeliers dangled. On the walls, tapestries hung over the black and ruby wallpaper. If she had to give the design of this room a title it would be gothic-chic.

  To her right, a panel in the wall opened. For an instant fear struck, only to settle when Petúr walked in, looking, well, darkly beautiful.

  “Hi,” he said, as his gaze slowly moved up and down her body. Once again, heat overtook her cheeks.

  “You have a secret panel.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Short cut to the command center,” he offered.

  “Oh.” She glanced down at her pink painted toenails before glancing back up. “Thank you for the clean clothes and the toothbrush. The sweatpants were way too big and wouldn’t stay on my hips.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Silence. He was watching her. She needed to say something. Anything.

  “How did you guys turn this haunted castle attraction into a real place to live, and without people knowing? For that matter, how do you have water and power?”

  Petúr chuckled, walking over to the black velvet chaise longue. “The twins are tech geniuses. They can create things that would blow your mind.”

  She nodded. “Like the nanos to heal the body.”

  “Yeah. Like the nanos.”

  Wyndi sat beside him, bending her legs up, and tugging the shirt down to cover her knees before wrapping her arms around them. “So, Dash said the twins are responsible for making the hologram.”

  “Yep.” He paused, and she wondered if he was afraid to tell her too much.

  “It’s okay. If you don’t want to tell me about all of this,” she waved her hand to encompass the room, “I won’t push. And you don’t need to sic Vibe on me again either.”

  One of his golden-brown brows arched high. “You know about Vibe?”

  “I have my suspicions.”

  “And they would be?”

  “I’m pretty sure he did something to my thoughts, but I promise I won’t let anyone know about this place, or what I’ve seen.” She gave him a crooked smile. “Besides, if I told anyone about the things I’ve seen tonight, they would lock me up in the nut house and throw away the key.”

  There was another long pause.

  “It’s a hologram, yes,” he said. And the fact he trusted her enough to answer, thrilled her. “But it’s also like a force field dome. No matter what angle you may see this place from, even from the sky, it appears to be a rundown haunted attraction matching the rest of the ruins of Neverland.” He smiled, and the beat of her heart sped up at seeing such a miraculous event. His smile transformed his fallen angel’s face into brilliance, as if he were the rising sun. “Tera and Byte can hack into any computer, cutting through security and firewalls with ease, and do this with the power of their minds.”

  Wyndi gaped. “Get out.”

  “They can.”

  “And Dash can poof.”

  “Teleport,” he corrected. “He might not appreciate the term ‘poof.’”

  “Ah,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching. “No poofing. Got it. Teleporting then.”

  Petúr nodded.

  “Vapor. Well, he can turn into vapor. Firefox is some sort of flame thrower. And you? What can you do?”

  He tilted his head, his long hair swishing over one eye. “As to how we have this place,” he said, not answering her latest question, but obviously going back to one of her original queries. “The twins play the stock market, and they do it well. The money they make, along with selling some of their tech devices on the black market to soldiers of fortune, keep us afloat, and helped us modify this place.”

  Interesting to be sure, and part of her wanted to blurt out more questions, nonetheless she held her tongue. “Okay.”

  “As to water, Tera came up with some fancy water filtration system, so the water comes from the sea. The power source is solar. And, of course, the hologram keeps up the ruin façade like I said, but it also encases the sound and any light generated within the dome shield so no one suspects we are here. Electronic smoke and mirrors I guess you could say.”

  “Wow.” She tucked a piece of wet hair behind her ear. “Why here? Why live in Neverland?”

  He shrugged. “We’ve always been different. Never fully fit into your world.” Those words, along with the forlorn sound of his voice, broke her heart. “This place is isolated, yet close enough to civilization to allow us to do what we do best.”

  “Fight those darklings, you mean.”

  “Yep.”

  “I have more questions,” Wyndi said.

  His low chuckle was fantastic. “I’m sure you do.”

  “But.” She stood up from the chaise. “They’re going to have to wait. I can’t leave Bell alone. I’ve already been gone far too long.”

  “All right,” he said, standing. “I’ll go with you.”

&nbs
p; She placed her hand on his forearm, feeling his warmth seep into her palm, and immediately pulled back. Petúr’s stare penetrated her and set the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end, but not from fear. From total awareness of him. When he looked at her, every part of her body tingled and came to life.

