TheKingsLady Read online

  He turned his bottle of beer in one hand and looked down at the small woman who plastered herself to his chest. Eyes the color of storm clouds gazed up at him with a sexual promise. Long dark hair cascaded over her slim shoulders and down her trim waist. His free hand caressed the curve of her hip through her tight skirt and couldn’t help but notice her full breasts pulling at the form-fitting silk shirt.

  His cock stiffened against the zipper of his slacks. “It depends on what you have in mind,” he spoke close to her ear, her perfume—something dark and exotic—teased his senses.

  He eyes closed as the images of tangled sheets and entwined bodies began to sharpen in his mind for the brief moment it hung tantalizing him with promises before it hazed and shaped into a face he knew better than his own. An ice blue gaze framed with ebony hair deflated his interest quicker than a cold shower.

  Damn, even his body betrayed him.

  Since they decided to see where things led, Darius did his damndest to avoid his best friend. Not such an easy task when they lived in the same house. Okay, mansion, but they still lived in the same wing where running into each other was a given. To say the tension between them thickened to the consistency of pea soup was not an overstatement. After two days of near collisions— Darius fled to the only place he knew would give him any respite he so desperately craved.

  Or so he thought.

  And here he stood with a beautiful woman wrapped around him like saran wrap and all he could think about was Simon. As if summoned by his thoughts the object of his torture moved through the crowded room and his icy gaze zeroed in on him like a beacon in the mass of humanity. With a determined stride, he plowed his way toward Darius. His gaze stopped on the woman still clinging to him like a second skin and gave her a curious look.

  Simon leaned negligently against the bar and smiled, his eyes never straying from the woman. “I thought you’d be here.”

  “Yeah, where else would I be.” He took a long pull of his beer and suddenly wished the woman plastered to him would leave.

  And that just proved how fucked up, he really was.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lady friend here?”

  “Lady friend meet Simon.”

  “Smooth.” He laughed, shaking his head before turning that bright white smile on the woman with a calculated gleam in his gaze. “Darius here lacks a few social graces, I’m afraid. Have we met before?”

  “Not in this life.” The woman laughed softly, giving him the once over before she moved closer to stand between the two of them. “The way you both look, I can forgive the lackluster introduction. I’ll even let you both make it up to me,” she added with a sultry, half lidded look.

  “Any other time, babe and I’d take you up on that. Sadly right now we are officially on the clock.”

  Darius’s eyes narrowed, wondering what new disaster was unfolding. The idea loosened muscles he didn’t even know were tense. “Then we better get going. Perhaps a rain check?”

  “Anytime, you know where to find me, and you must bring your friend along.” She gave them both a slow, seductive onceover before taking a step back from them. Her eyes flashed gold in the darkened room. “The name is Rhea. I will be around if you need me.” Her cryptic words rang through their heads as she turned, blending in with the press of humanity swarming like locusts through the nightclub.

  Simon shot Darius a curious look, but Darius just shook his head, as confused as he. With a shrug, Darius put the mysterious Rhea out of his mind and followed his friend as he cut a path through the crowd. They hit the door and their long strides took them past the line of club goers, through the deserted alley to the parking lot.

  Only Darius didn’t get to the parking lot as he found his back pressed firmly to a wall and Simon’s furious gaze shooting shards of ice at him.

  “Hide from me all you like, but you can’t hide from yourself.”

  Anger flared through his veins, scalding in its intensity. Though to be honest his anger wasn’t directed at Simon but at himself. When had he become such a coward?

  A dark voice in the back of his mind chimed in on a gleeful note, when you tried to kill yourself after you had your vision.

  Only days ago, yet it seemed like years since he used his talent to aid Arthur when Colin and Juliet were captured by Mordred. In his vision, he clearly saw his own death, taking a bolt of deadly magic meant for Arthur.

  Or so he thought.

  Funny thing about visions is they could change on a dime. Time being mutable and the actions and reactions of people all hinged on free will. In short, not even his gift could have foreseen the old woman throwing herself in front of Arthur and taking the damage instead of him.

