Reluctant Prince (9 page)

“King Maynard is your father?”

“Yes.”

“The same King from the story you told.”

“Mmm…hmmm.” He waited.

“And the Queen—Queen Dara—she was your mother?”

He held his breath for a moment. Exhaled. Nodded. “Yes.”

“But you said she’s been dead for hundreds of years, how is that possible?”

“Time doesn’t move the same in other realms as it does here. In Cymmera, even though hundreds of years have passed, I am only in what you’d consider my late teens. The equivalent of about a nineteen-year-old here.”

“How long do your people live?”

A wicked grin lit his face. “Until they’re killed.”

“Are you saying you’re immortal?”

He shrugged again, in a gesture she was beginning to find endearing. “More or less.”

Ah, jeez. This just got better and better. “So…what are you going to do?” She held her breath, waited.

Condensation slid down the sides of the water glass to pool on the table. He swirled his finger through the small puddle, creating an abstract design. “Look at me, Ryleigh.”

She did as he asked.

“Do you trust me?”

She desperately wanted to.

His gaze caught hers, and he smiled. In that fraction of a second, his eyes heated from hardened stone to pools of melted dark chocolate.

A flicker of warmth ignited in her belly, spread through her center.

“What is it about you?” His raspy whisper, combined with the confusion and desire filling his eyes, told her he was feeling something for her as well. He extended his hand, smoothed her hair behind her ear, cupped her cheek.

She leaned into his touch.

“I’ve never experienced feelings like this. I hardly know you, and yet I’m so drawn to you that I’d risk my life to save you.” He pulled her closer.

She leaned toward him.

With a sharp intake of breath, a barricade slammed down over his eyes, his mouth clamped shut, and he pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned.

She frowned, longed for the heat of his hand against her face once more.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” He slid his chair back a few feet and turned to rest his elbows on the table, his head in his hands.

Unable to curb the urge to touch him, to ease his suffering, she reached out and gripped one of his hands. Sparks flew.

Startled, they both jumped back.

“Okay, that’s weird. The same thing happened at the hospital when you shook my hand, but you’ve touched me other times, carried me, helped me from the car, and no sparks ignited. What’s causing it?” Maybe they weren’t compatible for some reason. Disappointment surged.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen or heard of anything like it before.” He returned one elbow to the table but turned his palm toward her. “Here, give me your hand. Move it closer to mine a little at a time. I want to see what happens.”

She inched her chair closer and imitated his position. Resting her elbow on the table about a foot from his, she turned her palm to face his. Nothing happened. Her eyes met his, held.

They moved their hands toward each other until about six inches separated them. Nothing. Three inches, still nothing. One inch. Her hand tingled, warmed. Closer. Almost touching. Heat sizzled across her palm. Electricity arced. Their fingertips touched. Fireworks.

When she would have pulled back, he gripped her hand, entwined his fingers with hers.

The sparks stopped, but her hand remained pleasantly warm, like holding it before the warmth of a fireplace. “Strange.”

“Yes.” He nodded, holding her gaze, leaned closer. His lips parted. His eyes closed. His lips met hers, gently at first. He pulled away, stood, and pulled her into his embrace. He touched his lips to hers again.

More heat this time, urgency, need. Her heart beat frantically, pounded against her ribs. She needed more, needed to be closer to him, needed…air. Her chest tightened. Painfully. Spots of light floated before her eyes. Yet she wanted more. Weakness flooded her. Her legs tingled then gave out.

He lifted her into his arms.

“Ryleigh.” Mia’s footsteps padded softly down the hallway.

He tore his mouth from hers. Harsh gasps and tremors shook his body.

Instead of finding pleasure in his eyes, as she’d expected, she found horror.

He dropped her onto the chair. “Oh, God. What have I done?” The whisper wasn’t meant for her, was more of an internal reprimand.

It hurt just the same. She turned away, tears tracking down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Ryleigh.”

She didn’t respond, couldn’t.

* * * *

He stood at the sink, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the counter. What was wrong with him? He could have killed her, had almost sucked the breath from her lungs. Had it been intentional? Had he tried to claim her?

