A Royal Craving (19 page)

S
pencer fell asleep in Prosper's arms early that night, in preparation for his journey home in the morning.

He had arranged for Reagan to pick him up and take him back to Ruiseart, to visit his family.

As he had adjusted to Prosper's sleeping schedule and been quite busy in the last few days, he knew that his body had limitations. He probably could not manage much more than an hour, out in the daylight of the human world, before weariness set in.

Reagan arrived at noon, just as Jael helped Spencer into his coat and went over the plans for Prosper.

“And do not let him skip breakfast, if he insists on waking. He will be hungry and I have not yet had time to offer my blood to the store room,” Spencer reminded her, unable to help but worry that something would go wrong.

He hovered in the doorway of the bedroom, watching his King sleep. Now that he had prepared to leave, he crossed to his lover and left Jael in the living room. He brushed a fallen strand of hair from the scarred side of Prosper's face and let his fingertips linger, in a gentle caress.

“Prosper, wake up,” Spencer whispered. He had to stifle laughter when Prosper moved his cheek into his hand. “I must go,” he reminded him.

That worked like a charm. Prosper's eyes flickered open, gradually focusing on his. He smiled, until he noticed Spencer wore his coat.

“I am visiting my parents today, remember? I must go, but I did not want to leave without a goodbye,” Spencer explained, feeling strangely emotional.

His King nodded and covered his mouth with the back of his hand, as he yawned. “What time will you return?” he wondered, sleepily.

“I hope to return before two,” he promised he would not be away too long. And when he returned, he must sleep. Already depleted of energy, he had an awful feeling in his stomach that said this day would not go well for him. “I promise that when I return, I will lie right here and go to sleep,” Spencer vowed, knowing how important that would be.

Knowing Prosper had not slept for a full night, until Spencer arrived in his life, kept him focused on being there as often as he could.

His King nodded and his eyes flickered shut. Spencer straightened and ignored Prosper's mumbles to pull the cover further over his shoulders and kiss his forehead.

“Sleep well, my King,” he wished, in a whisper.

With a strange mixture of sadness at leaving him and excitement about seeing his family, Spencer left the room and the house, to climb into the carriage. He hoped that his sense of forbearance proved wrong, but, as soon as he settled into his seat inside the carriage, his left palm began to itch maddeningly.

That was never a good sign.

Reagan pulled up to the doorway of the house where Spencer had grown up. Prosper had ordered him to see Spencer to the door and not move the carriage one inch, until he ventured safely inside. If there were no signs of distress after a few minutes, Reagan could leave, until he returned to pick him up after an hour.

“Reagan,” Spencer turned, as he stepped from the carriage, facing him with the authority of his position. In Reagan's eyes and in Asher's, he held equal rank to his King, so he must act like it. “Please enjoy your time off and return when you are ready.”

“I will return in an hour, Master, as ordered,” Reagan corrected him and watched his smile grow at the silent reprimand.

He had hoped for more time, perhaps to explore the city in a new capacity. But Reagan had caught him. Spencer gave him a cheeky bow and headed for the house that had been his home for nineteen years.

Reagan watched him go inside, shut the door and waited. Three minutes passed, according to the fancy watch Prosper had pressed on him. Spencer opened the door and stuck his tongue out at the infuriatingly loyal coachman and waved him off.

Peeking out the small window in the door, he watched Reagan laugh and give the reigns a tug to let the horses carry him forward.

Alone, Spencer stepped into his old home and stalled. The fire roared behind the grate; an extravagance he could not recall encountering since before his father lost his job, two years ago.

Little April sat before the grate, happily playing with three dolls that he had never seen before.

A smell of cooked meat came from the kitchen; a smell he had never known in this house, but which he had learned to associate with Eamon's excellent cooking.

This house had once been poor. Now, it was a home he would have been happy to grow up in. Warm, inviting, he noticed that his father had his old carriage clock back from the pawn brokers. It sat pride of place upon the fireplace mantel.

It felt strange being back. When Spencer left, he wore an old outfit his father had grown out of, tattered and worn from years of working, playing and hiding in the streets when the bullies tormented him. His feet had been bare, his hair a matted mess, his skin smothered in grime, dirt and God knew what else, because they could not afford enough water to prepare food
and
bathe.

Spencer had never realised how wanting they had been until now. He walked into the house in a crisp white shirt, with fitted trousers and a waistcoat without a mark on it, with soft shoes on his feet. His hair now felt soft and shone, his skin had a healthy glow and not one mark of dirt or uncleanliness clung to him.

He would have loved to have grown up in this house. He would never say he had suffered or had a bad childhood, but it had been lacking of love and attention, since April arrived. He did not blame her, as he understood that two children were more difficult to cater to than one, especially with many years between them. But now, knowing freedom and unconditional love, he realised that he had spent the last seven years missing the doting parents of his childhood.

