Hunted: A Claiming Novella (The Claiming) (22 page)

Anger
slashed her beautiful face. “You think I don’t know that? I’m a half-blood
Avagarian, Patrick. They know it now. It’s no use trying to pretend or deny the
facts of my being. I’m going to die by their scummy hands wringing my poor
little neck.” A trickle of laughter came from her. Haunting sounds. “And
everyone will cheer and cheer.” Her voice cracked. She looked away, hiding
whatever emotion covered her face.

“Lysse—I
came here because I have a proposal.”

Clank,
clank, clank.

The
sounds of a guard steadily making his way down the steps to the dungeon caught
his attention.

He
didn’t have much time.

“A
proposal. I’ve received many of those in my time.”

“Not
one like this,” Patrick said.

That
got her attention. She tossed her hair out of her face, astute gaze locking on
him. “What do you mean?”

“I
thought I could use my influence to give you a stay on your execution.”

So
long passed before she spoke, that he thought he might have to repeat himself.
The guard was almost to the bottom of the stairs and he couldn’t risk anyone
else overhearing their conversation. He had to hurry this up.

“To
stay my execution,” she repeated slowly.

“Yes,”
was the hissed
reply.
“Now, we don’t have much time to
discuss it before Lyle’s man shows up to listen. Give me your answer now or
else---”

“No.”

He
jerked, stricken. “No?”

Cold
eyes, the look of someone who’d given up, stared blankly at him. “I said no.”

Clank,
screech, clank.

Louder
it came, the shuffling of armed guards down the dungeon steps. Nearly to the
end now.

“How
can you say that? I thought you were a fighter.”

His
challenge, though weak, seemed to rile her. A flash of anger in her eyes
sparking heat. “Your plan would never work. There’s only one way it could ever
work.”

Clank,
clank, clank, clank.

He
felt almost desperate now. Heart pounding fast and loud in his ear drums.

“How’s
that?”

She
grabbed the bars and pressed her nose between them. “Join with me. Free me.”

Patrick
blinked, then burst out laughing. Of all the ridiculous statements he’d heard
in his life. To
free
her from the prison’s dungeon—to
free
her
from her impending execution would mean his death too.

“How
insane,” he said.

“Insane…”
Her gaze flicked to the end of the hallway, where, at any moment the guards
would swoop down to order him to leave. His time was almost up. Anything they
said would be overheard and spread back to the king. “What’s more insane than
dethroning King Lyle Hargrowe?”

His
head nearly snapped in half at the double-take he did. Yet…his ears perked up.
“Say again?”

Her
eyes glowed with satisfaction. “Join with me and I’ll help you to dethrone the
king. I have an army of Avagarians hungry to fight for this territory and kill
Lyle. I’ll help you, if…you get me out of here.”

The
guard had reached the bottom step. “
Oy
! Time’s almost
up. Finish your business.”

Patrick’s
eye ticked. A muscle spasm soon joined by another. “This is madness.”

“We
have no more time to speak. The guard’s upon us. You have my word, Patrick.
Free me from here and I will make you a king,” she whispered fiercely.

Patrick
stared into her eyes and felt a sense of—truth. She meant it. And, perhaps, she
could help him. She had resources and powers he did not. But he only had
moments to think.

“I
need an answer now or my offer is off the table. What will it be?” she asked.
“There’s no time, Patrick. Tell me
now
.”

The
guard was halfway down the hall. In less than a minute he’d be at Patrick’s
side, ushering him back upstairs. He had to think fast.

“Fine.
I agree.”

He
saw Lysse’s expression of deep satisfaction a split second before Patrick
turned, his hand on his sword-cane, withdrawing his blade in one silent sweep.
The guard did not see it coming as Patrick turned his blade on him and
advanced.

He
would be king one day. He’d make sure of it.

One
way or another.

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Hunted
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CHAINS
OF FROST

Available now!

Chloe
awoke to a definite chill in the air. She shivered and pulled the covers more
fully over her. Except all that did was make her legs colder as the cover came
up. Grumbling, she turned to the other side and pulled the cover up to her
cheek. Instantly her legs and butt were chilled with goose bumps.

Popping
open her eyes, she sat up and came to the quick and sudden realization that she
was not in her hotel room anymore. She looked down at the little white towel
wrapped loosely around her and pulled the ends tighter as she tried to control
her racing thoughts.

Where
the hell was she? A vast study or maybe a library. Her sister was nowhere to be
seen.

The
room was dark and filled with low-lit candles and a grand chandelier that cast
the leather furniture in shadows. She stood on shaky legs and tried to remember
what had happened. Cemetery, spell casting, demon zombie screaming her name,
then to bed. She gasped as she recalled waking up to two men and that nasty
roaring she’d heard in the cemetery. The demon had followed her. And men were
trying to kidnap her.

Spinning
around, she caught sight of a man standing at an archway window looking out.
Shoot, that wasn’t a man.

As
silently as she could, she kept her eyes on him and backed up. Don’t hear me.
The man was huge, though not in a steroid taking, pumping iron way. He was tall
with shoulders that filled the wide-open window. Damn, that window really
needed bars or something over it to keep people from, oh, falling to their
deaths. His back and lean hips caught her attention next. He wore a black
long-sleeve shirt and matching pants yet the simple ensemble made him look
dangerous in an ‘I’m completely normal’ way. Even his hair was dark. Long too,
pulled into a severe tie at the back of his head.

