by Lily Cahill
"I've never understood the mentality myself," the Empress said. "But we're hearing stirrings that he's not the only one. We believe Dietrich has been recruiting a handful of supporters from all the clans and building a small rebel army."
"This is unbelievable," Elliott said.
"Whatever it takes, we can't let him take the throne," Laila said.
"I agree," the Empress said. "Which means we need to find Maxwell."
"Where is he?" Sam asked. "I thought you knew where all of us were?"
"Up until a few days ago, that was true," the Empress said. "But Maxwell has disappeared."
"Is it the Zoltags?" Frankie asked. "Did they find him?"
"I don't know," the Empress said. "I don't think so, though. His caretaker, my sister, passed away. They were very close. My hope is that he's merely mourning her in private. If the Zoltgs had found him, it's likely he would already be dead. Unless he's somehow bonded with one of the Zoltag daughters, Maxwell is too dangerous to them alive."
"And if he has?" Elliott asked.
"The chances of that are too slim to consider. So for now, let's hope it hasn't happened," the Empress said. "What we need to concentrate on is finding him, and I believe you three have the best chance of doing that. But it could be extremely dangerous. It means leaving the protection of the palace. It means leaving your mates behind."
The brothers looked at each other, then to their mates.
"I won't command you to do it," the Empress said. "I've already made enough decisions that impacted your lives. And the kingdom will soon be in your hands, not mine. This decision is for each of you to make individually."
"I'll go," Sam said, squeezing Frankie's hand as she gave him a supportive look. "They deserve to pay for what they did to Frankie."
Hudson placed a protective hand on Kay's burgeoning belly. "I'll go too," Hudson sad. "I don't want my child born into a world where the Zoltags have any power."
Elliott looked at Laila. She could read the message behind his eyes: He wanted to go. And as much as she hated the idea of him being in danger, she knew it was the right thing to do. She gave him a single nod.
"I'm in," Elliott said. "We find Maxwell. And we find him together."
#
Later, when the two were alone in their bedroom, Laila took Elliott's hand in hers.
"You have to promise to come back to me," she said. "I'm strong about a lot of things, Elliott, but not about this. I can't lose you. I wouldn't--I wouldn't survive it."
Elliott cupped her cheek. His hand was so solid, so warm. "I swear it to you, Laila."
"You promise to stay safe?"
"And keep my brothers safe too. We're all coming back. I promise you."
"Okay," Laila said, holding her head high. She had to trust him. She had to trust that he would do everything he could.
"Can you do me one favor before I go?" he asked.
"What?"
"Marry me."
He sank to one knee and took her hand in his.
"Laila, you are the most amazing woman I've ever met. You're strong and confident and you know your own mind. You're a brilliant filmmaker with so much vision and passion that it inspires me about the possibilities in the world. I love you, Laila. I love you with my entire being."
Elliott fished in his pocket and pulled out a ring. It was gorgeous--an antique from the looks of it and set with the biggest diamond Laila had ever seen.
"Laila Cordelia Marks, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Laila nodded. "Yes, Elliott. I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you. It's the only thing I want."
Elliott bounded up and took her in his arms, kissing her deeply. He slid the ring on her finger.
"That looks good there," he said, grinning. "But there's one little problem."
"What's that?" Laila asked.
"It doesn't match your outfit," he said, sliding a hand under the fabric of her jeans to cup her bottom. "You're going to have to take off your clothes."
Part Four: Prince Maxwell
Chapter One
Maxwell
Maxwell Rex sipped his whiskey, trying to figure out what the hell to do with his life. The bar was a small place, tucked into an old Boulder neighborhood running up the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. It was a popular haunt at night. But right now, only a few people sat inside, most of them drinking alone just like him.
Max had a decision to make about what to do next, but he had no idea what he would decide. Money wasn't the problem--he had enough of that to never work again. His dilemma was more complicated. When his Auntie Mara had gotten ill at the same time his navy contract was up, he'd left the SEALs to take care of her, thinking he'd be back in the field as soon as she was better. But she hadn't gotten better, she'd gotten worse. And fast. He'd laid her to rest only yesterday, less than a year from stepping foot back in Colorado.
And then had come her letter.
The things she'd said had been, well ... insane. Or would have been insane if they hadn't pulled at some long-buried memories.
Max had never been able to fully explain why the images haunted him: his raven-haired mother singing him a song and saying good-bye, his father laid out cold and lifeless on a golden table, and a white palace that rose out of the snow to tower against an azure sky. For so long, he'd thought they were a product of his childhood imagination--something he'd concocted to deal with his parents' death the way some kids made up imaginary friends. Didn't all children dream of castles and kings?
But the letter had said they weren't fairy tales at all. The letter had said he was the Emperor of all shifterdom--or could be.
It had said more, too. It had said his mother--the woman he had mourned and missed and put on a pedestal--was alive.
The idea gnawed at his gut and sent rage boiling through his veins. If she was alive, it meant she had abandoned him, lied to him, tricked him even--when he was only four years old. It meant he had gone through all that pain as a child for no reason at all.
