Chosen Mate

by Juniper Hart

  “And you couldn’t skew the sketch a little bit? Make me look like Cher, maybe?” The question was rhetorical, but Chester had no answer anyway. He knew he was done for.

  The twine was nearby, and Bryn placed the taser down on the utility shelf to untangle it before wrapping it around Chester’s torso and arms.

  “Shit, Bryn, that’s tight!” he protested.

  “Shit, I don’t care, Ches,” she replied. “If you lose a limb due to lack of circulation, so be it. You’ve really pissed me off this time.”

  “Please, Bryn, let me make this up to you! I’ll do this job, and you can have my cut!”

  Bryn paused and stared at him, her sky-colored eyes flashing with spite and amusement.

  “You really don’t get it, do you? I don’t need your cut. I can have anything I want without you. I don’t need you or your double-crossing bitch booty call. There is a reason why I keep you around, a reason you are far too stupid to understand. You guys need me. You just didn’t realize it until right now. But you’ll see. If you think I would ever trust you again after talking to the cops and trying to get me arrested—”

  “No!” Chester interrupted her. “If I wanted to get you arrested, I would have just given them your name! I could have done that!”

  “Not without getting yourself dragged into the mess,” Bryn said with a smirk. “No, you were smart enough to put yourself into the case as a witness. If they ever arrested me and I turned on you, you could cry retaliation. Alma told you to do that, didn’t she? Send the cops on my trail by giving them just enough to find me.”

  Chester hung his head, and Bryn could not resist tightening the twine more, her blood boiling.

  Betrayal everywhere, in everyone, she thought furiously. No one has ever watched out for me, no matter how much I have tried to look out for others. I have lived my entire life looking over my shoulder.

  “You can’t—”

  “If you try to tell me what I can or can’t do one more time,” she growled, “I am going to stuff a rag so far down your throat, you’re going to have fibers growing in your stomach lining. Stop talking.”

  She finished fastening Chester securely to the rickety chair. It balanced only on three legs, and if he struggled, he’d fall to the concrete floor. Should she gag him? The idea was appealing, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel. After all, she wasn’t a killer at heart, not really. She didn’t particularly care to watch people suffer, no matter what the media thought of her.

  The people Bryn had held captive were, unfortunately, doomed to endure the sins of their fathers. It wasn’t her fault that was what the law demanded. She was sworn to uphold the vow, and she had done what she had been told. For the most part.

  If he starts screaming, I’ll come back and do it, she decided. She had to test Chester.

  “You better not scream,” she warned him, turning for the stairs. “If you do…” She allowed herself to trail off, pausing to stare at him meaningfully.

  “I won’t!” Chester swore. “I’ll be quiet, but you need to loosen these binds!”

  Bryn stared at him for a long moment. “You haven’t asked me about Alma.”

  “Alma?” he echoed.

  “Yeah. You know, the blonde tech whom you were banging and decided to screw me over with?”

  “No, I know, but what about her?” he replied dumbly, and Bryn rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t you care what’s going to happen to Alma?” she asked. Chester’s brow furrowed as if he hadn’t given it a moment of thought.

  “Alma?” he said again. “Oh…”

  A fusion of anger and annoyance flooded through Bryn as she thought about how much smarter the blonde hacker was than the imbecile sitting before her. Alma had likely orchestrated the entire double-cross under the misguided notion that Chester was in love with her.

  And all this ass can do is think about himself, she sighed.

  “What are you going to do with her?” Chester asked, but Bryn heard almost no interest in his voice. She smirked, leaving without a reply.

  Slamming the basement door closed, she listened at the landing for movement below. Within a minute, she heard the scrape of the chair legs across the floor, and then a thud and grunt as Chester most likely fell onto it. To his credit, he didn’t cry out louder than that.

  A slight smile appeared on Bryn’s lips as she envisioned him lying helplessly on the ground, trying to free himself from the twine undoubtedly cutting into his skin. She moved away from the door, allowing her footsteps to fall heavily on the floor before picking up her cell phone and playing a random ringtone.

