The Outcast Prince (25 page)

Eliza’s handbag sat on the table, small and neat and expensive. But then he’d bought it for her, and it perfectly suited his tastes. Steven had brought it downstairs and placed it in the cloakroom for the police to find. She may be missing, but he didn’t want the police in the bedroom. Not until he’d finished cleaning up. Partners were always the first suspect. Given the spat last night, a giant novelty neon-yellow sports finger was pointed his way, declaring him guilty of a crime he hadn’t committed.

He didn’t need the police uncovering the ones he had.

“So you had a fight at eleven,” the cop read from his notes.

“Approximately.” Steven folded his hands. He stopped short of wringing them; that would be too much.

“Then Ms. Coulter disappeared.”

Steven nodded. “I thought she’d gone upstairs to tidy up.”

“Tidy up?” The cop raised his eyebrow.

“Fix her makeup. She was upset.”

“Give her twenty-four hours.” The cop closed his notebook. “She’s probably at a friend’s.”

Which friend? He knew all her friends and none of them would hide her from him…except the bitch sister-in-law, but she wouldn’t involve her precious brat. Eliza should’ve been in the bedroom. How had she left the party without being seen by anyone? Without taking her car, or cell, or purse? Yet she’d vanished, leaving everything behind, but taking everything she knew about him and his business dealings. For all he knew she was having a chat with the Major Fraud Squad now. His throat constricted.

“I’m worried.” What if she’d planned this and faked her own disappearance just to get the police involved? “She’s never done anything like this before.”

And wouldn’t again, once he got his hands on her. His mind raced. If she didn’t turn up, maybe he could still use it to his advantage. The paperwork pointed at her…that alone gave her motive to vanish with the cash.

“It happens more often than you’d like to think.” The cop made to leave, then turned. “What was the fight about?”

Steven hid his frustration at the cop for lingering. Who cared what they fought about? He fabricated a lie around enough truth that it was plausible.

“She saw me talking to another woman. Got jealous. Women on their birthdays—they just don’t like getting older.” Steven walked toward the door.

He didn’t want to seem overly eager to get the cop out, but if the constable looked hard enough, there would be something that would earn a more detailed investigation of the house. He couldn’t afford that. He was working a balancing act. He wanted Eliza found
and
he wanted his privacy.

Did he want too much?

“She’ll be back by dinner,” the cop assured him.

She’d better be.
But already he was making a contingency plan. Eliza wouldn’t catch him with his pants down twice.

Steven opened the front door and winced. There was probably glass embedded in his hand. It had been everywhere else—in the bath, in his suits, on the floor. One glass in a hundred pieces.

The cop had noticed and paused. “What did you do to your hand?”

Steven held it up for inspection. “Broke a glass while I was cleaning up the lounge room.”

“Looks like you’ve got more to go.”

“I’ve got cleaners coming in to help.” He’d left enough mess to make sure he looked like the anxious fiancé. The bedroom he was going to have to finish himself. It was too much of a crime scene. Like Eliza was trying to frame him and make sure the police would search the house and office. Was she hoping they would find what she couldn’t?

Whatever Eliza was trying to pull would fail. He’d already bagged his suits and put bicarb on the stained grout. Getting rid of the stink was going to be harder. But by the time he was done, there would be no reason for the police to suspect him of any wrongdoing at home, or at work.

If she came back, he would be teaching her a lesson. He needed to pull her into line. And fast. A performance like this at the wedding wouldn’t fly. It would ruin his reputation.

Steven held the front door open. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to see you again.”

If Eliza didn’t come back, he would have to file a missing persons report just to look the part. A flicker of doubt surfaced. What if she were really missing? He pushed the thought aside. Who abducted a woman from her own birthday party?

***

Roan watched the rise and fall of Eliza’s chest. Her lashes lay against her cheeks as if she were a doll waiting for life to return and reanimate her body. A purple bruise and patterned graze marred her forehead, and her feet were bandaged. Anfri had worked under his supervision, touching only where told, yet still it had been too much.

Now he waited, stretched out on the bed next to her. Over the span of two thousand years Roan had become very good at waiting. And watching.

