Reluctant King (Reluctant Royals Book 1)

by Montana Ash

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Brax’s sigh in response to Sabre’s question was loud and long, causing Styx to stand up and pad over from where he had been chewing on a huge bone in the shade, “I surprised him is all. That’s the first time I have called myself the King.”

  Sabre reeled back, “Say what now? You’ve been in charge for over a year.”

  “Yeah, well. I don’t want to be. It was never supposed to be me,” he said, the feelings of resentment and inadequacy that were always close to the surface began to quickly rise once more.

  “Boo hoo, poor little princeling,” Sabre mocked. She then knelt on the ground and began to stroke Styx’s muzzle again – the most sensitive place on the hell hound’s body. “Poor, poor daddy, isn’t that right? Forced into a duty he wasn’t born for and doesn’t want.” Sabre raised surprisingly serious eyes to his and dropped the mocking tone. “I might have an idea how that feels.”

  Brax stilled, mouth opening a little as he realised he and the fallen angel had more in common than he thought was possible. In fact, Sabre might just be the one person in all of Purgatory who could understand his feelings. Considering her for a moment – and wondering if he was really going to have a D & M with a cold-blooded killer – he finally shrugged. Why the hell not?

  Sitting down and folding his legs underneath him, he simply stared at Sabre until she slowly turned her head, the warm plum of her eyes shining brightly in the early morning sun and reminding him once again of his favourite fruit. Forbidden fruit, he reminded himself.

  “Are we having a picnic?” Sabre asked, archly.

  He shrugged, “Just thought we could chat some more.”

  “Chat?” Sabre looked positively horrified by the notion. “I don’t chat.”

  “You do today,” he responded cheerfully, wilfully ignoring her vicious scowl.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just go and mutilate someone …”

  Brax casually reached up and hooked a finger through her belt loops, dragging her back down again. “Sit. Mutilation can wait.” Sabre scowled but didn’t try to shoot him and he took it as a win. “What kind of king do you think I am? Do you think I’m a shitty one?” he asked in a rush, obviously surprising the hell out of the assassin.

  “You want honesty? Or do you want me to stroke your royal arse like everyone else does?” Sabre finally said, raising a dark brow in challenge.

  Arse! Stroke the arse! Brax promptly yelled within his own head. Keeping his face appropriately blank however, he responded blandly, “Let’s go with honesty.”

  “Yes, you are a bit of a shitty king at the moment,” Sabre stated.

  “Wow. Brutal. I don’t think I want this much honesty,” he made to rise only to be yanked back down by Sabre.

  “Don’t be a baby,” she chided. “Do you want to know why?”

  Brax shook his head, “No. definitely not. I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea,” he grumbled, more to himself than to Sabre.

  “Too bad. You asked for it,” Sabre was unsympathetic.

  “Fine. Hit me with it. It’s not like I have a fragile ego or anything.” Sabre seemed to think that was amusing if her twitching lips were anything to go by.

  “Riiight,” she drew the word out. “All men have fragile egos. But that’s beside the point,” she rushed on, allowing him nothing more than a glower. “You are currently a shitty king because your thirst for vengeance overrides your need for justice. Your hate, your grief, your pain – they are your priority. Not your people. A good king always puts his people first. There is no room for selfish endeavours.”

  “I …” Brax couldn’t form words if his life depended on it. Sabre had just successfully stripped him bare to his bones. Leaving him feeling raw and exposed … more than a little ashamed. With a few short sentences, Sabre had achieved more than what anyone else had in a whole year.

  “Now, if you had asked me what type of man I think you are … I would have said …” Sabre paused, her eyes running over his face and a thoughtful expression softening her features, giving them a friendly and decidedly feminine cast. “I would have said a good one. You know why?”

  Brax swallowed, ducking his head, beyond grateful and humbled that the woman in front of him believed he was a good man. Why that was so, he had no idea. Brax remained silent, both wanting and dreading the answer to her question. Taking pity on him and not calling him out on his silence, Sabre continued on;

  “Because only a good man would bother to ask the question in the first place.”