  “Hello?” she barked loudly to no one. “Yeah, I’m coming. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Then, ensuring that her footfalls were heard, Bryn hustled toward the front door and slammed it loudly, remaining inside. She stood still, biding her time.

  As if on cue, Chester began to cry out from the basement.

  “HELP! HELP ME!”

  Not even thirty seconds, Bryn thought, shaking her head to herself. What a baby. I can’t imagine that he’s any good in bed. What did Alma see in him?

  “HELP ME!” Chester cried. “SOMEONE, PLEASE!”

  Grunting, Bryn shook her head and moved silently toward the basement door. Scaling the stairs two at a time, she appeared in front of Chester’s fallen form, and his next cry died on his lips.

  “Oh, shit,” he moaned.

  “Such a dumbass,” Bryn sighed, looking around the dingy basement for a rag. “You should have listened for a car.”

  “Please don’t gag me!” Chester squealed. “I swear I won’t—”

  “Do you even hear yourself?” she cut him off. “You sound like a two-year-old making promises not to wet himself! Just shut up. You’re just one of those people without restraint, without resolve, without conscience. You can’t help yourself.” He wasn’t the first mortal like that she’d met, and he was not apt to be the last.

  Bryn found a rag on the shelf over the dryer, and as she leaned down to fasten it around his mouth, she shook her head as if to reprimand him.

  “You have no idea how much I want to kill you right now,” she told him, “but I’ve gotta go deal with your other half.”

  Fear filled Chester’s eyes as she knotted the cloth around the back of his head and sat back on her heel. He had every right to be afraid. He mumbled something incoherent through the material, but she didn’t even try to understand.

  “Try not to bleed out,” she offered, gesturing at his oozing wrists with her chin. “It’ll be a slow death.”

  Bryn turned toward the stairs, a bemused smile on her face. But before she could take one step, the sound of the doorbell filled the house, and the smile on her lips died.

  6

  Keppler jabbed at the doorbell again, craning his neck to look inside the bay window at the front, but the blinds were completely drawn.

  I could have sworn I heard something inside, he thought, his brow furrowing. If it had been anyone else, he would have turned around and left, but he was not giving up so easily. He half-wondered if Bryn had seen him and was purposely ignoring the door. That didn’t matter. He could stand here all night.

  If she was who he thought, they had a lot to discuss, and Keppler wasn’t going anywhere.

  When his finger pressed the doorbell for the third time, he heard her voice from inside, the same sultry tone he’d heard in the park.

  “Who the hell is it?” she barked, and he couldn’t help smiling, despite the direness of the situation.

  Yep, he thought, that’s her, all right.

  “Bryn, open the door,” he ordered, shaking the smile off his face, trying to sound authoritative. “I need to speak with you. It’s important.”

  The door flew open, and before Keppler had a second to fully register who stood there, Bryn was stepping onto the front porch, slamming the wood portal at her back. She focussed on locking the door before turning to face him, at which point she froze.

  “Oh,
” she sighed. “It’s you. What are you, some kind of stalker?”

  Keppler’s mouth parted in indignation, and she took the chance to brush past him, heading toward her red Miata.

  “Hey!” he protested. “I need to talk to you! Where are you going?”

  “I have somewhere to be!” Bryn snapped. “I didn’t pencil in a creeper this evening. Make it quick!” As if on cue, her phone began to chime from within her oversized handbag. “See? People are wondering where I am!”

  “People?” Keppler repeated. “Is that what you call your criminal gang?”

  Bryn passed a scornful look over his face, grimacing slightly, and he could see he had struck a nerve with her.

  “That’s fresh, coming from a guy who’s stalking me,” she retorted. “What do you want, Keppler?”

  Keppler was oddly pleased she remembered his name, which was ridiculous—if she truly was who he thought she was, she had always known his identity.

