Bad Boy Prince: A British Royal Stepbrother Romance (33 page)

All she had to do was project a truthful aura as she told the lies, and Pere Mal would never know the difference.

Simple. Easy as pie
, she told herself, but in reality Echo was scared out of her mind.

Giving Rhys one last long look, Echo eased his arm off her stomach. He grumbled a protest, still dead asleep, but Echo just dropped a kiss on his bare shoulder and slipped out of bed.

She went to the guest bedroom to dress and find the crumpled business card bearing Pere Mal’s information, which she’d hidden under the mattress. After putting on jeans, sneakers, and one of Rhys’s t-shirts for good luck, Echo snuck downstairs. She was out of the front door before anyone noticed, and halfway down the block before she paused to look back at the Manor, her heart pounding even as tears pricked her eyes.

Shaking her head, Echo squared her shoulders and kept moving, raising her arm to flag a cab.

It’s for the best
, she kept telling herself.
You can do this. You can protect him.

That didn’t stop a lone tear from breaking free and rolling down her cheek as Echo slid into a taxi, unable to shake the regret growing in her chest even as she gave the driver the address. Things were already in motion, and she would let them play out.

Whatever would be, would be.

R
hys woke
to the sound of his phone vibrating on his nightstand. He sat up, disoriented, and reached for it. He frowned at the screen, swiping to accept the call even as he turned and frowned at the empty bed. His brain was trying to process Echo’s absence and a four a.m. phone call at the same time, and failing.

“Hello?” he asked, scanning the room for clues as to Echo’s whereabouts.

“You ain’t been keeping track of my girl,” came Tee-Elle’s voice. She sounded more than a little angry, and Rhys blinked in confusion.

“How did you get this number?” he asked.

“That’s the first question you ask?” Tee-Elle shot back. “Maybe you should be asking me where your girl is, huh?”

Rhys’s heart faltered for a moment.

“Uh… Okay, where is Echo?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I don’t know where she’s going exactly, but she just left my house. Sneaky little thief doesn’t think I know, but she came in and took some of my gris-gris bags. Looks like she’s going to need some protection, and I’d bet you anything that little fool is doing something that’s going to get her hurt.”

Rhys was on his feet, trying to hunt down his jeans from where he’d flung them earlier.

“You don’t know where she’s going, though?” he demanded.

“She’s going to find Pere Mal. I’m just not sure where that is,” Tee-Elle said. “She also took some gris-gris that boosts privacy, cloaking or hiding the aura and the presence of magic. I can’t find her in my scrying mirror.”

“Fuck.”

“Mmm-hmm. You’d better find my girl, bear. Otherwise you and me, we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Aye,” Rhys said. “Thank you for calling. I’ll have her home soon enough, and you can scold her as soon as I’m done.”

Tee-Elle hung up with a huff, and Rhys raced out of his rooms and upstairs to pound on Gabriel’s door. Gabriel appeared, shirtless, and Rhys heard a feminine giggle from somewhere in the other Guardian’s rooms.

“Not a good time,” Gabriel said, ready to close the door in Rhys’s face.

“Echo’s gone to Pere Mal,” Rhys said, holding the door open with a hand.

Gabriel paused, lips thinning.

“Where?” he asked.

“Not sure. I thought you could run one of those tracking spells like you did with that grave robber a few months ago, show us her movements for the last few hours.”

After a moment, Gabriel nodded.

“Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes,” Gabriel said, turning away. “And call Aeric in from patrol. We’ll need him.”

“Make it five,” Rhys growled, ignoring Gabriel’s sigh of displeasure.

In less than twenty minutes, all three Guardians were standing in the gymnasium, suited up in tactical gear and full weaponry. Rhys fiddled with the pommel of his sword as Gabriel worked his tracing spell. Gabriel’s eyes were closed, eyeballs moving back and forth behind his eyelids as he reviewed Echo’s movements.

Aeric gave Rhys a long look, and Rhys realized that he was drumming his fingertips on his sword, trying to relieve his impatience. Luckily Gabriel chose that moment to open his eyes, resolving both issues at once.

“She’s in Gentilly Terrace,” Gabriel said, naming a neighborhood about fifteen minutes’ drive from the Manor. “It’s a property we knew Pere Mal owned, but it’s all but abandoned. It would have been two weeks before we explored it, going down our property list.”

“Let’s load up,” Rhys said, turning toward the garage.

The sound of a throat clearing froze him in place. He pivoted back to find Mere Marie only feet away, dressed in a flowing white robe and a matching head wrap. Damn, but the woman moved like a fucking house cat. They were going to have to put a bell on her to keep her from sneaking up on them.