  Darius truly believed there would be no other way to save Arthur. Had Simon not interfered, pulling him out of his vision prematurely, he may have seen the interception, or perhaps not.

  In the dark recesses of his soul he knew there was a large part of him that wished for death. Tired of the fight and the countless lives he remembered. No one should be forced to remember all their past mistakes.

  Regrets of what he should have done were his constant tormentors. He mentally shook free of his depressing thoughts and focused on the icy stare challenging him. “Don’t push me,” he warned in a low growl, his control teetering on the razor’s edge he balanced on.

  A dark brow rose in speculation as Simon raked him with a gauging appraisal. “If not me, who would?”

  He hissed in a breath. His pulse quickened as bitterness rose like bile in his throat, threatening to choke him. “Now is not the time for this as you damn well know. Back. The. Fuck. Off,” he bit the words off.

  With a low curse from Simon, his dark head bent and lips met in a punishing kiss. And oh, yeah, he felt his body respond, totally on board with what his buddy got working on. His brain misfired, scrambled by the heady scent of cloves and fresh rain filling his lungs.

  Simon nipped at his lips with unrelenting demand and fucking hell his mouth taunted him to the point he forgot why he resisted this. He opened for the thrust of Simon’s tongue exploring, tasting and urging.

  And as Simon’s taste exploded in his mouth, he hummed, because gods damn he tasted as good as he smelled. He met the aggression of the kiss with a fiery passion of his own. His hands rose, fingers digging deep within soft strands of hair to hold him right where he wanted him as he deepened the kiss, allowing his walls to crumple around him. His hips ground against the hard budge of Simon’s erection, the friction sending a bolt of pleasure down his spine to his throbbing cock.

  It was madness, this need, which shot through his system, short circuiting every thought but one, to get this male naked and taste what he offered. He let his hands release Simon’s hair to trail down the strong column of his throat, loving the hard muscle of broad shoulders, and down the firm chest to a trim waist.

  Simon groaned into his mouth and man, what a fucking turn on that was.

  His fingers brushed over the button of his jeans for a brief moment and got a hiss from Simon, following a half choked curse. Unable to help it. He let his hand go lower, cupping his erection firmly with one hand while the other moved around and down to his taut ass.

  Surprisingly, it was Simon who broke away. His chest heaved with his harsh breaths as his gaze devoured him with his hunger. “Fuck. Me,” he cursed softly.

  And what do you know, Darius found he was on board with that. Couldn’t wait to have him in all possible ways. What he wanted for the first time was clear as a cut and polished diamond.

  “If Arthur didn’t say it was important I would let this continue in one of the rooms in Fore Play.”

  “Yeah? I just may hold you to that and real soon. I’m tired of fighting this, tired of having it fuck with my mind.”

  Understanding filled Simon’s haunted gaze. “Me, too, partner, me, too.”

  * * * *

  “They have Miss McAllister locked up tight as a drum at the Malibu complex,” Marco
rumbled in a voice reminiscent of boulders grinding together.

  Vance looked up from his desk at the hulking figure of his faithful henchmen and bodyguard. At six feet two and packed with muscle the man made a formidable sight.

  That he was completely human and as such was subject to the flaws and limitation’s most fragile mortals were vulnerable to. An added bonus to Vance’s way of thinking. He would use him up, then discard him for another. Like he always did, but until then, Marco would continue to live the good life, kept in the best money could buy.

  “Put men watching the grounds around the compound. I want to know the minute she steps a toe off the property.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Oh, and Marco, make sure this time, there will be no mistakes. No escape for her do you understand?”

  “Sure thing, I’m on it,” he promised as he left Vance to his dark musings.

  So far, Arthur had luck on his side, but that would soon change. The battle so far may have gone to him, but the war? Ah, yes. The war would be his, and all of Arthur’s efforts would be for nothing. His gaze drifted to the urn sitting on the bookcase of his study, a slow smile formed as he thought about what lay inside the unadorned piece of brass.

