Mack (King #4) (5 page)

“So,” she interrupted, “you lived on an island. Where exactly?”

“In Greece.” Or, more accurately, what would one day become Crete. But I would get to that part in a moment.

“I see. So it sounds like you didn’t like your brother much,” Theodora said, keeping her tone neutral. I assumed she wanted to keep up with pretenses of her own and tell herself this was a clinical evaluation of sorts. It wasn’t, of course. Somewhere deep in her soul, she knew our meeting wasn’t a coincidence. She knew that something terrible would happen once I reached the end of my story. This was her fate. And mine.

“I loved my brother,” I replied. “But I felt my time was better spent fucking and drinking. After all, I was free from any real responsibility. Why not enjoy it?”

“How’d that work out for you?”

The ugly answer sat right in front of her with a heart so cold and a rage so deep, I could barely breathe some days. Unless those were the days I killed someone. Killing was the only thing that gave me relief. Temporarily.

She looks like she’d give me another type of relief
. I could practically smell her arousal in the air.

No, Mack
, I censured myself
. You are not going to touch her.
Still, I already felt a war beginning to rage inside me, and the clock was ticking. My not-so-kind side always triumphed.

I continued, “My life was great until my bastard of a brother came to me one day with a request—a favor—which I did out of guilt.”

“So, you did this
favor
for your brother. Then what?” She shifted in her chair. I knew she felt anxious sitting in the dark, but looking at her face would only make things more difficult for me. The less I saw of her, the better. At least, that had been my plan going in. Now, I wasn’t so sure it would make one hell of a goddamned difference.

Still, I had to push forward. I had to make her see the truth.

“What happened next wasn’t pretty,” I replied to her question. “More like the beginning of a long nightmare. However, Draco never asked for anything. Not once. The bastard was too proud for that. Which is why I couldn’t turn my back on him.”

“What did he ask you to do?”

“He asked me to fight him to the death—his death,” I replied.

I could see the frame of her body going still.

“And you killed him,” she concluded correctly.

“Yes. Draco had executed a woman named Hagne, who attempted to murder the love of his life. Unfortunately, Hagne’s death, even if justified by our laws, was a problem. She was what we called a Seer, a sort of sacred priestess, if you will. Her family was very influential and threatened civil war if they didn’t get Draco’s head, something I would later learn was inevitable—the war part, I mean.”

I could not see the expression on Theodora’s face, but I did not need to in order to infer what she was thinking: This man is insane.

Sure the hell am. But not the way you think, sweetheart.

She leaned back a little in her chair. “So you gave them his ‘head,’ but it didn’t save your people.” There was blatant skepticism in her voice.

“Do you find my story difficult to believe?” I asked.

“Frankly, it sounds like an old gladiator or Viking movie. Tales of betrayal and fights to the death.”

Vikings? Those assholes?
“I assure you, none of what I tell you is fantasy. And for the record, Vikings weren’t nearly as impressive as on TV.” They were more like overgrown sewer rats with big swords.

She glossed over my comment and asked, “How did you feel after your brother—what was his name again?”

She was testing to see if my mind was working correctly.

“Draco.” Later, he would be known in Athens as Draco the Law Giver, the man who birthed the very first written law in ancient Greece. He was also a cruel motherfucker, thus the term Draconian. Of course, today he went by the name King. Just King—the man was a powerful narcissistic asshole, through and through. And how was he still alive? I would also get to that part in a little while when the moment was right.

“Ah, yes. Draco,” she said. “So how did you feel after you murdered your own brother?”

“How do you think I felt?”

“I’m not you, so you’ll have to tell me.” Her glib tone was beginning to poke tiny holes in the wall I’d built to keep her safe—for the moment—from the darkness inside me.

“Are you certain you want to hear this part?” I questioned.

“You’ve asked me this several times. Why would I say I want to listen to you if I didn’t? I have plenty of other patients to see.”

“So I should be grateful?”