  Brax snapped his head back up at her simple statement, embarrassed to feel a blush heating his cheeks. The woman certainly had a way with words. And a power, he added. Sabre was giving off a distinctly righteous vibe, common with all angels, but one Brax hadn’t thought to associate with her before then. And her words rang with a subtle hint of power, making the space around them feel intimate. Or perhaps that was just the atmosphere the two of them created together … Brax quickly stamped out the whimsical thoughts, clearing his throat; “I’m not sure if I should thank you or not,” he admitted.

  Sabre snorted, stretching her legs out in front of her and nudging a snoozing Styx with her toe. “Don’t thank me, Brax. You can thank me when I hand over your family’s killer.”

  “You still think I should do that? Hire you?” Brax asked, shocked.

  Sabre narrowed her eyes, giving him a look that said he was daft. “You already hired me,” she pointed out. “And why wouldn’t I want you to do that?”

  “Because you just said my need for vengeance made me a crap king!” Brax practically shouted.

  “And so it does,” Sabre acknowledged. “But it doesn’t make you wrong. You’re barking up the wrong tree if you think I’m going to tell you not to kill someone. Kill someone. Kill lots of someones! Killing is very cathartic.”

  Brax laughed over her exuberance, feeling his tense muscles relax, “Of course you think that way.”

  Sabre looked confused, cocking her head, “Is there another way to think?”

  Brax snorted, “Yeah. Only like, a lot of other ways.”

  “Huh.”

  Brax shook his head, his smile staying on his face as he asked, “So … is it my turn to tell you what I think of you?”

  “Absolutely not! I’m not interested in what you think of me. I couldn’t care less,” was Sabre’s immediate response, seemingly horrified.

  Brax eyed her knowingly, “Oh, really? I think you’re rather quick to protest there. I think –” His next words were muffled thanks to the hand Sabre had slapped over his mouth. The palm was predictably calloused as all working hands tended to be, but it was also warm and felt smaller than he had assumed it would be. Sabre came across as larger than life and gave off a superwoman vibe. But her murderous hands were surprisingly … delicate. He moved his mouth a little when she appeared frozen in place, his lips lightly brushing her palm in a soft caress. Sabre shivered, goosebumps rising to the surface of the skin on her arms, and Brax watched the phenomenon, beyond intrigued.

  “Shit! Sorry!” Sabre quickly removed her hand and wiped it on her pants.

  An awkward silence descended and Brax struggled to think of a way to get the ease between them back. He kind of liked it. He cleared his throat, “So you think I should continue on this path? And what about staying King? Draven was correct when he said there are more than a few cousins about who are legally able to take the throne …”

  “You’re thinking of abdicating?!” Sabre sounded genuinely upset.

  “I’ve considered it,” Brax admitted. “I mean, this was never supposed to be me! I was never supposed to be a king. Yes, I was the second born son, but my father was the oldest of his siblings. There were two others in line to the throne just in that generation. Then there was Mikhail. He wasn’t just groomed from birth to be the next king – he was truly made for it. You never had the privilege of meeting him, but trust me, if ever there was a descendant of Cerberus worthy for the Crown
, it was Mikhail.” A look he couldn’t recognise flashed across Sabre’s face at the mention of Mikhail’s name but it was gone before he could process what it was. “Like you said, I’m doing a piss-poor job, so –”

  “Oh, fuck no! You are not going to throw that back in my face in order to justify your desire to shirk your duty. Does the blood of Cerberus run in your veins? Are you or are you not your father’s son? Stop whining and get on with the job!”

  And just like that, all the warm-fuzzies of moments ago evaporated, “How dare you speak to me like that!” he shouted.

  “Oh, I dare. I dare a lot. You think you’re the only one walking a path they weren’t born to? You think you’re the only one who has had to sacrifice to do their job? I’m a fucking angel! An angel! Born of the Heavens and tasked with good deeds and Grace and all that shit. But here I am – the best assassin and mercenary for hire in all of Purgatory. Do you hear me complaining?” Sabre poked him hard in the chest with her pointer finger, “Well, do you?”

