Rise of the Lost Prince

by London Saint James

  “And, my father?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re father is a hard man to get alone.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve tried to have Vibe do the mind thing on him?”

  Petúr scowled. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” She lifted her chin. “Please clarify.”

  “Let’s just say, if we could have stopped him from buying this place, we would have.”

  He sounded so defeated. Some of her ire settled.

  “Just…” She paused and looked away. “Don’t hurt him.”

  “Do you believe I would?” he asked, voice hard.

  “I don’t know.” She glanced back up to see the harsh planes of his glorious face. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? Please clarify.”

  So, he wasn’t above using her tactics.

  “Perhaps you would.” She bit at the inside of her cheek.

  “Perhaps?” He snorted. “Perhaps isn’t an answer, Wyndi.”

  Gosh. Why did she have to love the way her name sounded when he said it?

  “I don’t know,” she said. “You might, to protect your home.”

  “We may use scare tactics, or change people’s memories, but we do what we do in order to protect them and ourselves. What do you think would happen if people knew about us? About the things we can do? About all those things which really do go bump in the night?”

  She blinked up at him, processing that. He must have taken her silence as a confirmation she didn’t believe him.

  “We don’t hurt humans,” he said through gritted teeth. “No matter what. Okay?”

  She knew, on some instinctive level, he was telling her the truth. She dropped her gaze yet again. “Okay.”

  He reached out and tucked his fingers under her chin. “Look at me.” Softening at the touch, she did what he requested. “We won’t harm your father.”

  She nodded. “Don’t you think he’ll become suspicious if he doesn’t hear from me?”

  “Nope.” He slipped his fingers free of her and she mourned the loss of contact. “You are going to call him. Let him know you’re going to take a few days away from work. How about a trip to a spa?”

  She arched a brow. “Spa?”

  He shrugged his big shoulders. “Sounds like a good reason to be away to me.”

  “How am I supposed to call him? No phones, remember?” Byte cleared his throat. Petúr produced her cell phone from his pocket and handed it over. “You had the twins take my phone out of my purse, didn’t you?”

  “Guilty,” he said.

  Unless she wanted to argue until she was blue in the face, she’d give in.

  “Fine,” she said, not quite as piqued as she sounded.

  “After the call,” he said, “and after you eat something, we’re having a group meeting so Bell can tell the guys what she told me about the portal.”

  “All right.”

  “Then we’ll make a quick trip to your place to get some clothing.”

  “Thank you for not forcing me to wear this the entire time I’m here.” She tugged at the too large shirt she was wearing.

  “You’re welcome. But, I never said you’d be wearing my shirts the entire time.” He hit her with a wicked smile an instant before he leaned down and whispered in her ear, warm breath gusting across her cheek and neck. “When I get you alone again, you won’t be wearing anything, because I intend to continue where we left off in my room earlier.”

  Goose bumps humped her flesh right about the moment she blushed. Quickly she glanced at the phone, pressing the icon in her contacts to dial her father’s number with her thumb.

  ****

  Bell was standing inside a closet, scooting aside hanger after hanger of men’s suits. Armani suits. Sighing, she plucked a navy blue V-neck sweater free and put it on, next snagging a belt and wrapping it around her waist twice, before rolling the too long sleeves up. The sweater-dress she created hung to her knees, and since she didn’t have anything else to wear, this would have to do.

  “Hey there, little bit,” she heard, spinning around to see Vibe in the doorway of what she knew had to be his closet, smiling at her. His silver eyes did the once over, gaze starting at her toes, which she wiggled, moving up her bare legs, roaming over her torso and the erect nipples she sported, then rested on her face. “Looks good on you.”

  “Um, I know I probably should have asked first, but I needed something to wear, and—”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Uh. Okay. Thanks for the use of your sweater.” She paused. “And for the use of your bed, too. Sorry to have put you out.”

  He shook his head, one strand of blond hair brushing his forehead. “I’m just glad you’re up and about.”

  “Yeah,” she said, straightening. “Up and about.”