“Mamma. Papa. I am home,” Spencer called out, instantly catching April's attention.

She looked up and continued playing. He could not not help but frown; they had always been close. When had he left the house and not returned to a heart-warming hug from his sister?

Troubled, Spencer crossed and knelt beside her. “April…it is Spencer.” He smiled at the little girl, wondering if his appearance had changed so much that his own sister did not recognise him. But she looked at him, blankly.

“I know who you are. You were sold as a slave. You should not run from your Master,” April chastised him.

Spencer stared at this seven year old child who had read the situation incorrectly. Had he not told his parents, when he left, that he would become a companion to the King? He had never said slave and had
not
been sold to Prosper.

He hoped these were only the imaginings of a girl who overheard much, but understood little.

Spencer got to his feet and moved into the kitchen, where he assumed his mother would be standing over the stove, watching the meat cook. “Mamma,” he called, as he stepped into the room.

His mother stood where he expected to find her, while his father stood to the side. They spoke, but their faces were averted.

“Papa?”

“I told you to sit already,” he muttered, half turned, as he waved him off as though he were a nuisance.

Spencer's mind transported back in time, to his tenth year of life. His parents had argued over how they thought he would have 'grown out' of being deaf.

He froze, staring at the two people who had raised him, as though they were strangers. His mother, whose flaming red hair always managed to look like a birds nest, sat neatly. Her hair lay flat, long down her back, her skin smooth and unblemished. Even her clothes were of the latest fashion.

His father wore an expensive watch and had a pervading smell of perfume. Which was impossible, because only a vampire could afford it.

He did not know these people.

Spencer backed out of the room. When he reached the doorway, he froze, breathing hard, watching April playing.

None of his family missed him. Not one of them cared what had happened or how he may have been treated. He ran.

S
pencer ran from his family home, down the street and into the open air of the marketplace. He sat on the fountain wall and caught his breath, wondering what he should do. He did not know how to return home from here. He did not have a way of contacting Reagan or Prosper to get someone to collect him.

He was alone.

He began to cry, feeling helpless for the first time since taking his place at Prosper's side. He cried for so long that he lost track of time, as the shadows of the city passed over his feet.

One shadow remained permanent, forcing him to look up.

“Spencer?” With tears in his eyes, he saw Asher standing before him, looking confused. “What are you doing here, child? In the middle of the day,” he tutted, wrapping an arm around him and sitting beside him.

Without meaning to, the circumstance of the day fell from his mouth, in explanation. He clung to Asher, as the only comfort left in this shabby little town.

“I am sorry, lad,” Asher apologised, giving him a squeeze. “I had wondered whether their gratitude was genuine. Now I know. They thought the money adequate compensation for the life of their son,” he tutted, while gazing with the tender eyes of a father. “Come back to the house with me. You can see the twins you brought into the world,” he offered.

Spencer smiled, to know he did indeed have friends now. After a life of solitude, shame and degradation, he now had happiness, true friendship and loyalty from those around him. Not because of who he may be or because of his engagement to the King, but because they truly liked him. He had never felt such genuine love from anyone but Finnegan before and it was overwhelming.

He nodded and brushed his tears on his wrist, before using it to wipe his nose.

“Look at you. Back in the gutters for five minutes and already reverting back to form.” Asher sighed, handing him a handkerchief.

Spencer kissed his cheek, not yet able to form words of gratitude and followed him to his house. He would love to see the twins and Elenor.

Perhaps the day would not be a total loss.

Spencer dropped onto the bed as gently as he could, curling into a ball as he pulled the cover over himself. His eyes were heavy and his heart heavier, with gratitude to Reagan for everything he had done today.

Not only had he understood why Spencer ran away, but he allowed him to complete his hour visit in Asher's home, with the twins and Elenor. It warmed his heart that Reagan had cared for his safety and emotional well being and he bothered to ask what had sent him running.

The driver had even walked him straight into Prosper's suite, before leaving him alone. Spencer could not put into words how much he loved that prickly man for his actions. His weariness was so great that he could not have made it to bed on his own.

He neither knew if it were emotional or physical exhaustion, but suspected that it may be a mixture of both. Not that he would confess that much to Prosper. His King had too much on his mind and no need of more unhappiness to plague his thoughts.

The moment he got comfortable, an arm snaked over his waist and pulled him closer. He already faced Prosper, so opened his eyes and found tired eyes staring back at him.

“I missed you,” Prosper said, reaching up to brush the hair from his forehead.

“I missed you too. And, I promise, I will not leave again,” Spencer said automatically, from a need to ensure he never felt unwanted again.

