Traitor of the Entitled Novella

by Shannon Lynn Cook

  “Gray asked us to check out their new suite,” Thomas says, ignoring my question. “To look for bugs.”

  Oh, the irony.

  “Okay,” I tell him, holding back a sigh. He knows what to do.

  “You with someone?” he asks, picking up on my short answers. He sounds jealous, though he has no reason to be. We’ve never been together, and we’ll never be together. He and Brett are a little too over-zealous for my tastes.

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  Instantly suspicious, he demands, “Who?”

  I want to tell him that it’s none of his business, but, keeping my tone light, I say, “Eric.”

  “I see how it is, Chloe,” he jokes, though his tone is sharp. “Sleeping with the enemy, are you?”

  I hang up on him, not even bothering to say goodbye. When I turn back to Eric, I find him on the phone as well.

  He glances my way and gives me an uncomfortable smile. After a few moments of short answers, he hangs up.

  “Everything okay?” I ask him, knowing full well it’s not.

  “Madeline had some trouble with a guy hassling her on our floor.” He rolls his eyes like it’s more a nuisance than anything. “We’re changing rooms.”

  A loud group walks nearby, jostling their shopping bags and sipping crazy huge frozen drinks they’ll likely regret come morning.

  “You?” Eric asks after they’ve passed.

  “That was Thomas. Gray asked him to look over the new room to make sure nothing funny is going on.”

  We stand here, staring at each other.

  “Right,” he says, nodding.

  “Right,” I parrot…nodding as well.

  After several awkward seconds, I hold out my hand. Eric gives me back my paper basket. Unfortunately, I’ve lost my appetite. I toss the whole thing in a nearby trash can. “I should go.”

  “Chloe,” Eric says, catching my arm.

  I pause, waiting for him to spit out whatever it is he feels he needs to say.

  “This was fun,” he finally manages.

  The reminder that we play for different teams has stolen my good mood. I look away and give Eric a listless, one-shouldered shrug—pretending I didn’t enjoy hanging out with him. But I did. I really did.

  “Can I have your number?” he asks, undaunted. “Maybe we can get together when you’re back in Denver.”

  “Listen, Eric, you seem like a nice—”

  He groans.

  “Let me finish,” I snap. “You seem like a nice guy, but you’re not my type. Okay? Just…no.”

  His mouth presses into a thin line, and he drops his hand.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, exhaling out a sigh. “It’s not going to happen.”

  Feeling like the worst sort of cow, I turn on my heel and walk away.

  “I hate my job,” I say out loud, covering my eyes. A nasty feeling coils in my stomach, making me think I’m going to be sick from remorse.

  It’s the middle of the night. I’ve hacked into the hotel’s television so we don’t have to huddle around a laptop, and Madeline and Jonathan are on the screen in front of me.

  The Obsidian Queen left her room a minute ago to pull a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, and the knight joined her. He hasn’t kissed her yet, but it’s got to be coming. You can tell she likes him, and he likes her. I didn’t even know they were together.

  He ends up leading her into the bedroom to continue their conversation, and I stare at the ceiling. When the elders said we needed to keep twenty-four-hour surveillance on Madeline, surely they didn’t mean this.

  “I don’t know,” Brett says from next to me, sliding his already greasy hand into a bag of cheese puffs. “It’s kind of hot.”

  I lean over and swat the back of his head.

  “Ow,” he protests, recoiling from me. “What the hell, Chloe?”

  “You realize she’s our future queen, right? Show her some respect.”

  I flip the television off and stand, pacing the room. Thomas sits at the desk, watching me with narrowed eyes. He’s been acting weird all night, ever since I got back from my not-date with Eric.

  “You should get some sleep,” he finally says. “You look stressed.”

  “I don’t like this,” I say, and not for the first time. “The whole thing feels wrong. What are they thinking? We can’t kidnap Madeline. Soon, she’ll be our queen—and what do you think she’ll do to us then?”

