A Royal Craving (31 page)

“What?” Parry frowned.

Prosper looked at Spencer, who had his back to them, curled into a ball. He looked uncomfortable, in pain, and he wanted to help. “There is a cross on his palm. The prophetess gave it to him, when he was fourteen. He told me once that, since it appeared, his life took the right road, leading him to happiness,” he explained what had instantly come to mind, the moment Parry spoke the word 'fate'.

“Then let us pray it continues to work its magic,” Parry said, with a tone that said he might pray, for the first time since they were children.

“What can I do?” Davian wondered.

“Helping Braddock with the equipment will be enough,” Parry reassured. “The child will not want to leave and Spencer's body may resist the operation. His vampire instinct is to heal fast and may prevent us from succeeding,” he reminded them, since that might be their one true challenge.

Prosper thought about that, contemplating their options. “What if…” he pondered, coming upon an intriguing thought. When he caught Parry's hopeful look, as though desperate that he had found another way to do this, he risked speaking. “What if I were to drug him?” he asked, curious if that would improve the situation.

“Drug him? What drug can affect a vampire?” Davian asked, looking confused. But Parry did not. He seemed afraid, with doubt in his eyes, that begged him not to say the words.

“Just one…” he hinted.

“No. You cannot possibly think...”

“It may be the only way.”

“It may kill him!” Parry shouted, as though he did not understand the dangers.

“So might our child, if what you have said is true. If I face the choice of saving Spencer or our son, then I will choose my life mate. He knows that,” Prosper warned his brother that he and Spencer had already agreed upon a plan, if it came to the worst.

If faced with a choice between life for one and death for the other, he would save Spencer. It would not be what his life mate wanted, but Spencer understood Prosper's need to keep him alive as long as possible. As life mates, they could not survive without each other, unless they risked reverting back to feeding from humans. Which did no guarantee survival.

“As you said, we can always try again. But I can never replace him,” Prosper reminded him. There was only one Spencer and he would not to lose him; no matter what he must do.

Prosper took advantage of Spencer's turned back and rose to his feet. He caught Winston in his arms and raced from the room, to give the orders to the house.

They would do this Parry's way and, if it came to it, he would do what needed done.

He deposited the dog in the kitchen, where Eamon kept a penned off corner of the room for him. Winston knew what it meant to be put in there, so he trusted the dog to behave.

Prosper gave the cook his orders then ventured to the library, where he told Tabitha what would happen and what she must do.

With those two actions complete and Eamon in charge of choosing a cutting knife and sterilising it, Prosper headed into the garden.

Yalena had started growing herbs for medicinal purposed. While she was at the hospital, he sped into her garden and stole a dozen seeds from the plant. Between four to eight were deadly to humans, but it would take twelve to down a vampire for a few hours.

The symptoms would be unpleasant: nausea, dizziness and a burning sensation that extended into the mouth, down the throat and into the intestines. But it was his last hope of keeping Spencer's body so consumed with fighting off the seeds that it would not hamper their attempts to remove his son, safely.

The seeds were from the deadly castor oil plant and would emit enough ricin into his companion's system to confuse his healing instincts. At least, Prosper hoped it would do that.

The seeds had been used as a torture technique for vampires for centuries, so they could not kill his life mate, only injure him for a short while. It would take fifty crushed seeds to kill a newly turned vampire and twice as many for one as old as Braddock. As they did not know what would happen to Spencer, with his mixed DNA and all he had been through, he erred on the side of caution with only twelve.

It was his last hope.

With the seeds pocketed, Prosper sped to the bedroom, where he found Eamon laying out a table of supplies.

“Prosper,” Spencer panted out his name, in pain.

He rushed to his life mate's side and grasped his outstretched hand, hating the way Spencer hunched over his extended stomach, as though ready to scream.

“I am here, little one. Hold onto me,” he advised, as he climbed over his shaking body, until Prosper lay behind him. Then he turned his companion onto his back.

“No, I cannot,” he whined, in protest.

“You must, Spencer. For the baby,” he asked, as tears came to his eyes. He could not bear to see him in pain, but his lover soldiered through and lay back, gazing up as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Prosper offered a smile, as he wiped his companion's tears away. With his own shaking hand, he pointed to his eye then crossed his wrists over his heart and finally pointed to his life mate. He could not find words or proper signs and this made as much sense as any other option.