“Did your parents agree to move with us?” he asked.

Spencer shook his head and moved further into Prosper's arms.

With a sigh, his King lay his head against his and allowed sleep to take him. With him settled and seemingly comfortable, Spencer snuggled into his arms and tried to sleep. He was exhausted, emotional and he needed Prosper. Strong arms surrounding him and the stillness of his chest soothed him into the land of dreams.

P
rosper wanted to protest, when Jael began shaking him, to wake him the next night. He identified her from the way she gently pushed his shoulder and the smell of medical alcohol on her hands. He reluctantly opened his eyes.

“I am sorry to wake you, Master. But Master Spencer has not eaten since breakfast,” she explained.

“Please ask Eamon to make a substantial meal for us and we shall have it here,” Prosper asked, tired but anxious to start the day. He wanted to know why his companion had been sad when he returned from visiting his family.

Prosper
had suffered a fitful day, full of worry and restlessness. It had not felt right to sleep without Spencer and the old insomnia had returned. He wondered if it could be a condition of their life mate connection or if it had something to do with what his father had done all those years ago.

As soon as Jael left, he turned to the task of waking Spencer, with a gentle brush of the back of his hand against his lover's cheek.

Spencer moaned and squinted his eyes shut tighter. Refusing to let that tired sound sway him, Prosper caressed his companion's cheek and continued his touch down a long neck, along a bare collarbone and slipped the cover from his humans shoulder.

“Must I rise?” Spencer mumbled.

Prosper trailed a fingertip across full lips. His lover trembled at the touch and opened his eyes. “Jael is worried you have not eaten today. As am I, now that I am aware of it,” he scolded Spencer for not taking care of himself. But he understood that his life mate may have been distracted by his visit home. Before Eamon came in with their meal, he wanted to cover the issue. “What happened with your family?”

“You will not like it,” Spencer warned, but proceeded regardless. “They were complete strangers. I did not recognise them,” he confessed, with sad eyes. “April did not hug me. My father spoke with his back to me. He has never done that in my whole life.”

Prosper pulled his delicate human into his arms, as he began to cry. He hated that anyone had made Spencer feel that way and he could do nothing to stop it. His family had been more interested in money than the loss of Spencer.

He had given them money, because Prosper never wanted anyone in his kingdom to suffer as they did; starving, struggling, barely surviving. He had known they would be grateful, but never thought they would be wasteful.

Spencer had unlimited riches at his fingertips and had only ever asked for work clothes.

With a gentle touch under his chin, Prosper made him look up, as his companion sniffed back tears. “They will never hurt you again. You never have to see them, if that is what you want,” he promised.

There was no need for Spencer to keep in touch with such selfish people that could not appreciate him. His human was special; how did no one else see that? How could no one else see his worth?

“Prosper,” he whispered, nudging forward to rub their noses together. The breathy, sensual way he said his name had Prosper tingling from head to foot. “You are special and perfect,” Spencer continued, in a quiet voice still stained with tears. His lips brushed Prosper's cheek and the corner of his mouth.

Prosper desperately wanted to react, but they were both too exhausted to do their needs justice.

“I have not said it and neither have you, but we do not need to, do we?” he asked, in that tantalising whisper. A kiss traced over the cut of his jaw, tender and teasing. Prosper's eyelids fluttered shut for a half second. “We are not normal and I would not want us to be. No other man looked at you with love or attraction and no other man looked at me that way…but we were not meant for anyone else. I am meant only for you and you are meant only for me.” He sighed, happily.

“Is that right?” Prosper wondered, taking the opportunity, the moment his companion looked him in the eye.

He tried to tease him for the sentimental words falling from his mouth. It sounded wonderful, but if he did not try to lighten the moment, he may never let his human escape their bed, even for sustenance.

Spencer hummed and nipped his chin with playful teeth. “The prophetess never told me in words, but I know now. We are fated for each other. The genetically modified vampire-human and the Vampire King.” He chuckled, in amusement.

Prosper refused to wait for his lover to look at him. He cupped his chin in the crook of his finger and tilted his head up, until they locked gazes. “You are right. I do not need to say it and neither do you. I feel it when you look at me, when you kiss me…I feel it when I sense your thoughts so loud they could be my own,” he promised, wanting him to know there were some words that did not need spoken.

Spencer leaned in close, his eyes darting between Prosper's lips and steady gaze.

When their lips met, Prosper kissed back with every ounce of love inside him. He could never deny that he loved this human; that he had known from the first night they met, a few days ago, that he would always love him.

Spencer hummed, as he parted from their kiss, still smiling. “I love you, Prosper,” he whispered, looking him right in the eye. Then, before he could say a word, he was kissed.