  “What are you going to do about it? Go against the elders’ orders?” Thomas asks, raising a questioning brow.

  Thankfully there’s a knock at the door, saving me from answering.

  I open it and find Trent, my least favorite pixie.

  “Hello, Chloe,” he says, running his eyes over me. “You’re looking fresh and lovely despite the late hour.”

  “What do you want?”

  I’m not in the mood for his crap. We’re supposed to tolerate him because he’s the one who found Madeline for us, but I don’t like the pixie, and he knows it.

  He raises a blond brow, feigning hurt. “I just came to check on you, see how you’re holding up.”

  From the moment I met him, I’ve wanted to ask why he ratted Madeline out to the Entitled—why he came running to us with the news. I heard it was for the money, but if that’s true, why is he still here? I sense there’s more going on, and I don’t like being used.

  “You turned off the surveillance?” he asks, pushing past me. He looks at me over his shoulder and gives me a pointed look. “I thought for sure you’d be spying on your favorite Bunny.”

  My unease grows. How long has the pixie been watching me? What has he seen? The problem with pixies is they can be anyone, anywhere. They’re changelings, shapeshifters. Completely untrustworthy.

  He walks to the television and turns it on. He smirks when he spies Jonathan and Madeline together.

  The two are just talking, but they’re standing close, and his hand flirts with hers. Our cameras are a little too high quality, creating what looks like a scene from a movie. Jonathan looks at Madeline like she’s his world, and my breath catches. Here I just found out about them, and my stupid heart already wants to ship their relationship.

  “Oh…yes, I see,” Trent says in a husky voice that makes my skin crawl.

  Livid, I reach out with my magic and turn the channel to a telenovela. Two women yell at each other in Spanish.

  Trent turns my way, mildly amused.

  “I am in charge here,” I snarl at him. “If I turn off the surveillance, it stays off. Do you understand?”

  Thomas and Brett are too still, both knowing I’m no match for a pixie. Trent can paralyze me with a simple touch, put me to sleep without even blinking an eye. Plus, the man he chose to impersonate isn’t exactly tiny. He could overpower me without even using his magic.

  With a grim smile, Trent strolls forward. I gulp, but I hold my head high, refusing to cower before him.

  He’s not two feet in front of me when Tad opens the door and steps inside. The huge Fox looks around the room, taking in the scene. His hand drifts to the gun hidden under his jacket. “Is there a problem?”

  “No problem.” Trent takes a step back, holding up his hands, looking at me in a way that makes me nauseous. He then walks to the door. “Chloe, I think you have the wrong impression of me.”

  Doubt it.

  “How about this,” the pixie continues. “I’ll find a way to show you we’re on the same side. It will be a surprise, so I can’t tell you what it will be, but I have a feeling you’ll know it when you see it.”

  Ice travels my spine, but I force myself to relax after he closes the door. Then I catch a whiff of Tad. “Are you drunk?” I demand.

  He shrugs, walks into the bedroom, and flops onto the bed, dead to the world the moment his head hits the pillow.

  Thomas meets my eyes as a woman on the television screams and then slams a door on her friend.

  This is insane.

  “Take the couch, Chloe,” Thomas says
. “Try to get some sleep.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I turn the television off once more and then pull my purse out of one of the dresser drawers, looking for the small roller bottle of lavender my roommate shoved at me before I left Denver. She swore it would help me sleep since I don’t tend to relax away from home, but I’m not sure she knew what the essential oil was up against. Horse tranquilizers might have been more effective.

  As I’m searching for the bottle, a folded slip of paper falls out. Almost on instinct, I glance at the guys to see if anyone noticed. Thomas and Brett are both on their phones, looking bored.

  Casually, I open the paper. It’s a phone number, along with Eric’s name. The knight must have slipped it in sometime during the evening, knowing I was going to turn him down.

  That almost makes me feel bad.

  I fold the paper, clutching it in my palm, and look at the trash can. Making a hasty decision, I clench my fist and hide it at the bottom of my purse.