“No. You should answer my question,” she snapped back.

God, how I wanted to stand up, march across the room, and spank the hell out of her. Then I would take her mouth with mine and remind her why she should always be respectful and obedient in my presence. Then, I would bend her over and fuck the hell out of her.

Goddammit.
I gripped the arms of the chair, digging my nails into the wood. This situation was going to be more difficult than I’d thought.

“Perhaps we should continue another day,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady while my heart pounded in my chest, my dick getting rock hard as my brain produced images of her bare ass and breasts.

No. I can’t do this again. I can’t be with her.
Everything I needed depended on keeping my distance. It was for both our sakes.

“Mack, we made a deal. If you don’t want to continue, then don’t. But then you have to leave.”

I knew that was bullshit. She wanted me to stay. She wanted to see where this would go. Fate was like a drug that had drawn us together.

“I’m waiting, Mack,” she prodded. “Continue with the story or leave.”

I cleared my throat, allowing Theodora to think she had some sort of control over this fucking mess so she’d stay calm. At least for another ten minutes.

“I ended up being taken by a very unfriendly tribe of Nords. They made me a slave, which nearly killed me.” This was the part of my story I’d never told anyone. It seemed pointless to share the misery. Especially with Mia, who would only blame herself for what was to become of me. King would only know what he stole from my head—bits and pieces of memories I’d shoved away in a dark corner of my mind.

“Mack? Exactly how old do you think you are?”