“Mistress,” Rhys and Gabriel said at the same time. Aeric merely inclined his head to their employer.

“I have something I think you will find helpful,” Mere Marie said. She produced the longest, most wicked-looking dagger Rhys had ever seen, all silver with a strange red cast to it. The dagger lay on a bed of crushed velvet, and Rhys could tell that she was taking care not to touch the metal with her bare hands.

“What is it?” Gabriel asked.

“Don’t worry about that. The only things you need to know are that it is intended for Pere Mal alone, and that it may only used once. It will stop him in his tracks, I assure you. Oh, and you’ll want to wear gloves if you’re going to use it.”

Aeric took the blade, wrapping it in the velvet cloth, and went to the ammo cage in search of a couple of pairs of leather fencing gloves.

“If one of us sticks Pere Mal with this knife, is that it? The end of the Guardians, I mean?” Gabriel asked.

Mere Marie cocked her head, giving Gabriel a considering look.

“And just where would you go, my dear?” was her only reply.

She turned and headed back to the house, missing Gabriel’s thunderous scowl.

“Come on,” Rhys said, clapping a hand to Gabriel’s shoulder. “Don’t let her bait you.”

Aeric returned, throwing them each a pair of gloves, and they all headed for the garage. Gabriel used an iPad to pull up satellite and street view images of the house they were heading to, and they discussed tactical issues as they drove. They pulled into a quiet section of the Gentilly Terrace neighborhood, finding the house on a long street lined with squat brick bungalows.

“There, on the left,” Aeric said, pointing out the house.

Rhys pulled the SUV up across the street, not bothering with keeping a low profile. The second that Echo had knocked on this door, Pere Mal had likely started looking out for the Guardians.

Rhys pushed down the anger burning in his chest at the thought of Echo being foolish enough to give herself up to Pere Mal. No doubt the man had threatened her, threatened kill Tee-Elle or something. But the fact that she hadn’t trusted Rhys to protect her, to protect her family, was a blow straight to the heart.

On top of that, his mate had made things so easy for Pere Mal, all the while making things much harder for the Guardians.

“Rhys,” Aeric said, nudging his shoulder. “We need to execute the plan.”

Rhys nodded, shaking off his dark thoughts as they exited the SUV. Aeric held the enchanted dagger, but all three men pulled on gloves. Sunrise was still an hour or more away, so the Guardians were alone on the street, all the houses silent and dark.

They ran to the door on silent feet, Gabriel kicking in the front door and stepping back to let Rhys enter first.

“Shi—” Rhys started, but his speech was cut off as he felt the brief moment of free fall and heard the soft sucking pop. They’d walked right into a bolt-hole.

Rhys stumbled to a stop, Gabriel and Aeric bumping his shoulders as they flanked him, all three trying to take in their new surroundings. They were in a completely different house, this one a once-grand Victorian number with crumbling walls, a glassless chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and a grand staircase missing half its steps.

Moonlight streamed in through a broken window by the front door, and Rhys cocked his head to listen. The house seemed empty and silent, and he gestured to Gabriel and Aeric to follow as he headed through the ground floor, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

The house was massive. Rhys passed several parlors and a sprawling kitchen on his way to the back door, which let out into a wildly overgrown garden. The whole yard was lined with unkempt bushes that were at least twice Rhys’s height.

“A fucking hedge maze?” Gabriel sighed as he pointed out a break in the verdant fence. “Really? Where are we, a Lewis Carroll novel?”

Rhys ignored Gabriel’s joke and headed for the entrance to the maze, leading the other two men. They hit a dead end almost immediately. Turning around, Rhys went the other way. In less than a minute, they hit another dead end, then another.

“Where the hell are we?” Rhys asked, looking up at the sky. The sun was high and bright, but the air around them was dry and cool. Clearly they weren’t in New Orleans anymore.

“I think… I could be wrong, but I think we’re in Ireland,” Gabriel said.

“Why would we be in Ireland?” Aeric asked.

“Mere Marie said that Pere Mal wants to find the Gates of Guinee, because he wants a way into the spirit realm. There are lots of other gates, though. Ireland is lousy with them, if you know where to look. Or you happen to know a Faery who will tell you,” Gabriel explained. “And the weather is right. The air smells a bit salty, like we’re close to the sea. I think we’re in southern Ireland, and our friend Pere Mal has found a place where the Druids used to congregate, where the Veil is thinnest.”

Rhys grunted, disinterested in engaging in a speculative debate while his mate was in danger. He kept moving, growing more and more frustrated by the moment.