  Just in case.

  3

  I sit in the official convention center surveillance room, watching the massive expo on dozens of screens. Along with my orders from the elders, I have an actual job to do for the Royal Guild.

  My phone rings, and I idly answer when I see it’s Thomas.

  “We can’t find Madeline,” he says.

  “She left with Gray a couple hours ago,” I tell him.

  “Where did they go?”

  Home for all I know, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking. I spoke with the elders this morning, and they’re growing impatient. They want Madeline brought in as soon as possible.

  “I’m not sure,” I tell him. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I’m trying to keep an eye on things up here. I’ll let you know if I see her.”

  He swears into the phone and then hangs up. He’s been more on edge than usual these last few days, a little reckless—a bit scary to be honest. Some of the Entitled members are…intense. Many are foolhardy. Even more push boundaries of what’s acceptable, or are downright sinister.

  My parents believe it’s because we’re a people without proper leadership.

  I’m just worried everything is going to crumble before it can be rebuilt.

  Whatever happens, I hope it happens soon because I’m quickly losing faith. Lately, it seems that both sides—the Entitled and the Royal Guild—are corrupt. I don’t know who to trust anymore.

  My eyes flit to Eric, and a tired smile tugs at my lips. He’s on stage again, modeling pajama pants. Women flock around the stage like groupies. The poor knight is dedicated to his job.

  With a sigh, I look away, watching the rest of the screens.

  My phone rings again, and this time it’s Peter Cobalt—one of the elders.

  “Chloe,” he says when I answer, sounding tired and impatient. “What’s going on?”

  He’s twenty-eight, a Dragon, and Madeline’s first cousin. She’s never met the man—doesn’t even know he exists. I’d call him a friend, but that might be a stretch.

  “Thomas says you’ve lost Madeline.”

  “I didn’t lose her,” I snap, rolling my eyes at the dramatics. “She left the suite with Gray this morning, and they haven’t come back yet.”

  “Aren’t you watching the convention?” he demands. “Shouldn’t she be there?”

  “If anyone scared her away, it was Tad,” I say. “If she spooked and ran, please blame him.”

  “I’m going to blame you because you’re in charge.”

  I want to snarl at him that I’m done, and he can bloody well be in charge, but I hold my tongue.

  “Thomas says she’s got a knight with her at all times,” he goes on. “They’re making it difficult to catch her alone.”

  “She does,” I confirm. “They’re scared of something, but I don’t know what. It was like this even before Tad stirred up trouble. But we’re watching, Peter. If they leave her alone, we’ll know.”

  “You have fifteen minutes to find her,” he informs me. “Or I’m putting Thomas in charge. Chloe, I’m not messing around. We want her today.”

  “Today?”

  “Today,” he says, and then he ends the call.

  I stand abruptly and shove my chair into the desk. A few of the humans in the booth look startled, but a helpful Wolf from one of the Vegas teams has already persuaded them to ignore me and pretty much everything I say and do.

  I stalk down the stairs, muttering to myself. I end up in Menswear, seeking out the only man who might tell me where Madeline went—if he’s not too angry because of the way I treated him last night.

  Eric is still on stage when I show up, but he spots me immediately. He purposely looks away, embarrassed by his current undercover assignment. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to see me.

  My disappointment is sharp, but I brush it away.

  When the knight is done posing for his ardent admirers, I make my way behind the stage.

  “You’re not allowed back here,” a leggy blond with a headset tells me when I push aside the fabric boundary.

  “She’s with me,” Eric says. He sits on a table. The knight is so tall, he towers over it. Oh, and he’s still shirtless.

  I frown at his glistening abs. “Is that oil?”

  He grunts.

  “Do you feel like a turkey ready for the oven?”

  That earns me a small, wry smile, and he finally meets my eyes. “I feel like an idiot.”

  I almost tell him he doesn’t look like an idiot, but I hold my tongue so he won’t think I’m flirting with him.