Three
more silent steps backward on the freezing cold floor beneath her bare feet.

“Surely,
you at least wish to know who I am before you leave.” She jumped at the sound
of his voice and tripped over a table behind her.

She
toppled to the ground, her butt skidding on the cold stone floor in a clump.
Quickly disentangling herself, she stood, clutching the towel tighter around
her. His voice…It was cold and hard. It held a tone that could mistakenly be
construed as passive or bored, but she was sure was just indifference. Was this
what a killer sounded like? He could talk to you in that detached voice as he
swung the sword that would take your head.

She
thought briefly about righting the table she knocked over but decided edging
toward the huge double-sided door was the smarter idea. Escape. She took
another silent step toward those doors.

He
turned toward her and her feet stopped moving. It was the complete opposite of what
she should be doing, yet she couldn’t will her body to move any more than she
could tear her eyes away from him.

She
knew who he was in an instant. It didn’t matter that she’d never met him or
even had one iota of what he looked like before. One did not become commander
of a legion of vampires that fought demons for a living without getting that
cold, hard look in his eyes.

A
deep scar was set into his skin underneath his right eye. It was jagged and
reached from his nose to his temple. It must be old because it wasn’t red with
freshness, but a paler shade of his skin. His hair formed a widow’s peak that
somehow made him look more severe…and even more intriguingly handsome. Chloe
tried to recall the last time a man had her staring but couldn’t think of one.
Yet this man commanded her attention with his very presence, without words or
actions.

He
stood straight and erect as if he was about to command armies to attack, not
have a conversation. This man was Commander Tyrian en
Kulev
,
the scariest man on the face of the Earth. And he wanted to talk to her. Hell,
he technically owned her, thanks to her father’s insane will. Right, time to
go, Chloe thought, and edged toward the door.

He
merely watched her. “If you will not have this conversation with me, then you
will only make things harder on yourself, Ms. Bellum.” She winced at the use of
her name. But his words worked. She stood frozen, clutching the small hotel
towel like it could save her from this man.

A
swarm of emotions flitted through her as he simply watched her with those
tracking, deadly eyes. With one look, he managed to make her feel like the sole
focus of his thoughts and words. It might have been flattering if this man
didn’t technically have rights to her now. And if he didn’t make his living by
being a really good killer. Oh, and if he didn’t scare her so badly.

Bravely
lifting her chin she said, “Then talk.”

His
eyebrows rose just a hair, as if he wasn’t used to being ordered to do
anything. He pulled his arms behind him. The action opened his chest to her and
made her realize just how built he was. His shoulders were wide and filled out
his shirt well, while his chest tapered to a more slender waist.

“We
are in a situation that cannot be changed. Were you notified of the rights of
ownership given to me?” 

Chloe
ground her teeth and seethed inside. The word ‘ownership’ while referring to
her made her want to hit him. Yet all she could do was stare at his eyes. This
man and his eyes were unlike anything she’d ever encountered before. Icy blue
like the sky, glittering and bright.

“I’m
quite aware,” she said, peering at the wide double door. It looked heavy. Would
she even be able to pull it open?

Nerves
had her feeling twitchy, like bugs were crawling up her arms and legs. She
rubbed at them and took uneven breaths.

“Since
your rights have been given to me, stipulations must be made.” He took a step
forward and she flinched, unable to help herself. He either didn’t notice her
reaction or didn’t care, because he ignored her and went to the corner of the
room where the biggest desk she’d ever seen was situated. It was bigger than
the bathroom of her first apartment and much cleaner.

“You
are not to leave the compound under any circumstance without strict permission
from me. You are not to be outside these walls at night. There will be no
trips, no friends visiting, and absolutely no bothering me, my quarters, my
things, my guards, or my work in any way.”

Chloe
stifled the sharp retort that was on her tongue and made a dash for the double
doors. Her hand touched the brass handle, pulled down on it, then started to
yank it open when a big hand slammed against the door an inch above her hand.
She gave a startled scream and spun around, nearly losing the towel. He was
standing not even a foot away.

Although
he might as well have been on the far side of the room, for she couldn’t even
feel a hint of heat from his body. Well of course, she thought coldly, the man
was a cold-hearted killer. Sure, he fought on the right side of things, if
there was such a thing, but his eyes were those of a man who’d seen terrible
things for far too long. No one could ever remain unjaded after that.

She
hadn’t realized she was staring into his eyes—eyes the color of the lightest of
skies—until he blinked and shattered the look.

“You
know what I say is true, Ms. Bellum. Do not fight this or you will only make
trouble for yourself. If you are aware of what your father has done upon his
death, though I am still unsure why he made such a decision, then you know you
are under my exclusive care. I am your Protector now.”

Being
so near him was like standing next to your executioner. An executioner who
could take her, use her, share her in the worst of ways and nothing the law did
could help her. Because she was his.

“I
am not yours. I will never be yours.” She gulped at his unblinking stare.
“Commander,” she added somewhat nicely. If she couldn’t take the bull by the
horn, then maybe she could coax it to lie down while she found a way out of
here…and maybe a shirt.