  Brax opened and closed his mouth silently a few times like a moron before he finally found his voice, “Actually, yes. It does sound like you’re complaining. Rather vocally, in fact.” Sabre narrowed her eyes dangerously and Brax quickly held up his hands, “Look, I’m sorry, okay? That escalated quickly. I guess I’m still a little touchy.”

  Sabre remained stiff for a few moments before letting out a breath and slumping a little, “What did I say about men and their fragile egos? That’s a rhetorical question, Brax,” she quickly tacked on. “Look … shit happens.”

  “Shit happens?” Brax laughed, but he couldn’t say if it was in amusement or incredulity.

  Sabre raised her chin, looking determined, “That’s right; shit happens. You need to get over it. This may not have been the life I would have chosen, but it’s my life. All mine. The same way yours belongs to you. It’s up to me to make sure I do the best with it as I possibly can. It’s up to me to make sure I don’t waste it. The same applies to you.”

  Brax eyed her askance, “You really think killing people for money is doing the best you can?” Sabre’s animated face went blank in an instant and Brax fought off a shiver from the abrupt change. Sabre really was a killer and he’d do well to remember that.

  “Like I said; we all do the best with what we’ve been given. I’ve been given a whole bunch of fucked up shit. It’s pretty hard to turn shit to rainbows. But every time I shank a bitch, I feel a little closer to that pot of gold, you know?” Sabre said, giving her ear an idle scratch.

  Annnd, I’m back to liking her again. Brax was beginning to get whiplash from his flipflopping emotions. He liked her; he didn’t. He respected her; he feared her. He admired her; he was ashamed of her. The list went on and on and he wondered what side of the coin he would finally settle on. Although, if he threw in his attraction to that smokin’ hot body of hers, he figured the side of like and respect and admiration was going to win.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Angels truly were a magnificent breed, Abraxis mused, watching as Sabre seemed content to wait out his silence and pat his great big stupid dog. He sometimes found it hard to believe that his kind – descendants from the first supernatural creature to crawl out of hell – were blessed with the Grace of the Heavens to watch over them and keep them safe. Cerberus had been the original gatekeeper of the veil between worlds. He had been a demon, a beast, and a man combined as one, and as the supernatural creatures began to evolve parallel with – yet vastly different to humans – Cerberus had decided to create a world just for beings like him. Thus, Purgatory sprang from the depths of Hell, whilst Earth was given life from the Heavens. It was why his lineage was so revered. He was a direct link back to their original creator and why – he assumed – his family was gifted with powerful angels created by the Gods.

  Although, with practically only himself left, and all of his family’s guardians falling with their charges, he couldn’t help but wonder what was happening to all the pure blood angels. He knew Draven wasn’t the last heavenly angel left in all of Purgatory, but it must be close. He was certainly the last healer. Because his magic allowed him to heal almost any wound – even those that should be terminal – it meant he was regarded as one of the most powerful angels. That wasn’t why Brax was proud to have Draven as his own though. No, first and foremost, Draven was his family. Although he must admit, Draven being a healer suited Brax perfectly. Despite his new title, he was a soldier and a General in the army. Having a loyal friend who could heal his brothers in arms was priceless. There were also the times when Brax had been poisoned or became ill. Yes – even a demon descended from the King of Hell Hounds could get the flu. And there was the other handy part of his abilities – the whole empathy and reading minds thing. All in all, despite his slightly uppity demeanour, Draven was pretty kickarse.

  There were other angels created and born that had just as unique skill sets – as well as wing colours. Angels really did have the coolest powers. There were angels that could teleport. Angels that could open portals between the realms. Angels that were psychic and ones that could control the weather. Once upon a time, there were even angels who could bring back the dead. Those angels were created with the highest purpose, possessing wings the colour of rubies and were dubbed resurrection angels. Brax’s great grandfather many times over – the very first King of Purgatory and Cerberus’s first-born son was rumoured to have had a resurrection angel as his guardian. But they had never been seen since.