  Because I must give some sort of answer, I poke his arm. “Are you fishing for compliments? You’d have to be dense to see all those women out there and not know you look good.”

  Good. A compliment veiled in an insult. Or did I sound jealous? Crap, I suck at this.

  Eric peers down at me, and my cheeks heat. I lower my eyes, and they land on his stomach. Good gracious, his abs are…bumpy. And shiny.

  A discarded T-shirt lies on a chair, and I shove it at him, hoping it’s his.

  He barks out a laugh and then pulls the tee over his head. I watch as he slowly lowers the shirt, my lips parted, half-stupefied by the man in front of me. He looks like a gladiator, complete with a few wicked scars. I want to trace them with my finger, ask him where he got them. Thankfully, they’re soon covered by cotton.

  “I’m assuming there’s a purpose for this visit,” he says, and then he adds, “Since you made it very clear last night that you have no interest in being friendly.”

  I wince and clear my throat. “I need to talk to Gray. Do you know where he is?”

  “He and Madeline went out this morning. They should be back soon. Do you want his number?”

  “No.”

  “Eric,” Sienna says as she comes around the corner. The assistant gives me a wave when she sees me. “Hi, Chloe.”

  The dark-haired woman looks like a model herself, but unlike most of the Aparians working the event, she doesn’t treat me like a dog. Or, you know, a Squirrel.

  To Eric, she says, “When you’re finished, you need to mingle.”

  She smiles at him in a way that says she’s interested in the knight, making me feel like a fool. Maybe I’ve misread Eric. After all, why would he be interested in me when he could have a woman like that? It’s possible he’s just friendly to everyone.

  Which sucks, but it’s for the best anyway.

  The knight nods, looking like Sienna just told him he must take a long walk to the gallows. I would feel bad for him, but I have my own problems.

  Sienna walks away, and Eric turns back to me. After a moment, he frowns. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say immediately, shoving the melancholy thoughts away. Then I scramble for a save. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

  The image of Eric stretched out on the couch in his suite pops into my head, making me feel like a creepy stalker.

  “You should try lavender,” he says. “You know—that oil stuff.”
<
br />   I blink at him. “I have some.”

  “Gray swears by it.”

  I wrinkle my nose, trying not to laugh. I can see Jonathan, who comes off as a little fussy, using lavender, but their leader doesn’t seem the type. “Gray does? The Wolf? Mr. Alpha?”

  Eric’s expression dims. “A woman who used to be on the team foisted it on them often.”

  Ah…yes. That makes more sense.

  “The woman who died?” I ask softly.

  He nods.

  Curiosity gets the best of me. “Did you know her?”

  “Not well. I was two classes behind them all in the academy.”

  “You’re the baby,” I say, deciding it’s best to leave the subject behind.

  I tell myself I’m lingering to learn more about the team’s dynamic—for research purposes only. It’s not because being with Eric is like basking in summer sunshine, and lately, my world has gotten a little dark.

  “Nah.” He grins, and just like that, he warms up to me again. Does he not remember I just stomped on his pride? Does his ego heal that quickly? “Madeline’s the baby.”

  The knight says her name with so much affection, I pause. “How is it? Having her on your team?”

  “We love our Sparrow,” he says, fibbing about her faction. Then he meets my eyes and raises a brow. “She’s like a sister to me.”

  Noted.

  Eric’s phone rings. “It’s Sean Luka,” he says to me as he answers. He listens and then breathes out a curse. Two seconds later, he ends the call.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, terrified Thomas and Brett did something foolish.

  “Another Peacock was attacked.”

  It’s my turn to swear. I should have been up in surveillance—I should have been watching.

  “Who?”

  He looks a little green, almost like he doesn’t want to tell me.

  “Who?” I demand again.

  “Sara Clarkson.”

  Why does that name sound fami—oh crap.

  She’s Eric’s friend—the tall, willowy model who up and kissed the knight the first day we were here.