  Why was she repeating what he said like some kind of mimicking parrot?

  “Listen.” He rested his big hand on the doorframe above his head. “Thanks for what you did out there with Grapple.”

  “I couldn’t let him hurt you guys, or Petúr.”

  He tilted his head, his expression soft. “It took a lot of guts to take him on the way you did. And, I just wanted to let you know I won’t forget.”

  She smiled, glancing up at him. “Thanks.” Her gaze dropped to his left thigh. “How’s your leg?”

  His brow crinkled. “My leg?”

  “Yeah. I saw you take a blade during the battle.”

  “Oh,” he said, moving the leg in question. “Right as rain.” He glanced toward her shoulder. “How’s your shoulder?”

  She rotated the joint. “Surprisingly good.”

  “Nanos,” Vibe said. “They’re pretty amazing.”

  She nodded. “They are.”

  “So, little bit. I hope you’re feeling up to it, because Petúr has called a meeting.”

  She blinked. “A meeting?”

  “He said you were going to explain a few things to us about where we come from, although, since I heard what you said to Grappling about Petúr being a prince, and Fae, I’m assuming we all come from the same place.”

  “You do,” she said.

  He didn’t bat an eyelash at the admission.

  “Well…” Vibe held out his hand for her, which she tentatively took. “Come on, then. I suppose we shouldn’t keep everyone waiting.”

  ****

  Wyndi sat next to Petúr on the sectional couch in what appeared to be a combination game room/workout center. She was enthralled, listening to Bell tell the story of Petúr once again. How Grapple came to be. The portal between the human world and the Fae realm being sealed, and the boys lost within the world of man, never to retain any memory of their home due to the queen’s magical decree.

  “So, we’re Fae,” said Vapor, not in question, but as if the puzzle pieces of their lives snapped into place, making sense to him.

  “Yes,” Bell said. “Petúr is Seelie Sidhe Fae. Most Seelie Sidhe are of nobility. But there are other branches besides noblemen, some of whom are craftsmen, and warriors, quick of mind and hand.”

  “And you?”

  “I am Demi-Fae. I serve and assist the royal court.”

  “Vibe said you have wings and used some sort of dust.”

  She smiled wide, dimples forming. “I do. I can fly. And the dust is fairy dust.”

  “Fairy dust? We don’t have fairy dust.”

  Bell chuckled. “No. Only Demi-Fae have fairy dust.”

  “What do you do with the stuff?” asked Tera.

  “I can use it to glamour people and some Fae, and I can use it to transform into a butterfly, or a hummingbird.”

  “You can?” Wyndi asked, unable to hold in the question.

  Bell nodded.

  “What is Grapple?” asked Byte.

  “Grapple is of the line of Unseelie Sidhe Fae. As I said earlier, he used his magic for healing, until he became the consort to Arielle and was banished from our land.”

  Vapor’s brow creased.
“What am I?”

  Bell walked over to him, placed her nose to his neck and sniffed. “You are an elemental Fae of water. An Undine.” She straightened. “You harness water, do you not?”

  “Yes,” he said, gazing at her with his mouth slightly a gape. “I do.”

  “And, me?” asked Dash. “Do you know what I am?”

  “I saw you teleport. You too are of the warrior line.”

  Dash cocked his head. “As in Seelie Sidhe Fae?”

  “Yes.” She turned her green-eyed gaze to Vibe. “You too are Seelie Sidhe Fae, only of the order of Delphi. If you recall what I said about our fallen King, the order of Delphi are the keepers of fairy magic. You can do much more than implanting suggestions and mind control. Much more than being an empath.”

  He shook his head. “No. I only—”

  “You can,” said Bell. “You just haven’t learned all you are capable of.” She glanced over to Firefox. “You are a Fae elemental as well, an Agni.”

  Firefox blinked, before he glanced down at his hands, as if he were studying them.

  “And us?”

  That came from Tera, who was standing next to Byte.