  “Uh, rain check,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “We’ll finish our Q&A session another time.”

  There was that smile again. Had someone released a bazillion butterflies in her stomach?

  “Sure,” he said. “Another time.”

  ****

  Bell awoke with a gasp. She sat up and glanced around. She was in a strange room, dimly lit with candles. Gah. Who picked such morose black wallpaper? There were no windows to tell her if it were night or day, one wall had been completely covered with an assortment of kickass weapons, and Wyndi….

  Hang on. She returned her attention to the corner. Stared. Blinked. Rubbed her eyes. Yep. Wyndi was balled up, wearing a really baggy shirt, bare legs tucked toward her chest, sleeping in a leather wingback chair not too far from the bed Bell was in.

  Bed clacked around in her addled thoughts. She glanced down, saw she was nude, and tugged the…. Seriously? She was in a bed with Pirates of the Caribbean sheets? Oh, well. She tugged the sheet up.

  Dang it. Her shoulder was really stiff and sore—hit by a Mack truck kind of sore. She rotated the joint. Grimaced. The memories of the night came flooding back. She looked at the gauze bandages wrapped around her. That rat bastard. Rage filled her. Grapple the Dark had shot her with some kind of barbed hook.

  Her head lifted when Petúr came walking in, once again dressed in black. Black leather button fly pants cupped him in a way she really shouldn’t notice. A black Godsmack T-shirt imprinted with a burning skull clung to his muscled chest and arms. And those big booted feet. Fairy godmother help her. Her prince was without doubt a mouthwatering specimen of the male form.

  Quickly, he glanced over toward Wyndi, then back at Bell. “I’m glad you’re awake,” he said in a whisper, sitting down on her side of the bed. “Everyone’s been worried.”

  Bell frowned and whispered back, “Worried about me?”

  “You were wounded badly, Bell. You passed out cold on the way here. Lost a lot of blood.”

  “Where is here, exactly?”

  She clutched the sheet to her chest.

  “Neverland.”

  Her eyebrows flew up into her hair line. “Neverland? Really?”

  He nodded.

  Wyndi stirred. Both of them turned toward her. Her head lolled to one side, hair sliding over her face, but she never woke.

  “She refused to leave you,” Petúr said, softly. “After a couple of hours of watching you sleep, I finally talked her into taking a shower and changing into one of my clean shirts, but as soon as she finished her shower, she came right back and sat in that chair.”

  Bell smiled. “She did?”

  “Yep.”

  “Grapple and those shadow asshats are after her for some reason.”

  Petúr’s brow creased and his golden eyes flickered anger. “I know. We saved her from one of Grapple’s offspring before you saw us enter the bar.”

  “Offspring?” Bell asked, confused.

  “Yes.”

  “Those deformed shadows you fought are his children?”

  “Hybrid children born of a demon by his blood and dark magic.”

  Bell sucked in a breath. “Long ago, I’d heard of his dabblings with dark magic and a demon of nightmare and shadows named Ariette. I knew of his banishment from our homeland, although I never thought….” She worked her bottom lip over with her teeth. “Well, I don’t know what I thought, to be honest.”

  Petúr’s face went stone serious. “What you said to Grapple tonight.” He paused as if to gather his thoughts. “About me and my mother. Was what you said true?”

  Bell nodded. “You are Illia’s son, Petúr. You are Fae. You are a prince and you will be our king.”

  ****

  Petúr’s heartbeat sped up, listening to Bell. He took a breath, willing the beat to slow. He had so many questions about his origins. His home. His mother.

  “Bell, do you know why I am here and not in our homeland?” Her shoulders hunched, then she winced. “I’m sorry you’re in pain.” he said. “Since painkillers don’t work on me, I told Byte not to bother giving them to you.”

  “Don’t worry.” She waved her hand dismissively. “You’re right. Human painkillers don’t work on us.” Her green eyes saddened. “I do know why you’re here.”

  “Then I must know. Please, tell me.”

  “Your mother, the only child of Queen Serbian, fell in love with the queen’s consort, Stryn the Bold. And, he, I do believe, fell in love with your mother.”

  “You knew them?” Petúr asked.