  That’s why she made that offhanded remark about my family in the park, he remembered, wondering why he hadn’t pieced it together sooner. All the evidence had been staring him in the face.

  “When will you be back?” he demanded, even though what he really wanted to ask was where she was going… and if he could go, too.

  “What are you, my father?” Bryn replied. “I’m a grown woman, Keppler. I don’t abide by a curfew.”

  “Bryn, I know who you are.” She turned back to him, and their eyes met for a long minute before a cold smile formed on her lips.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said shortly. “Now stop being a weirdo and get off my property.”

  Keppler backed away from the car, realizing that she was apt to run him over if he didn’t oblige, and watched as she zoomed away, leaving him fuming. Glancing back at the house, he had the overwhelming urge to break in and snoop around, but even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t. That was not his style in the least.

  I should have brought Reef with me, he thought dryly, though of course, he would never do that. The minute one of his other brothers caught wind of what was happening, there would be no way to protect the fiery girl who had inexplicably captured his interest.

  A voice in his head reminded him his loyalty was not to Bryn. It was to his family.

  He thought again of the impossible situation he had found himself in and shook his head in disbelief. Then he made his way back to his Jeep parked on the curb in front of the single-story home.

  This doesn’t even seem real, he groaned to himself, winding his way down the charming street toward the coast, where he would catch the access to the Hollows. He needed to confirm his suspicions once and for all. If Bryn wouldn’t speak to him, then he would find another way to learn the truth.

  “Keppler! What are you doing here?” Castor seemed stunned to see him standing on the front stoop of his house, and he looked about as if he was expecting others to join him. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, brother, I just came to pick your brain. Come sit,” Keppler replied, patting the stoop at his side.

  Of all the princes, Castor only called Keppler by his first name, mostly because the Lycan had probably stopped thinking of him as royalty years ago. Keppler didn’t share the same pretentious air as the rest of his brothers, nor did he demand to be driven around. He had always seen Castor as a kindred spirit rather than as just a driver or a butler.

  “Sorry,” Keppler said, sighing as Castor joined him on the step. “I know it’s late.”

  “It’s fine,” he replied. “Something wrong?”

  Keppler chuckled mirthlessly. “I’m not sure. But I must ask you to keep this conversation between us, okay, Castor? I mean it.”

  “Brother, you know you don’t even have to ask,” Castor said. “I would never betray your confidence. Is someone going to ask?”

  Keppler shook his head quickly, but he shot his eyes downward. He had no idea where this was going. All he knew was that he had to see it through, no matter where it took him.

  “No,” he promised. “No one knows about this yet, and I want to keep it that way.”

  Castor’s eyes were fixated on his friend.

  “How good is your history?” Keppler asked, and Castor snickered.

  “School was not really my strong suit,” he answered, “but you have to know that education in the Hollows isn’t the same as it is in Sunside. My time for education was a long time ago.”

  “Do you know anything about the Battles of Wyvern? I know you are far too young to have lived them yourself.” A pained expression crossed Castor’s face, and he grunted softly.

  “We really made a mess of everything, didn’t we?” he sighed. “Us and the vampires.”

  Keppler eyed him with a slight guilt, knowing that he was talking about the original breaking of the Hollow’s seal.

  “That is literally ancient history now,” Keppler told him lightly. “And you have to admit, we’ve mellowed out with age.”

  “Yeah,” Castor agreed with a snicker. “If you’d told me five hundred years ago we’d be sitting on the porch shooting the shit, I would have laughed.”

  They sat in silence for a minute before Keppler cleared his throat softly. “But back to the subject…”

  “Of course,” Castor said quickly, looking embarrassed. “You were saying? Oh, yes, the Battles of Wyvern. No, I’m afraid I only remember the basics. The Hollows were inundated with a weyr of dragons, what, two, three thousand years ago?”

  “Five,” Keppler corrected. “And it was a family, like ours. Six of them, a father and his flock.”