I was wondering when you’d ask that, sweetheart.

~~~

TEDDI

“Have you ever heard of the Minoans?” Mack asked with a dead-serious tone, that deep delicious voice bouncing off the sterile walls.

I uncrossed my legs and thought it over for a moment. I’d been out of school for a very long time, but I had an excellent memory. “Ancient Crete. Pre-Christ. I don’t remember much else.”

Please, don’t tell me you think you’re over three thousand years old.
Because that would make him even crazier than I’d thought.

“You know more than most,” he said, seeming pleased.

Yeah, well, I could’ve graduated high school at fourteen if I’d wanted, but I convinced my parents to let me stay one more year. Not that I’d been afraid—impossible for me—but I had been debating on career paths—a coin toss between anthropology and psychology. I would’ve double majored, but the best programs were at different universities.

“I should know more,” I said, “but it’s been a while since I cracked open a history book. But let’s get back to—”

“You wouldn’t find much on the Minoans. They disappeared after I beheaded their beloved king and was forced to flee the island. Civil war devastated them, and any survivors were overrun by mainlanders.”

Oh no.
This was what I was afraid of. “So you’re saying you’re…?”

“I was born in 1430 B.C. Give or take a few decades.”

Cough, cough.
Did the guy think he was a vampire? I had one of those once—obsessed with the Twilight series. He’d even insisted everyone call him Edward and wore plastic teeth. Now that I thought about it, it was goddamned funny.

“You do realize how old this would make you?” I said.

“Over three thousand years.”

He had to be testing me. Because Mack seemed far too rational and lucid to believe such a fantasy.

That or he’s psychotic.
Something I hadn’t ruled out.

“You wouldn’t mind if I turned on the lights, would you?” I asked. “I’ve never seen a three-thousand-year-old man.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“No.” I shook my head, realizing that I actually was. My emotions were out of control. “I mean, yes. I’m sorry. That wasn’t very professional, but I’m not feeling myself lately.”

“I can relate.”

“So you’re over three thousand years old. Obviously this far exceeds the lifespan of a normal human being, so I assume there’s a reason you’ve managed to defy nature.”

“There is,” he replied, a curtness in his voice. “But I haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet.”

“Okay, then. Please continue.”

“If you don’t believe my age, I assure you that you won’t believe the rest of my story.”

He had a point, and I had the impression this man was very skilled at reading people. Patronizing him in any way wasn’t a wise choice.

“Then convince me,” I said candidly. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

He laughed. “If only you understood how true that actually is.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

MACK

1395 B.C.

Where the hell are we going?
I thought as I sat chained to the wet wooden rowing bench of the small sailing vessel, my stomach so empty I could feel my body turning on itself, consuming my muscle tissue and less important organs to keep me alive.

Waste of time.
I was definitely going to die.

No longer able to feel my raw, bleeding hands, I stopped rowing—something that would normally earn my back several lashes from the bastards who held me and fifteen other men captive. Tonight, however, there would be no lashes. Only death.

It was pitch black out, the stars and moon masked by the storm clouds that rained havoc on the rickety boat. A boat that was no longer seaworthy and filling with water.

I glanced over my shoulder, barely able to make out the silhouettes of the four men with buckets, frantically battling the invading saltwater flowing over the edge of the ship.

Yes, a complete waste of time.
Didn’t these poor bastards realize that the gods did not wish us to live? We’d been at sea for well over a month, our captors in search of new lands to plunder, I assumed. But those men were greedy fools. The drinking water was gone. The food stores were nonexistent. What little fish we caught wasn’t enough to sustain so many men. But every time I entertained giving up, I remembered what I carried.

I placed my bloody, numb hand over the leather pouch around my neck. Inside was what looked like a plain rock—which was the reason my captors allowed me to keep it. The rock, however, was the key to bringing back my dead twin brother. The one I beheaded upon his request, something I regretted with all my heart.

I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer to the gods.
If this is my last night on earth, I beg of you to see that this stone is returned to Mia. Please, it is all I ask.

I never did learn how the stone worked, but I knew that the love of my brother’s life, Mia, was a Seer with powerful gifts. Before my brother died by my hand, she had bound his soul to this earth so he could not leave it, using the rock so that one day they could find each other again. How? I did not know. I only knew that I had taken the stone by accident when I’d been forced to leave Minoa—ironically, Mia’s doing. She did not want me to die at the hands of our people, who rioted over the loss of my brother. So she used her gifts to force my guards—men from a particular bloodline who’d guarded our kings for centuries—to take me away. But within days of leaving, I discovered the rock hidden inside a basket used to carry my valuables. I fought the guards tooth and nail to return to Minoa, but they were under Mia’s commands, unable to do anything but obey her orders to take me far from the island. They were killed by the men who were now my captors.

I laughed like a madman under my breath.
You gods must truly despise me
, I thought, the rain pelting my raw, sun-chapped face.

The man to my side, a farmer from the mainland, who once had the muscles and strength of an ox but now resembled a skeleton, slid his hand to my shoulder. At first, I expected him to spew yet another ridiculous lecture about hope, but I quickly realized he was simply trying to hold on to anything he could.

Our ship capsized.

The gods truly do hate me. But why?

~~~

My first thought when I came to was that I was dead. However, the dead didn’t feel their faces and bare chests burning from the hot sun, their ribs didn’t throb with multiple cracks, and their lungs didn’t spew saltwater and blood.

But the beautiful topless woman with long black hair, large brown eyes, and creamy dark skin, kneeling over me, had to be sent from the heavens. I’d never seen such a lovely creature.

“Finally,” I mumbled, “the gods are doing something kind for me.”

The woman spoke in a strange tongue, her voice filled with sweetness as she lovingly stroked my face with her soft hand, as if trying to comfort me.

But the moment I heard strange male voices screaming off in the distance, I questioned my assumption about being dead. So then where the hell was I?

Within seconds, a group of extremely short men with deep dark skin and strange black symbols painted over their bodies showed up and began poking me with sticks.

“Leave me be,” I said. I now know I must’ve looked like someone from a faraway planet. With my height—considerably tall, even by my people’s standards—light blue eyes and a black beard that matched my hair, I was probably the first Caucasian they’d ever seen. They kept jabbing at me to see if I would bite. Of course, I was far too weak for that. And before I knew it, they were dragging me through the jungle.