  “I’m not sure,” said Bell. Tera’s mouth curled down at the corners, and Byte still looked, well, stoic. “I know you’re Fae, but…” She glanced at them before strolling over and sniffing the air. “You’re something else as well.” She turned and looked at Petúr. “Surely you can detect the difference. They’re like us, yet unique.”

  Petúr nodded, however he remained silent. Wyndi wondered if all this information was as overwhelming to him as it was to her.

  “Would you like to see our home?” Bell asked.

  Every man seemed to stiffen.

  Petúr sat forward. “You can show us?”

  “I can.”

  Bell held out her small hand and opened her palm—a little mound of glittering dust sat in the middle. She closed her eyes, said something under her breath that Wyndi couldn’t discern, then blew. The dust scattered out and started to form a swirl, mid-air. Twirling, twirling…. Rotating into a ball which became bigger and bigger, until the ball danced up toward the ceiling and exploded. Shimmering bits rained down, forming a translucent wall, and there before everyone’s eyes a forest of green appeared, like a silent movie gleaming on a screen.

  Petúr asked, “How are you doing this?” His velvet voice sounding astonished.

  “Memories.”

  He reached out. “These are your memories?”

  “Yes. I’m showing you my memories of our home.”

  Water droplets sparkled within a million facets upon the oversized leaves of trees, the picture moving as in flight, scaling up and over a rock, covered in moss. Brilliant light cascaded on an outcropping of ferns below. Hundreds of colorful butterflies burst into sight and seemed to float up, up on air, gliding into a single shaft of sunlight within a tight formation, before the image flickered and disappeared.

  Chapter Nine

  Petúr took hold of Wyndi’s hand, leading her to the front doors of the castle, listening to her high heel shoes clatter-tap out a cadence on the floor. With her pant suit ruined, she still had one of his ten dollar Tshirts on, with her high fashion on her feet. Crazy attire or not, he had to admit she looked as sexy as hell.

  When they stepped outside, he glanced down at her. “Last night, you asked me what I could do.”

  She blinked up at him, those long lashes of hers fluttering. “I remember.”

  He leaned down and picked her up by the waist. She sucked in a breath. “Put your arms around my neck and hold on.” She did without protest and he reveled in the feel of her incredible breasts pressed into him. “Don’t scream.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He straightened and ran with her, crossing over the hologram threshold, then leapt, taking flight.

  “Oh-my-God-oh-my-God,” she spluttered, nails sinking into the nape of his neck, kicking.

  “Put your legs around my waist and stop the kicking.”

  Immediately, she wrapped her legs around him, clinging like a burr while her heart raced, beating against his.

  “Breathe,” he said. “And relax. I’ll never let you go.” They went higher, breaking into a low-line cloud bank. Wisps of grey-white enveloped them. Petúr felt a slight tremble roll through Wyndi’s compact body. He stopped flying, floating in place, and kicked out his legs, crossing them at the ankles in front of him, adjusting her so her fabulous ass was seated on his lap. “Open your eyes, Wyndi.” She shook her head. “Please. I promise you’re safe.”

  Slowly, her right eye opened, then her left. She glanced over his shoulder. “We’re sitting on a cloud,” she said, voice quaking. “We’re really sitting on a freaking cloud!”

  He chuckled. “More like hovering. A body can’t really sit on clouds.”

  “You can fly.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “I can.”

  “You don’t have wings though.”

  “No wings.”

  Carefully, one arm moved from his neck.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he assured her.

  She reached, poking her hand through one of the puffy cloud tips. “This is like my dreams.” She sounded wistful.

  Petúr looked into the depths of her eyes. “Dreams?”

  She nodded. “I’ve dreamed of you.”

  The admission hit him in the gut. “You have?”

  Resting her head against his chest she admitted, “Ever since I was a child, I’ve dreamed of you. In my dreams, you fly me through the heavens. In my dreams, I feel the moisture in the clouds, and the wind on my skin.” She let out a contented breath. “The night we met, and I looked up into your eyes, I knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “You were real. My very own angel.”