  Glancing at the spunky, fallen angel beside him, he couldn’t help but be curious about what her wing colour had been when she was born. Unfortunately, he had the feeling such a question would not just be unwelcome, but also lead to possible blood loss. Still, for some inexplicable reason, he was enjoying himself and felt more relaxed than he had in recent memory. “You’re right about one thing,” he confessed.

  Sabre looked at him, “Just one?”

  Brax’s lips twitched, “Yeah. Just one. I am my father’s son. And he would be damn disappointed in me if he could see me now. He was a remarkable man and a great king.”

  Sabre was silent for a moment, before looking at him from the corner of her eye, “I met him once,” she then divulged.

  That had him sitting up straighter, “What? Who? My father?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?” Brax was beyond shocked.

  “I was in the palace on an errand …” Sabre began.

  “An errand. Yeah, right. You were there to assassinate someone,” Brax interjected.

  Sabre simply shrugged, not rising to the bait. “Whatever. Maliq was a nice guy,” she offered.

  “He was,” Brax agreed quietly. “Wait … you spoke with him?”

  Sabre nodded her head just once, still not looking at him fully, “I did. Briefly.”

  “Why didn’t he arrest you? He had to have known who you are. Everyone knows about the angel assassin – even if it is mostly fairy tales,” Brax allowed.

  “Your father was fair and shrewder than he was given credit for. Maybe he saw something in me that nobody else could,” Sabre said, voice soft.

  “He gave you a chance.” Brax made it a statement rather than a question, knowing it to be true. It was just like his father – trying to save everyone. Trying to help the helpless.

  “He did,” Sabre confirmed. “And I ran with it.”

  “Right,” Brax huffed. “Ran with it all the way back to your assassin den.” When Sabre didn’t say anything, he decided to forge ahead and gather some more intel that wasn’t fairy tale. “Did you meet your two partners through your assassinating?”

  Sabre scrunched her nose up in surprised confusion, a cute look on her, before cocking her head to the side. “Partners? Who – oh, you mean Jinx and Gage. They are not my partners. I work alone. Always. Gage helps me out with somewhere to beat out my frustrations and I help Jinx out with a little self-defence. That’s it.”

  Brax really thought she was protesting too much, but he let it sli
de. “What is the guy, anyway? I know the girl is a weretiger …”

  “If you’re so smart, you can figure Gage out yourself. And yes, Jinx is a weretiger – white Bengal shifter to be exact. They are both also none of your business,” Sabre pointed out, looking like a momma bear protecting her cubs.

  “I beg to differ. You work for me now. Anyone associated with you is a potential risk to me and mine.” He didn’t know why he continued to push her. But for some reason, he wanted as much information about Sabre as he could get.

  Sabre eyed him in silence a moment, before asking, “Why so much interest in my sidekicks?”

  “The interest isn’t so much in your sidekicks as it is in you,” Brax admitted, startling himself with his honesty almost as much as he apparently startled Sabre. Her mouth parted in a small ‘o’ and her eyes widened, even as she appeared to hold her breath. Then something truly delightful occurred. Sabre blushed. Her creamy skin turned to peach across her high cheekbones before deepening even further into rose. The effect was one of innocent beauty and Brax found himself transfixed, unable to look away.

  “You’re staring,” Sabre accused, ducking her head. “Stop it.”

  “I can’t seem to help myself,” Brax admitted.

  “Why? You know what? Don’t answer that. You want to know about Jinx? I’ll tell you,” she quickly said.

  Brax smirked, apparently she was willing to throw her pal under the bus in order to get the focus off her – and her rosy cheeks. Brax thought it was endearing as hell.

  “I found Jinx five years ago in hell – not literal Hell – but a close second. She was a collared slave to a sex demon who used to share her around with his buddies. I slaughtered them and decided to keep her,” Sabre ended her blunt explanation with a shrug.

  “What?! Five years ago? But she would have been a child! Hell, she’s still a child now!” Brax exclaimed, furious.

  “I know,” Sabre’s voice turned flat and cold. “Hence, the slaughtering.”