Spencer smiled weakly and nodded, gripping his hand tighter as he let out a cry through gritted teeth. “If someone had told me it would hurt this much, I would never have asked the prophetess for it,” he said, trying to sound strong and teasing.

But Prosper knew the truth as well as he knew the love in his heart, for his brave boy. “You are my life, Spencer, but you are lying. We both know you would endure any pain imaginable to bring this boy into the world,” Prosper disagreed. He could not hide it; he knew.

“I would.”

“I wish I could bear it for you.”

“I am fine,” he lied, tears following his words.

Prosper brushed each tear away as it appeared, never letting go of his hand. “You are a terrible liar,” he reminded him. It was one of the quirks he loved most about Spencer; he could not bear to lie to someone he cared about, because he knew how lies hurt. He could never do that to another person.

“We are going to start cutting,” Parry warned.

“Do not tell me. Just do it,” Spencer urged, as he turned his head away.

Prosper held his lover's gaze. “I have something for you, if it is painful,” he told him.

“What is it?”

“Ricin,” he confessed, pulling a few seeds from his pocket.

Spencer's eyes held a new hint of fear, but when he looked up and met Prosper's gaze, he nodded. “Give them to me now,” he asked. He swallowed and grabbed Parry's hand, before the blade could meet his skin. He did not have to look to grab the fingers that were positioning the blade, without ever putting his own hand at risk of a cut. “Please. I am scared and it hurts. I want it to be over, then we can hold our little boy,” he confessed, letting his barriers down.

Prosper looked up at his brother, who willingly waited for his companion to release him. “Can you crush them?” he asked.

“Of course.” His twin nodded and retracted his touch, the second Spencer released him.

Prosper handed the seeds to his brother, who spent barely two seconds utilising his speed to crush them with a mortar and pestle. He added a touch of water and handed it to Spencer.

Hesitant at first, he opened his mouth and tipped the entire contents inside. He made a face of revulsion and handed the utensil to Parry, before turning away. For a second, Spencer lay his forehead against Prosper's leg, while all he could do was rub his back.

Finally, he heard a gasp and coughing, as Spencer lay back. “It is done. You better begin, before it wears off,” he advised, managing to get the words out with a conviction that astounded him.

“I promise, when this is over, it will seem a bad dream,” Prosper swore to it.

The ricin would take care of the memories, because his body would be consumed with working the poison from his system and would not allow the capability to recall memories.

Spencer smiled weakly, but did not look convinced.

“The skin is tough,” Parry swore, as he cut at the thick layer of skin covering the baby.

Preoccupied with Spencer's reaction to the ricin, as his mouth foamed and he gazed with vacant, glazed eyes, Prosper wiped his mouth clear and frowned at the spot of blood that appeared on the cloth. When he looked again, he swore silently, for the fact that Spencer's vampire teeth had pierced his lip.

With one eye on Parry's heavy pressure on Spencer's bare chest and one eye on his lover, Prosper licked the wound shut. He spat into the bowl nearby, in case some ricin residue remained on his companion's lips.

“No!” Parry bit out, drawing his attention. “He is bleeding profusely, Prosper. We need to stop the bleeding, before we continue,” he warned, as Braddock turned a crank handle on a second machine and held a metal prong.

“It will need a moment to charge,” he announced, in frustration.

“Where is the wound?” Prosper asked, sitting on his knees to take a look at the gaping hole they had created in Spencer's abdomen. He wanted to be sick when he realised what he could see and who it belonged to, but he held firm.

“Under this cloth. When I lift it, you will see the wound for a second, then the blood will pour in again,” Parry explained, looking up to meet his gaze as he pressed his hands on a cloth that turned bright red, instantly. “Can you do it in time?” he asked.

“I can try,” he replied, giving a quick glance to Spencer's confused, roaming eyes that floated over the ceiling, before making a choice. He nodded to his twin and watched as Parry withdrew his hands and lifted the cloth from inside Spencer's body.

Prosper quickly located the wound, spat his healing saliva into the right area and waited to see if he had managed to hit the right spot. Unhygienic, if not for his healing properties, he hoped to God it worked. The only other option would be to use the electric charge of Braddock's machine, that would burn the wound to stop the bleeding.

For a long minute, the blood kept pooling as he and Parry watched for a sign of healing. The blood pool rose higher, until Parry used a second cloth to soak it up.