The thrill had been too much to control. Holding her had brought too many feelings rushing to the surface, feelings he hadn’t experienced for as long as he could remember, feelings he couldn’t control. His stomach churned, rebelled, threatened to erupt. He forced the bitterness back down.

“Ryleigh, I can’t get the tangles out of my hair, even with the conditioner.” Mia held out a comb.

Ryleigh opened a deep drawer and pulled out two garbage bags. “There’s a glass of water on the counter. Have a drink, and I’ll comb through the tangles as soon as I wrap these things around my feet and take a shower.” Ryleigh’s husky voice raked over his raw nerves.

“Thank you.”

He lifted his gaze to the window as her reflection walked away without a backward glance. Did she hate him? Did she know he’d almost killed her? He took a deep breath, struggled to regulate his breathing, his heart rate. Movement caught his attention. Mia’s reflection. She stood at the table behind him, slowly sipping from the glass Ryleigh had left there. She looked at him and cocked her head.

Then it hit him.

Ryleigh didn’t know.

The pent up breath rushed from his lungs.

She couldn’t know. Had she known just how close he’d come to sucking the life from her—he cringed—she would never have left Mia alone with him.

All right. Time to pull himself together. He couldn’t leave the girls without protection, so he would have to manage the feelings running rampant through his system.

He’d been without any real emotions for hundreds of years, had forgotten the feeling of loving anyone, had never even experienced any sort of feelings for a woman. Now here he was, overflowing with feelings he didn’t understand, instincts that were completely foreign to him. He could do this. He could control himself long enough to keep Ryleigh and Mia safe. He relaxed his shoulders, loosened his grip, turned and leaned back against the counter.

“Is everything all right?”

He tried to answer, choked up, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Everything’s fine. How was your shower? Do you feel better now?”

“A lot better, thanks.” She flopped into the chair and circled her finger around the rim of the glass. “Can I ask you something?”

Guilt forced adrenaline through his veins. Had she seen what happened? He folded his arms, struggled to appear relaxed. “Sure.”

“What’s it like where you come from?”

His hands shook as the adrenaline rush subsided. Something about these two girls elicited such a strong protective streak in him. Not only did he feel the need to protect them from outside harm, but from himself as well. He’d only just met this child, and she already felt like a little sister to him. The thought brought with it a little niggle of an idea, but he pushed it away to examine later.

“It’s barren and cold. Everything is dead, even the people aren’t filled with life as they are here. We have no emotions, no feelings. It’s as if everything died with the Queen. There are very few women now and even fewer children. The men are bitter, broken, battle weary. We’ve been at war for too long. We may have maintained control of Cymmera physically, but our spirits have been beaten. My people have lived with no joy, only sorrow and grief, for hundreds of years.”

“It doesn’t sound very nice. Why do you stay there?”

Hmm…he’d never thought about that before. “Well, because it’s home, I guess.”

She tilted her head, sending a damp mass of curls tumbling. “Could you stay here if you wanted to?”

Was that hope reflected in her eyes, or his own wishful thinking? “Not indefinitely. I can stay here for a while, but eventually I have to go back. I have responsibilities there.” He had a feeling she could understand that.

She looked down at her glass, moved it around in circles on the table. “And we can’t go to Cymmera? Without dying anyway?” She took a sip of water before she looked up at him.

The niggle surfaced again. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that, but why don’t we wait for Ryleigh to get back before we discuss it.”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

He took a seat at the table. “Can I ask you something now?”

“Sure.”

“What were you and Ryleigh so afraid of at the hospital?”

She hesitated and chewed at her lower lip. “That thing was really scary.” The knowledge filled her eyes, the avoidance of answering the question.

He waited.

She held his stare and remained silent.

Smart kid.

“So, anyway, what did King Maynard do with his army? Did they invade Argonas and kill Daygan?”

Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, he accepted the change of subject. “He did invade Argonas, and greatly depleted Daygan’s army, but it didn’t matter. They couldn’t get to Daygan, and he just kept replenishing his soldiers. He built an army of savages.”

“What do you mean savages?”