  Listening to her heart beat slow, he placed his chin on top of her head and breathed her in, his arms banded around her, holding her tight. “I’m not an angel. Far from it in fact.”

  Her left palm, which was still latched onto the back of his neck, moved—her fingers twining into his hair. “You’re my angel, Petúr.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment, listening to the sea gulls squawk below them, and floated, encased within the clouds.

  “Petúr?”

  “Hmm?”

  Wyndi pulled back from him slightly and stared into his eyes. “Will you kiss me?”

  Softly, he placed his mouth to hers. He delighted in the feel of her lips against his, tongue slipping into her mouth, twirling over and around hers, tasting, taking her breaths and those small mews of pleasure she made, claiming them as his own.

  ****

  Kros stalked the confines of his underground sleeping chamber, hearing what could only be described as blood-curdling screams echo off the cavern walls. Atalos, and some of the others, were feeding again. Fucktards. Of course, he hadn’t been invited to partake.

  Snarling, he picked up a knife from the bedside table, tossing it in the air, watching it flip blade over hilt, silver glinting in the candle light, catching the weapon by the blade, feeling pleasure in the slice of his flesh.

  “Yesss,” he hissed and curled his fingers tight, watching his blood drip, drip, drip from his hand and trickle over his fingertips in rivulets of red.

  Toss. Catch. Squeeze. Toss. Catch. Squeeze.

  With every slice his rage increased. “I loathe all of you!’ he shouted, knowing the screams of the humans would drown out his own.

  With every slice, pleasure/pain thrummed through him—a gale force. He groaned, his cock rising to the occasion. He could use his mutilated hand and the slick glide of his own blood, giving himself a quick release by tossing off, but…. He shook his head, the tips of his silver-white hair swishing along his collarbone. His depravity could wait, focusing instead on his seething anger. Anger he wished to bring to the surface and unleash on every being in the under-verse of shadow.

  An evil grin started at the corner
s of his mouth. If he did unleash his fury, it would be an epic bloodbath the likes of which no one had ever seen. Not only did he hate his father, he despised being the only darkling who was truly his father’s son. Unlike the rest, Kros had been born into the world of Fae, torn from his mother’s bosom as a babe, and transformed against his will into the darkness by the bastard’s warped magic. And what did he gain in the process? Nothing he wanted. Not to mention he was detested by all Grappling’s half-breed offspring with Narvon.

  “Narvon.” He spat the word. He was glad Narvon was no more, choosing the ultimate death by flinging herself into the fiery pits of hell, and unless Ariette offered up another suitable breeder, there would be no more newborn darklings to join the too large group already making his life miserable.

  No more darklings. Kros smiled wickedly at that thought, and stomped to the book of shadow and spells, his blood leaving a trail. He dropped his knife, listening to it clatter on the rocky floor. Why he weakened on the surface of man, unlike his father, and unlike the lost boys and Petúr, he didn’t know, however with any luck deciphering the book he’d stolen from the demoness, he would soon find out. And there was one thing he did know for sure. With knowledge, came power.

  ****

  Running her palms down her hips, feeling the smooth slide over her yoga pants, Wyndi made her way over to the Ferris wheel, glad to at least be wearing something she did indeed own. After Petúr kissed her almost senseless as they floated in the clouds, they made a trip to her penthouse apartment, then to Bell’s little one room efficiency. They both had enough clothing to last a couple of weeks away from home now.

  Glancing up, she took in the fact Petúr was perched atop the rundown ride, while twilight brushed the colors of pink, orange, and molasses across the sky as his backdrop. It was hard to pull her attention away from him, but she somehow found the will.

  “What’s up?” she asked Dash, who stood across from her a ways, over by Bell. Vibe quickly took up a position on Bell’s other side. Her poor bartender looked so tiny standing between the two hulking men.

  “You’ll see,” was all Dash said.

  Vapor strolled up beside her. Wyndi supposed she was glad to see him strolling instead of rolling in like fog. “Ready for this, sugar lips?”