  “Yes.” Bell glanced down. “I was friends with your mother.”

  “So you knew her well?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “It’s okay, my prince.” She smiled. His brow crinkled. Strange to be called a prince. “Of course, for Stryn and Illia, maintaining a relationship was almost impossible,” Bell continued. “Dangerous even, if the queen were to find out, so the two of them would sneak away, meet here, in this land.” Bell paused, looking far away in thought. “Illia said loving Stryn was worth the trouble of sneaking around under her mother’s nose, because he made her happy. And she really was happy. She practically glowed.”

  “You’ve not mentioned her father, the king.”

  “Your grandfather, Kelten the Great was killed, fighting in the demon wars, which came as a result of banishing Grapple the Dark for his association with Ariette.”

  Petúr balled his fist at the mention of the bastard, yet he settled his fury, pushing it back into the place he allowed all his own personal darkness to go. One day. And one day soon, he and Grapple would have a reckoning, and when that day came, he’d take more than the asshole’s hand this time.

  “Please, continue to tell me about my mother.”

  Bell inclined her head. “When Illia knew she was with child, she and Stryn planned to sneak away one final time.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “They intended to stay in the world of man, except your grandmother found out about them and their plans.”

  “How?”

  “I never knew.” She sniffed, as if holding back tears. “I always assumed one of your grandmother’s many spies found out about them somehow, and passed on the information.” He nodded. “Stryn was taken by the queen’s guard and immediately put to death, and Illia was to be confined until the birth. Only, Illia made her way through the portal, coming here. The queen flew into a rage, sent out the elite guard to find Illia, and eventually they did.” Bell closed her eyes for a moment. “When they brought her back, she was no longer with child. She told the queen she’d lost the baby before her time. Your grandmother didn’t believe her. She used her magic.”

  “She wielded magic?”

  “She’d bonded with the king. He was of the order of Delphi.”

  “What’s the order of Delphi?”

  “The keepers of fairy magic.”

  He was processing everything as best he could, however much of the particulars of being Fae, eluded him.

  “So….”

  “So, when the king was killed, his magic passed to her, understand?”

  He nodded. “I think I do.”

  “The queen used that magic and ordered the portal between our worlds sealed. When she did, she declared any Fae remaining within the land of man would not remember from whence they came.” Bell placed her small hand overtop his. “It was said, after the portal was sealed, six boys who were known to frequent this world were gone. Since they were never found, everyone assumed they were stuck here. And due to the queen’s magical decree, they would never know home. They would become the lost boys.”

  Petúr rubb
ed his chin. This made a lot of sense as to why none of them knew of home. Knew what they really were.

  “Bell. If you were there when the portal was sealed, how did you cross over?”

  A single tear overflowed, streaked down Bell’s cheek, turning into glittering dust. “As time passed, your mother weakened, and finally took to her bed. I stayed with her, hoping to bring her some joy. I tried everything.” She sighed. “Leaving you here, and she unable to return to you, was the cause of her continuing weakness.” Glancing down she said, “I’m afraid there’s no cure for a broken heart.”

  “She died?” he asked, feeling a wrenching pain stab at his chest, only he somehow knew the answer Bell would give.

  She nodded. “Her last breaths were for you. ‘Petúr the Just, my heir and beloved son. I bind my love to you, and will this love with all that still dwells within me to find you. You, who shall find a darling woman of heart, will rise up within the world of man knowing who you are, and claim your birthright. In doing this, you shall sit upon the throne, alongside your chosen queen, to rule justly, fairly, guiding and protecting our people. You shall, my son, claim what has always been rightfully yours.’ With that wish,” Bell said, “Illia held onto the symbol of her royalty, sending her words out into the ether.” Petúr touched his chest and remembered the searing pain which struck the instant the symbol appeared upon him. He was ten human years old. “Her love for you was so powerful it cracked the seal.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Is that how you came through?”

  “Yes. I transformed into a butterfly and flew through.”

  “Then you can take me there, go back through? Maybe we can break the seal from both sides.”

  Shaking her head, Bell said, “I can’t. As soon as I crossed over, the portal completely vanished as if it never existed.”

  “Wait.” His head was reeling. What had she said about his mother’s wish and a woman? “Tell me what my mother said again about finding a woman.”