Her black dress tightened then eased with each breath. Women hadn’t changed that much over his long and unnatural lifetime. The clothes, the jewelry, the makeup—of which she wore too much—were all irrelevant. And he was sure the blond of her hair was false. He smiled and ran his hand up her thigh, nudging the dress a little higher. He was looking forward to finding out.

He pushed the soft silk until it just covered her underwear. The beads in his hair whispered in his ear as he moved. Would she fight or submit?

Over time he’d learned how to avoid being commanded by his summoner; after answering their initial call, he simply left. Some tried again. Most laughed and had another drink. Yet, ignoring their demands hadn’t always been so easy. He wore the scars of being called by history’s worst—weak-willed commanders, paranoid rulers, men who didn’t deserve respect. He had committed atrocities in their names.

Decades had passed since anyone had offered him anything of value other than gold. The last summoner to give him something had been a child wanting to be a young woman. In helping her, he had remembered what it was like to be human again, something that happened far too rarely these days. For a while she’d thought of him, he’d felt her dreams on his skin, not quite a summons, more of a hope of seeing him again. He’d never responded. It was better to avoid temptation than fall headlong into something he knew he couldn’t resist.

He glanced at the woman in his bed. For a moment he almost considered taking her back to the Fixed Realm. But taking her back wouldn’t return his humanity. He might as well enjoy what he had left. She’d wished to be taken away. The words of the wish tugged at his soul like a half-forgotten dream. He pushed them aside. Her wish was granted and his would be too. Roan ran his palm down the woman’s leg; the touch of human skin warmed his hand but didn’t reach his heart.

“Silly, silly girl,” he murmured, wanting to hold on to the moment before she woke and the fantasy shattered.

Her eyelids flickered.

Expectation tightened every one of Roan’s nerves to battle ready. Starved for too long, he refused to rush. Anticipation was half the delight, half the torture.

Her eyes opened. She blinked and turned her head. Her eyes widened in fear when she saw him.

Roan placed a finger over her lips. He didn’t want to hear her scream. Not until he was deep in her, her legs around his shoulders. “I’ve been waiting, Eliza.”

Her lips parted for speech. Or was it a kiss? He took the latter, leaning over to brush his mouth against the red of her lips. She shoved away, denying him a taste in her scramble to escape. Power thumped through his body and his skin tingled.

A fighter. Always more entertaining than a simpering miss who’d cave to his every request.

Roan snapped into action, catching and trapping her beneath him. Eliza kicked her legs, trying to throw him off. One knee connected with his back. Roan grunted and shifted to sit on her thighs so she couldn’t repeat the blow. She bucked and wriggled, all without a sound, then she struck out with her nails. He leaned back, dodging the cat scratch, and grabbed her wrists. He pulled her hands to his chest.

Eliza became as still as a corpse. Realization spread over her face, stretching her features. She knew she was his for the taking.

Roan kissed her hand. He didn’t want fear. Without warning she lifted her hips, trying to throw him off. He hooked his feet around her legs and spread them. Her hands were trapped beneath his on the bed. Body to body. Hip to hip. The gold and amber beads in his hair danced above her skin. The clothing between them could be gone at his will, but he waited. What were minutes in the face of centuries?

The torment of being unable to taste her skin filled his thoughts. An eternity, that’s what it was. An eternity of flesh-hardening agony with no release. And he no longer had an eternity to wait.

Beneath him her heart raced, and the echo resonated in his body and reminded him of what he wasn’t. That he only pretended to be a man when it suited him. But he wouldn’t inflict the curse, or the goblin, on any woman.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Roan promised as his thumb stroked her skin. He lowered his head to take a kiss.

She turned her head away, the only movement his body allowed her. His gaze followed hers to her imprisoned hand. He froze.

Around her wrist was a plain gold bangle. On the bangle was a bead.

One amber bead.

Identical to the hundreds in his hair, the carved pattern was unmistakable.

If he’d had a beating heart, it would’ve stilled. He’d removed a bead only once and given it to the young woman who’d called on him for help. He glanced at the face of the woman beneath him. Her eyes gleamed golden-hazel. The same eyes that had gazed at him when he’d taken the girl to the Summerland so she could see him as a warrior and not a goblin.