He'd never gotten over losing her. Never. Now he didn't know what hurt worse--believing she was dead, or knowing that she'd discarded him and never looked back.
Max felt betrayed and angry. He remembered all the times he'd talked to her like she was some goddamned spirit guide or angel watching over him from above. If it was true, he'd been acting like a complete fool for years. She'd made him a fool.
And maybe that was his answer right there. He didn't owe her anything. He barely remembered her at all. So what if he was king of the shifters or whatever? He had a life--a life he'd worked his ass off for, a life he loved--and an open invitation to go back to it.
He'd call up his commanding officer tonight and talk to him about re-enlisting. Maybe he could skip BUD/S and be back with his unit before the week was up.
The bar door creaked open slowly, shining too much light on the handful of patrons inside and interrupting his thoughts. Max's eyes strained to adjust. The silhouette of a woman took shape in the doorway. Her figure was alluring, just the way he liked a lady: round and full with legs for days. Her breasts were as ample as her hips and thighs. Even just in silhouette, he felt a warmth in his pants that had nothing to do with the whiskey.
Then her face came into view. She was so ... strong. That was the only word he could think of for her. She had high, gorgeous cheekbones and full lips that made her look like a curvier, hotter Brigitte Bardot. She was fair and light-haired like a Viking princess, with wisps of blond framing her face and flying away from a long, thick braid.
And her eyes were blue, the pale blue of arctic ice. Something tugged at his gut when he saw them. His eyes locked on hers and he couldn't look away. He clutched the bar for balance, clutched his whiskey glass so tight it nearly shattered in his fingers.
His aunt had told him about this too, and it had seemed impossible at the time. How could a person know something so important so quickly? And with absolute certainty?
But he did.
Chapter Two
Annika
Annika couldn't wait for this all to be over.
Last one, she told herself with glee. Just one more and you're free.
All she had to do was prove he wasn't her mate, then her father would let her go. That was the agreement. If she did as he asked, he'd let her live her own life away from the compound. She'd be a normal person. A real person. And not a Zoltag anymore.
Could it be real? Could she be so close to her dreams finally coming true?
Her mind filled up with images of her future: getting a job like a normal person, living in her own apartment with only herself to clean up after, running free and far and wherever she liked, maybe even going to college one day. But most importantly, never having to answer to her father or fear his wrath ever again.
It was happening. It was really happening. The only thing that could screw it up now was if the guy actually was her mate--but that was statistically impossible. There were over three billion women in the world. The chances of this guy being her mate were worse than winning the lottery. This whole thing was a pipe dream, a last-ditch, grasping-at-straws effort by her father to get a spy inside the palace who could help him take over the throne.
As far as Annika was concerned, the other team had already won and she was damn relieved about it. She'd even helped them once, though her father didn't know it. The last thing that needed to happen was for him to gain more power. The thought of it made her shudder.
But no matter. She was ten minutes away from being a free woman and making absolutely sure that her father's last hopes were shattered.
She steeled her nerves and opened the door to the bar.
Her eyes settled on him right away. He was so big, anyone would have. Her family was large, but he was larger. He must have been pushing six foot ten and 250 pounds. And from the looks of him, it was all muscle. His forearms alone were the size of tree trunks. The sleeves of his flannel were unbuttoned and rolled up just to accommodate them.
His hair was black and long for a man--or at least she thought it must be. It was wrapped loose into a bun, which she'd never thought was sexy before. It had always seemed a little ridiculous for a man to have such long hair, much less wear it in a bun. But on him it was sexy. She wanted him to let it down. She wanted to run her fingers through his mane.
Knock it off, Anni. Not an option. Just get this over with and you can chase all the man buns you want.
Her own internal word choice almost made her giggle, but she kept herself quiet and forced herself to meet his eyes. That was when it was supposed to happen--when the man's eyes saw the woman's.
With the other candidates, she'd always felt so foolish looking at them, so pathetic. She was never quite sure if they were looking at her or looking through her. But Maxwell's gaze landed on her like a punch in the gut.
Those eyes.
They were deep, deep blue. So dark they were nearly as black as the thick hair that curled deep on his chin.
Maxwell stood.
Shit. That wasn't a good sign. All the other candidates had only glanced at her, then glanced away.
He crossed the distance between them, never dropping his gaze.
"Hi," he said. "I'm Max. Can I buy you a drink?"
"I--I--" She didn't know what to say. She couldn't exactly ask him outright if he had bonded with her. And he was still looking at her with those coal-blue eyes. It was almost unbearable.
"It's just a drink," he coaxed, his lips curling into a sexy smile.
"Um ... okay," she said softly, hating herself. Why'd she have to go and turn to jelly on her very last meet?
Damn that smile. Damn it all to hell.
Maxwell placed his fingers on the small of her back to guide her toward the bar, and she nearly jumped like she'd been shocked. He looked down at her, amused.
"It's okay, sugar," he said. "I don't bite."
He was calling her sugar? That was bad too.