  Drake may have unbound his powers, breaking the spell Nimue bound him to as Merlin, and with the irritating sorceress Merci aiding him, they were able to claim Excalibur. And true Sir Kay, now known as Colin Hennessy, successfully thwarted his plans for Juliet Boyd. A very rare Druid, with the power to bend anyone to her will. Having her under his power would have made it easier for him to build his army against Arthur and then the eventual takeover of the country.

  Now, there was Gwen McAllister, Arthur’s unfaithful wife, and, as he found out in the most unpleasant of ways, a witch of quite considerable power. That was the one thing he needed to complete his spell and bring Morgan back from the ashes which occupied the urn. Carlotta proved very cunning in hiding the girl. Such a waste she sacrificed herself so recklessly when she placed herself in front of Arthur. He could have used her as a pawn to bring the girl to heel.

  No matter, he knew Gwen would have to leave Arthur’s protection sometime. And when that happened, he would be there. Still, one did need some alternate plan in case things went to hell. His smile grew wider as he reached for his cell phone and punched in a number on speed dial. It rang only once when a raspy voice answered.

  “Do you still have tabs on our girl?”

  “Yes, you want me to pick her up?” the voice on the other end asked.

  “Not quite yet, but be ready to grab her at a moment’s notice. I will call this number if I need her so keep your phone close at all times.”

  He ended the call without hearing what the man replied, not that it mattered. He leaned back in his chair and let his gaze rest on the urn.

  “Soon, Mother, very soon,” he promised. Arthur would pay.

  Chapter Four

  Gwen stared at the hazy sky blue reminding her of the sun burning off a thick layer of fog. No, she frowned at the color and blinked several times, recognition seeping through her sluggish brain at the speed of a turtle.

  A ceiling, she decided. A very unfamiliar ceiling.

  Where in the hell was she and how did she get here, wherever here was?

  A white cloud moved into her range of vision, and two almond-shaped eyes stared down at her. She blinked several times, but Salt never wavered so she concluded he was indeed real and very much with her. Relief tightened something in her chest at the thought he had not deserted her as she feared he might.

  Geeze, Wen, do you think I’m that flaky? I should be very hurt by that, but since I’m such an understanding and patient familiar I will let it pass.

  Thanks, I think, Gwen sent back to Salt, the twinge of sarcasm coloring her words. So, you mind telling me what happened?

  Salt snorted, actually snorted at her! After you tried to off our rescuers—

  I didn’t try to off anyone, Gwen interrupted. “I was just going to…move them a few hundred miles away,” she finished out loud.

  Well, after you tried to remove our rescuers—which backfired very spectacularly, by the way—your spell ricocheted back at you. Compliments of Merci Tremaine. Oh, did you know she is a direct descendant of Morgan le Fey? She is a very powerful—

  “Obviously,” Gwen retorted drily.

  Do you want to know what happened or not, Salt snapped irritable by the interruptions.

  “Fine I’ll keep my thoughts to myself until you’re finished. All right?”

  All right.

  “Fine.”

  Fine.

  “Good.”

  Good.

  “Whatever,” Gwen’s voice rose a notch as she scowled at the feline.

  Salt actually looked frustrated, as much as any cat could. Anyway as I was saying, after Merci threw your spell back at you, and you met the wall up close and personal. You passed out. The one named Arthur carried you up the street and put you in their vehicle. Of course, Juliet remembered me and carried me with her. Such a wonderful, thoughtful woman, you would really like her if you stopped being so stubborn and let yourself have a few friends. It’s not healthy to be cut off from people.

  Gwen rolled her eyes. It was the same tired rant Salt had been hounding her with for years. “Look, I just want to be left alone. Is it too much to ask?”

  “Um…should I come back at a better time?”

  With a startled gasp, she bolted up to a sitting position. The slight notes of a drawl brought images of the deep south and mint juleps.

  Georgia maybe?