Surely so many years couldn’t have passed?

Time had no correlation between the Shadowlands and the Fixed Realm, but still this woman couldn’t be the same girl. Eliza lay acquiescent beneath him, his hips hard against hers. No. It wasn’t possible. He’d warned her not to summon him again. There had to be another explanation.

His fingers gripped the bangle. He tried to tug it off, but it was tight, too small to work over her hand. As if it had been put on before she’d finished growing. Her eyes, his amber bead. Why did it have to be her? Of all the women in the world who could have summoned him, it was the one he knew he would be helpless to resist and powerless to release. After all these years she was finally his. Cold crawled through his veins, smothering the heat of lust.

“Where did you get this?” He forced calm into his voice, but he felt like a strand of wire pulled too tight, his control held by the flimsiest thread.

She pressed her lips together and refused to meet his gaze as if she was a queen refusing to entertain the pleas of a servant.

His grip tightened. White bloomed on her skin under his fingers. “Where?” He knew the answer. Wished he didn’t. He’d left it for her, a token to a child he shouldn’t have bothered to help.

“I was given it.” Her voice broke, but no tears glassed her eyes. She lifted her chin and met his gaze without blinking, her gold-flecked eyes glinting like polished stone.

“By who?” He shook her hand, holding the gold bangle, wishing he could tear it off and forget the child so he could enjoy the woman in his bed.

Her eyes flicked from his face to his shoulders and then back to meet his gaze. She shrank into the bed away from him. Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement.

“It’s yours.” The words hung in the air. Her gaze darted around the cave masquerading as a bedroom. “Where am I?”

“Where you wanted to be.” He released the gold bangle, but he couldn’t pull away.

Eliza lay still, her breathing shallow, but she made no effort to escape. If she had, he may have let her leave the Shadowlands.

Her frown deepened and her eyes lost their focus. “I…I called…” She looked back at him as if seeing him for the first time and realizing who he was. “You’re him…but you don’t…don’t look like a goblin.” Her voice steadied as she tried to rationalize his existence.

“Looks are deceiving.” He should have recognized her straight away. Maybe if her eyes had been open, he would have…or maybe he would’ve been sucked in the golden gleam and taken her anyway. Eliza was no longer a child who didn’t know what she was asking. She was a woman who should know better.

“You’re the Goblin King.” Disbelief tainted her voice. She could have been calling him the tooth fairy.

Roan moved his hips against hers. “At your service.”

***

Eliza drew in a breath, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She needed a drink. She needed to get him off her. She needed to keep the crazy man talking long enough to get away.

“Where did you get my bead?” The nutcase who thought he was the Goblin King lay over her, speaking through clenched teeth as if he was the one being inconvenienced.

Eliza had never told anyone about the night she’d called the Goblin King. Yet beaded-crazy-man knew, and she was just as crazy for wanting to believe in childish nonsense. Goblins. The indulgence of a terrified child. Yet her heart refused to believe her head.

There was something about this man, something just beyond her memory, trapped in a dream she’d never forgotten but couldn’t quite remember. Summer skies and the warrior who’d helped her. No matter how hard she’d tried to hold on to what he looked like, his image had faded so only the outline remained. Was this really the same man? Where was the smiling warrior who’d handed her the bead and fixed her torn top?

She twisted her wrist, trying to free her hand without success. Her body was expertly pinned down by a man who looked like a cross between a Special Forces operative and a rock star. Dreadlocks filled with gold and amber beads that glinted in the candlelight and rustled musically with each movement. The sound was so distinctive and so familiar—heard only once and then repeated ever after in her dreams—that she shivered.

The man who called himself the Goblin King waited for an answer.

Keep him talking, make a bond, and he’ll be less likely to kill me.

She swallowed and played along with his delusion, not wanting this man to be the kind warrior she could barely remember from a dream brought on by too much beer. Her mother had given warnings about being greedy and ending up like the man who’d longed for gold and been given a heart of gold instead. Cursed to be a goblin, he was compelled to answer other people’s wishes.