The walls were higher and more chaotic as they went, closing in on them as they progressed into the maze; by the time they hit a fourth dead end, Rhys was feeling so claustrophobic that his skin was crawling, the fine hairs at his nape standing on end.

“Let me,” Aeric said when Rhys stopped and clenched his fists in anger and frustration. “There is a trick, I think. A pattern.”

Rhys shot him a grateful glance and nodded, and in a few minutes they were deep in the maze, closing in on the middle.

Gabriel stopped them both, cupping a hand to his ear, encouraging them to listen.

“I don’t know! I don’t know anything else!” came Echo’s tearful voice, faint but unmistakable.

“You cannot lie to Pere Mal, cher,” came the reply. “Tell me the names.”

A high-pitched scream followed, and Aeric had to restrain Rhys from climbing the closest maze wall to get to Echo. Aeric took point, leading them around two sharp turns. A large gap in the maze appeared at the end of the row and the Guardians moved on it as quickly as they could without giving themselves away.

“Cassandra!” Echo sobbed.

Rhys burst into a clearing to find his mate lashed to a huge marble statue of a weeping angel, Echo’s arms tied to the angel’s outstretched wings, her torso pinned in by the angel’s arms.

Pere Mal stood beside her holding a long, thin black wand in one hand and a ceremonial dagger in the other; between Pere Mal and Echo was a seven-pointed star outlined in chalk and salt, a small scrying mirror lying in the middle.

Between Rhys and Pere Mal were at least a dozen of Pere Mal’s men. Even as Rhys grappled with the closest dark-suited henchman, Pere Mal moved closer to Echo and positioned the dagger close to her neck, watching the Guardians with an expression of indolent curiosity.

Rhys pulled his sword and dispatched two of Pere Mal’s men in less than a minute, growing distracted when Pere Mal sliced Echo’s hand with the ceremonial knife. Pere Mal let her blood drip onto the knife and flung some of it onto the mirror at their feet, leaning close to whisper something to her.

Rhys grunted and lunged at another suited bad guy, watching as Echo shook her head, growing pale. Pere Mal pointed his wand directly at Rhys, giving Rhys just enough time to drop and roll, narrowly avoiding a nasty hex. The spell hit the henchman instead and the man crumpled to the ground, clawing at his throat and choking violently.

“Echo, don’t give him what he wants!” Rhys said, scrambling to his feet. He tossed his sword at another man, catching him clean in the middle.

Another approached with a gun, and Rhys crouched to shift into his bear form. Gabriel seemed to have had the same idea, because moments later there were two massive, raging bears in the clearing, and only four henchmen left. Two of Pere Mal’s guys turned and fled into the maze, so Rhys and Gabriel took down the other two.

Behind them, Aeric pulled the dagger from its cloth bed and held it aloft, catching Pere Mal’s attention.

“Where did you get that?” Pere Mal hissed, his shoulders hunching. He backed toward the maze’s exit, pointing his wand at Echo all the while. “I’ll kill her if you come any closer.”

Rhys dropped back on his haunches and let out a deafening roar. No way was this bastard getting away. He jerked his head at Gabriel, who moved between Pere Mal and Echo, blocking the man’s ability to spell her.

With that, Rhys and Aeric charged. Rhys lunged, trying to keep Pere Mal away from the exit and move him toward Aeric. Aeric edged forward, forcing their prey to choose between facing a deadly, spelled dagger and a very pissed off werebear. In the end, Pere Mal gave Rhys his back as he used his wand to fling a spell at Aeric.

Aeric somehow used the dagger to deflect the spell, spinning it off into the maze. While he was distracted, Pere Mal turned for the exit. Rhys rushed him with a roar, catching him in a heartbeat.

Just as Rhys was prepared to sink his jaws into Pere Mal’s flesh, Pere Mal surprised him by turning and moving
toward
Rhys. There was a flash of metal above Rhys’s head, and a sudden flood of pain.

Rhys looked down to see that Pere Mal had driven the ceremonial dagger into Rhys’s chest. Rhys growled and swatted at Pere Mal. To his surprise, Pere Mal danced backward and avoided Rhys’s blow.

Rhys was surprised again when he felt himself falter, his muscles trembling and locking up. He’d taken many wounds in his bear form, usually shaking them off without a problem. This time was different, though.

The pain began to radiate through his chest and torso, then into his arms and legs. His muscles twitched and convulsed, his lungs contracted. His vision swam with bright spots, then flickered.

It wasn’t until Rhys collapsed onto the ground that he understood.

He was dying.