"I'm fine," she said, sliding onto a barstool before he could touch her again. She needed to be rational. She needed to keep her hormones in check. It was still very unlikely that he'd bonded with her. He was probably just hitting on her. She was pretty enough, wasn't she? And there weren't exactly many other women in the bar. He was probably just looking to get laid. Her heart calmed down a bit.
"What are you having?" he asked.
"Hmm?"
"To drink?"
She had already forgotten she'd agreed to have a drink at all. "Um, Jack and ginger, please."
He turned to the bartender and ordered, then turned back. "I'm Max, by the way. What's your name?"
"You said that already," she said.
"Said what?"
"Your name."
"Oh," he said, grinning that sexy smile again. "Sorry. You're sort of--I'm a little ... rattled. You're extremely beautiful, but I'm sure you know that."
Shit.
"And you still haven't told me your name," he nudged.
"It's Annika," she said.
"That's a perfect name," he said, the low tenor of his voice making her heat rise. "Strong, but still feminine. It suits you."
Shit, shit, shit.
"Um ... thank you," she said, feeling her cheeks flush. The name had come from her mother, and the very thought of her had Annika firming her resolve. She refused to turn out like her mother. She refused to marry at all.
"What do you do for a living, Annika?" he asked. The sound of her name on his lips made something inside her quiver despite her resolve.
"Nothing," she said. The bartender handed her the drink, and she sipped. The cool sweetness of it calmed her churning stomach.
"So you're a lady of leisure?" he asked.
"No," she said, irritated with the question. A lady of leisure? Ha. She was anything but. "I meant I don't do anything special. I cook. I clean. Take care of my family. You know."
A cloud seemed to pass over his eyes. "You're married?" he practically growled.
"No. I have brothers. A dad."
"I see," he said. "Any boyfriends?"
The question almost made her spurt whiskey out of her nose. A boyfriend? Sure. The men were practically lining up outside the compound to ask her out. There was just the tiny problem of having to get past the guns and booby traps first.
"No boyfriends," she said.
"Good," he growled again.
Shit, shit, shit. Triple-quadruple-quintuple shit.
"So, do you live in Boulder?" he asked.
"No," she said.
"You're a woman of few words, aren't you?"
"I guess," she said. It was true. She was used to keeping things short. The less you spoke, the less people noticed you. And in her house, that was always a good thing.
"So what are you in town for?" he asked.
"Vacation," she lied.
"You staying with a friend?" he asked.
"No. I'm at the Haybrooke Motel." God. Why had she said that? Like she was inviting him over or something. She had to get ahold of herself.
"Are you in town for some hiking?" he asked.
"Yes," she lied again. This conversation was getting into dangerous territory. She tried to change the subject. "What about you? What do you do for a living?"
"Nothing," he said with a grin.
The sight of it made her belly warm. "I'm sure it's not nothing," she said.
"It's true. I was in the navy for more than a decade, but not anymore."
She took another sip of her drink and realized it was already empty. Six months from taking her first sip of alcohol, and she was already turning into a lush.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked.
"I don't--I--" Annika had never been asked to dance before and had no idea what to say. The idea of it sounded good--being in his arms sounded very good--but she didn't know how to dance and she knew even less about men. What if she made a fool o
f herself?
"There's no music," she finally managed.
"Well, that's easy to fix," he said.
He took her by the hand and led her over to the jukebox.
"I really shouldn't," she said as he pumped quarters in. "I have to be somewhere."
"You just got here, sugar," he said, punching a number on the machine.
"I just wanted a quick drink," she lied. "I have to go."
The music started to play. Billie Holiday's "Love Me or Leave Me," which Annika loved. It was slow and croony and very disorienting.
"Just one dance," he said, sliding a hand around her waist. The feel of his hand on her that way was even more disorienting.
Why was he having this effect on her? Even if he was her mate--and he was definitely just a flirt, not her mate--it wasn't supposed to affect the woman. Was it?
He pulled her close until she was pressed into his chest. It was electric, and soft too, like the little buzz you got when you rubbed a balloon on your hair. She'd never been so close to a man before. Like her sisters, she'd only ever been able to leave the compound under strict supervision, and that was rare. So both Blanca and Zara had been alone with men before, but she hadn't. Not until today--and that had only been because everyone was busy with more important work and time was running short. Even Blanca--her father's favorite--was needed back at home and couldn't chaperone.
There had been no boyfriends, no dating, no hands held in secret under tables or kisses stolen behind the bleachers. Annika's life up until this moment had been one of servitude and isolation. Her only visions of love had been on television. Even when her brothers took wives, they never seemed truly happy. Their unions weren't fated; theirs were marriages of utility--ones to propagate the clan--and they treated their wives with the same respect they had for their dogs.
Maxwell's touch was so new and so strange that Annika could hardly breathe. Was this the way it always was when a man touched you? Or was Maxwell's touch special? She didn't know. All she knew was that she liked it. Why did he have to be so mouthwateringly handsome?
Maxwell pressed his cheek against her hair and inhaled. Then he drew back and gave her another sexy smile. "You're shifter, aren't you?" he asked.