Davian did his best to follow Braddock's shouted commands, as he read the papers that streamed from the first machine. He recounted numbers to his father-in-law, who would nod or frown in response.

Frustrated that he did not understand what was happening and could not help Spencer, Prosper wanted to yell.

“Hah!” Parry exclaimed. “It worked. The bleeding has stopped. Now we can return to finding the child,” he complained, easing aside a membrane separating them from his son.

“What is the problem? He is right there,” Prosper pointed out, confused by the troubled frown his twin gave him.

“Brother, this boy does not have a womb. The baby is not where he is supposed to be. Getting access without removing any of Spencer's organs is not easy. Please stop talking!” he shouted, in command.

Since that was an argument Prosper understood, he shut up. Not even a vampire could survive having an organ removed. Their life would never be the same again, even if they lived through it. Most organs regulated or cleaned the blood they consumed, making it a regenerative, restorative substance.

He had done enough damage to his life mate, by letting him consume the twelve castor oil seeds; he would not hurt him again.

“Davian, I need that utensil you mentioned, with the two prongs,” Parry said, waving his left hand, ready to receive them.

Davian picked up a device Prosper had seen the cook use, to remove hot items from a tray or oven.

Knowing he would quickly get in the way if he kept hovering over his twin, Prosper returned his focus to Spencer. Bloody sweat beaded on his brow; something that only happened in the most extreme cases of illness.

Prosper dabbed them away with a wet cloth and said a silent prayer that this worked. Not even when he took his father's potion and had to sit in the lake, on fire, did he ever feel this magnitude of fear.

Spencer was a precious gift of light in the darkness of his world. If he lost him, Prosper did not know what he would do, but he would never be the same again.

S
pencer could not remember why it seemed so dark or why he shivered from the cold. He thought he had left the cold behind, the day Prosper married and turned him.

But Prosper was not here.

Alone, walking the city streets in his bare feet, he knew something was wrong, but could not fathom what or how.

A baby screamed, somewhere in the distance. He hugged his bare arms and followed the sound. It tugged at his heart, but he did not know why.

Spencer followed the sound down two alleys, knowing the baby sounded scared and did not want to leave. “Leave where?” he asked, though the baby could not answer him.

He stopped when he realised he had been walking blindly and had come to a familiar door. Lifting his left hand, he pressed it to the wooden blockade, trying to remember, though his thoughts were faded and far away.

“The prophetess,” he whispered.

Feeling like that fourteen-year-old boy again, he turned the handle and walked into her shop. Just as he expected, he found the woman at her table, her hands palm up on the surface, while she sat with her eyes closed.

Spencer stepped closer, tentatively.

“Come in, child,” she called, slowly opening her eyes.

“Prophetess, where am I?” he asked, as he made his way to the chair opposite her and sat. “What is this place? I do not remember anything, but I know I am not supposed to be here,” he tried to explain, but failed. He could not say why he felt the way he did, only that it was wrong. “Where is Prosper?” he demanded, troubled by the instinctive glance he gave his left hand.

His wedding ring had disappeared.

Spencer's breath hitched in his throat, overcome with a sense of loss as he registered the missing piece of jewellery.

“The King is where he is supposed to be. Just as you are,” the prophetess insisted, as enigmatic as ever. She grabbed his hands before he could react and held them in her own, palms up. “Ah, I see you have been following my advice.” She grinned. “Good…there is much you can do, in the life I have promised you. But you must be prepared to fight.”

“I am. I have come this far,” he reminded her.

“Yes…you have come far. From street rat to King's companion.” She chuckled. She appeared older than he remembered and her shoulders shook with her laughter, though they never had before. “And the child,” she mused, turning his left palm to catch the light of the candle on the table.

Spencer watched the woman, as frightened by her as he had been all those years ago. When he looked, the cross carved into his palm had also disappeared. “What happened to the mark you gave me?” he asked, confused and dizzy, as he had been on his last visit.

“It has served its purpose.” The prophetess waved the matter away.

“What purpose?” he persisted.

The hag looked up and met his gaze, with a sneer of self-satisfaction. “To lead you to your destiny. If I had not marked you, you would have grown to disbelieve me, to lose sight of your future and forget the truth of my words. The cross served as a reminder that you had a path to follow and follow it you must,” she told him, with a certainty that worried him.

“And what path was that?”

“The path to Prosper,” she whispered.