  “Raemayr,” Castor recalled. “He was a miserable bastard, from what I hear.”

  “He was not a reasonable beast,” Keppler confirmed, “but he came at a time when unrest was still lingering in the Hollows. He swept in and made allies with the immortals who did not agree with our rulings.”

  “That was the Original Civil War,” Castor recollected, and Keppler nodded, smiling.

  “You’re better at this than you think,” he applauded. “The Original Civil War led to the first Battle of Wyvern. We lost that one, and Raemayr reigned with his wife, Magnolia. It didn’t take long for the Hollows to turn on them, and the immortals came looking to us for guidance. Wilder was furious at everyone. He wanted them to suffer for the injustice of being dethroned in the first place, but eventually, we convinced him that it was in everyone’s best interest to fight Raemayr again. We won the second battle, but it wasn’t pretty. There were so many lives lost, so much destruction…”

  Keppler’s voice faded away, his last words filled with pain. He inhaled and exhaled in a huge whoosh. “It was a brutal time. At last, Raemayr and Wilder sat down and negotiated some uneasy peace. Although we ruled together, anyone could see that we dragons did not rule well with others among them.”

  “There was a slaughter,” Castor remembered, his eyes widening. “Raemayr and Magnolia. Dead in the Palace of Fire.”

  “Yes,” Keppler muttered. “The children were gone, never to be seen again.”

  “Which one of you did it?” Castor murmured. “Or should I even ask?”

  “It was a different time,” Keppler moaned, looking down, the guilt of that horrible night flooding back to him. He had not personally had a hand in the matter, but he knew what had happened, even if no one ever spoke of it. He had always thought it had been Wilder.

  “Why are you bringing this up, Keppler?” Castor questioned. “It’s ancient history, like you said.”

  “Maybe not,” Keppler argued. “I think we have a problem.”

  Castor let out a deep breath. “We always have a problem. You need to elaborate.”

  “I think the dragon daughter is back.”

  Castor’s eyes bulged, and he leaped clear upward, gaping at him in shock. “No…”

  “I can’t be sure,” Keppler continued, “which is why I need you to keep this between us. You can imagine what will happen if the others get wind of it.” />
  “How— why—?” Castor didn’t seem to know how to word his question. Keppler could understand that.

  “I know,” he said. “It’s a lot to process, but you need to help me out with this. I need you to access your friend at the registrar’s office and see if there’s a being named Bryn Castillo who has residency in the Hollows—anywhere. I wouldn’t put it past her to have several addresses. If she’s been hiding under our noses this entire time…”

  “How did you come across this information, Keppler?” Castor asked, recovering his words. Keppler was grateful for the dimness of the Hollows, and he turned his chiseled chin away so the Lycan couldn’t read his expression.

  “Fate,” he muttered, rising abruptly.

  Castor snorted. “Fine. I won’t ask. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Cass…” The driver looked up at him. “I don’t have to tell you how important it is that this stays between us, right?”

  “Obviously,” Castor answered. “I’m a living witness to the ‘shooting the messenger’ era.”

  “If she is who I think she is,” Keppler added, “her brothers may be nearby, and gods only know what they might be plotting.”

  “The Castillos,” Castor sighed. “Back for what reason?”

  “I can only think of one reason,” Keppler said. “Revenge.”

  7

  Damon looked nervously at the clock hanging on the wall above the garage door and then at Bryn in a panic.

  “Where is everyone?” he moaned. “It’s after midnight now!”

  Bryn shrugged, trying to maintain her nonchalance, even though her heart was hammering in her chest. She stared at Alma, who seemed on the verge of tears.

  “They’re only a couple minutes late,” she said with a calmness she wouldn’t have felt if it was the night of a real job. Their heists were planned by the second. Lateness was not permitted by anyone. It was inexcusable and grounds to be cut out.

  But this was not a real heist. She was merely wasting time and trying to forget that things were getting bizarre. For instance, what was Keppler Parker doing at her house?