“Savages are barbarians who stand more than seven feet tall, and are all solid muscle. Daygan has complete control over them, they follow his every order and are more loyal than the humans were.”

“Why? How did he make them so obedient?” Mia sat at the very edge of her seat, eyes wide, paying rapt attention to everything he said.

“No one knows. They’re completely loyal to him, though. They don’t speak and can’t think, or reason, or make decisions on their own. They just follow his orders blindly.” The thought of those things going after Ryleigh or Mia made his mouth go dry. He had to pause and sip his water. “Maybe he takes care of them in return for their subservience.” The cool water did little to soothe him. “Anyway, eventually, King Maynard gave up trying to battle Daygan and contented himself with protecting Cymmera from invasion.”

“Ah, that feels better.” Ryleigh kept her eyes averted as she returned. “Come on, we’ll sit in the living room, and I’ll comb out your hair.”

Mia rose and put her glass in the sink. She followed her sister out the door but poked her head back in a second later. “You coming?”

“Yeah, just working up the energy to get up. Go ahead, I’ll be right in.”

He had to get Ryleigh to trust him somehow, but how could he do that when he didn’t even trust himself? He sighed, got up, and pushed the chair into the table. Hoping to avoid a confrontation with Ryleigh for as long as possible, he brought his and Ryleigh’s glasses to the sink, washed all of them, dried them, and returned them to the cabinet he’d seen Ryleigh take them from. With nothing left to do, he folded the dishtowel, hung it over the oven handle, and headed for the living room.

“He seems nice enough, and the stories about Cymmera are fascinating.” Mia sat on a large beanbag.

Ryleigh perched on a chair behind her, slowly combing through the knots in Mia’s hair. “Yeah, I guess. But his story is a little far-fetched, don’t you think?” The sarcasm was unmistakable.

Mia laughed but sobered a moment later. “Can you think of any other explanation for the things we saw tonight?”

“Not off the top of my head, but that doesn’t make what he’s saying true.”

Mia fidgeted in the chair. “No, I guess not.”

Ryleigh placed a smooth section of hair in front of Mia’s shoulder and started on the next piece.

Jackson enjoyed the tenderness between the girls, could watch them all night, but he had to discuss his theory with them.

Ryleigh continued to comb through Mia’s hair, not even pausing to acknowledge him.

He sat on the couch across from her. “We need to talk.”

“So talk.”

“Ouch. Don’t pull so hard.” Mia rubbed her scalp.

Ryleigh’s cheeks reddened. “Sorry.” She loosened her hold on Mia’s hair.

“Look, Ryleigh. There’s obviously something going on here between us.”

She finally glanced up at him. Her eyes had deepened to an almost midnight blue, whether from the dark blue sweater she now wore or the intensity of her emotions, he didn’t know.

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t mention the kiss—not in front of Mia—or the near death experience Ryleigh most likely wasn’t even aware of, but neither of them could deny some special bond existed between them. “Let’s start with the vision. Elijah has never seen anyone surrounded by light before, nor has he ever seen a woman. Therefore, I have to assume there’s something special about you. If you are meant to be in Cymmera, which you must be for Elijah to have had the vision, the only question that remains is how to get you there.”

She stiffened as her gaze shot to him.

Annoyance flared. “I already told you I wouldn’t hurt you. You’ll have to trust me if we’re going to work together to straighten this mess out.” He huffed out a breath and raked a hand through his hair. “Look.” He shoved off the couch to pace the room, back and forth across the worn rug.

She sat, combing Mia’s hair, ignoring him.

“All right.” He stopped and stood facing her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for this whole mess, but I didn’t involve you in it. I have only tried to help you since I first saw you.”

She stopped the comb mid-stroke, looked into his eyes, and waited.

“Look, Ryleigh.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. The frustration was killing him. “There’s no doubt in my mind you are meant to be in Cymmera, and without killing you and transferring you, the only way you can exist there is if you go voluntarily.”

She launched herself off the chair. “What makes you think I’m going to Cymmera, or anywhere else with you?” She stood, hands on hips, waiting for an answer.