  She couldn’t exactly place the state, but man, oh, man his low masculine voice did a number on her body. Her nipples tightened. A shiver of expectation shot down her spine all the way to her core. The man could recite the alphabet to her all day and she’d never get tired of it.

  Arthur filled the room, his presence drawing her to him on a primal level she never experienced before. The pull of ancient attraction between a man and woman left her lightheaded and needy.

  Her gaze locked onto him standing at her door, his body loose, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his wide chest. The intensity in his dark stare belied his outward calm.

  Dear Hecate, the man was beautiful! His dark-green tee shirt molded to hard slabs of muscle tucked into a pair of low cut jeans…man, she bet he was something to look at naked. The thought stuck in her brain doing a loop as she fought the urge to go to him and tear the clothes off his body so she could look her fill. Her gaze traveled across the length of him slowly, taking in the worn jeans showcasing muscular, long legs. Oh yeah, she could really get behind X-rated thoughts with this guy.

  “Like what you see?”

  His question brought her back to the here and now like a splash of ice-cold water, and her face heated. Gods, just what she needed, blushing like a schoolgirl. Her eyes snapped up to his strong, chiseled face. So very male, she almost purred her appreciation. A golden brow rose high on his forehead. His dark eyes lightened to warm amber as desire flared.

  Oh dear Hecate, she wanted to disappear at that moment. She wished for the floor to open up and swallow her whole and of course that was so not happening.

  Gwen needed to remember he kidnapped her, good intentions or not, and couldn’t condone his actions. Freedom of choice was not just words to her. So, yep, not on board with any of it. With that thought firmly in mind, she stiffened her spine and squared her shoulders.

  “What do you want?”

  He chuckled, a deep pleasing rumble and another shiver rolled over her. Damn the man, he should be labeled lethal handle with care.

  “Direct aren’t you?”

  “I don’t have the patience for games. I like the direct route. It saves on any misconceptions.”

  He gave her a slight nod, his lips curving in that small devastating smile of his, though it didn’t reach the hard glitter of his eyes. Was he mad at her? What could she have done to earn his disli
ke, she wondered?

  “All right then, I’ll speak plainly. You are here under my protection and will be until such time as Vance loses interest. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you like it, I sure the hell don’t. But,” he raised a hand in the air, cutting off her words of protest. “You will do exactly as I say, when I say it. Are we perfectly clear? Oh, and so there is no confusion on this subject, I’ll accept yes as an answer. You can add sir or Mr. Penner, either one is acceptable.”

  Her teeth ground together so hard she feared she would crack a molar as the insufferable ass told her what to do.

  Looking very smug and pleased, she opened her mouth and let him have it with both barrels. “Have a care how you talk to me. The last time I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see a dog collar around my neck. As for doing what you say? Yeah, good luck with that, bud, ‘cause, right now, it will be a cold day in hell before you ever hear yes or sir from me. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  Wen. Salt spoke softly in her mind, a gentle warning she refused to heed.

  Stow it, Salt.

  With a low hiss of annoyance, Salt bristled. With haughty displeasure, he sauntered out the door without a backward glance. Oh, yippee, on top of everything else she had a pissed off familiar. Life just kept getting better and better.

  Narrowing her gaze on the arrogant male in front of her, she fought the urge to hit him. Fists clenched tight to her sides, she stood and marched up to stand with her jailor, toe to toe, forced to crane her head way up to look at him. What was it with tall men who so attracted her? He had to be well over six-foot tall.

  Six-foot-three perhaps? The man made her five-feet-six feel petite. And he was solid muscle! She wavered, the anger flowing out of her like a sieve trying to hold water.

  Her mouth went dry as his scent hit her hard. She breathed in deeply. Good gods, he smelled wonderful! Bergamot and the crisp scent of the sea, two of her favorites rolled into a delectable package of muscle. Sinew and bone stretched over smooth golden skin. An unwanted vision of her mouth on all that hard, firm flesh made her stomach flutter as if she swallowed a handful of butterflies. Worse, she felt moisture pool between her thighs just at the thought.