Prince of Shadows (16 page)

“You’re beautiful and smart and sweet, with a good bloodline,” he began. “How could I be so lucky that no other male hasn’t already taken what you’re giving to me? You never tried to make something happen with anyone else?”

She didn’t want to admit Silas had pushed her away. That was too much heart on her sleeve for comfort, so instead she took the offensive with a soft “You know why.”

He was the only one who truly did.

That one traumatic moment had shaped her life. It had written indelibly the value of being a woman upon her tender, terrified spirit. A fragile, perilous existence dependent upon the whims of those with power in a world where it was pain or death to resist. Where no champion would dare interfere. Her father hadn’t. He’d known and done nothing. Perhaps he thought it would be easier for her mother to accept unacknowledged shame, even if the shame wasn’t her own. Or maybe he’d been afraid.

Not like Silas, who’d made every possible sacrifice so she and Brigit wouldn’t have to. Not like Cale, who’d stepped between her and violence without thought to cost or consequence. Because that was what champions did. They acted, they protected. Unlike Silas, Cale had named her as his reward.

“She killed herself, you know. Your mother told me.”

Cale went still, finally stating gently, “I didn’t know.”

“How did my father die?”

“A man is only as strong as his understanding of his own weakness. Your father told me that. I liked him, liked listening to him talk.” His words trailed off, but he never looked away. “He took a knee, and my father took his head. He didn’t see it coming.” His voice lowered. “None of us did. It shouldn’t have happened. And I’m so very sorry for both things.” Without breaking eye contact, he laid his chin on her toes.

“He knew and did nothing,” she answered hollowly.

Cale’s eyes lowered briefly. His voice was deep and smooth. “Will you want me to do something?”

His unnatural calm sent a chill quivering through her. “What do you mean?” She didn’t dare make assumptions.

His gaze came up to hold hers unblinkingly. “You know exactly what I mean. If you want justice for them, tell me.”

“He’s your father.”

“I know what he is. But what you are to me . . .” He shrugged eloquently. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You think about that and let me know.”

She couldn’t look away from the intensity of his eyes. Then he blinked and sat back. “Okay, what part of me are you dying to get your hands on?”

Jolted from her grim train of thought, she said the first thing that came to mind. “Your shoulders.” For all the weight they carried. For all the times they’d supported her.

Once she’d reclaimed her feet, Kendra went behind his chair, noting that he removed the panty hose and his tie from around his neck after taking off his jacket. She smiled. Did he fear she’d try to strangle him? She placed her hands on the caps of his shoulders and felt all those glorious muscles tighten. “Relax and close your eyes. You’re in my hands now.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, along with all the tension. While she plied and kneaded, her thoughts circled.

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.

All this tremendous power. Was it really hers to command? If she asked for the justice that had eaten away at her heart and soul for as long as she could remember, would he deliver it?

She’d been angry and afraid for so long, she couldn’t imagine a life without threat. Was that what he offered, or would the level of danger simply escalate? What if he weren’t successful, if his brothers turned on him and wouldn’t support his rule?

Her fingers threaded up into his hair while her thumbs worked the pressure points at the base of his skull. Cale made a low contented sound and let his head fall forward. “Oh, baby, this is the best anyone has ever made me feel while upright.”

How would it make him feel to kill his father? She didn’t know anything about their relationship. Was there love? Respect? Or did Bram use his son as callously as he used the Terriot females? Would she be any different if she demanded such a thing from him? Wasn’t she guilty of using him for her own purpose, to keep her safe, to protect her through his sacrifices based upon a promise that she had yet to fulfill?

Who would protect him and his interests?

Cale wasn’t thinking about his interests as all the edgy, racing urgency of the last two days finally trickled down. His mind began to quiet, his pulse to slow, the tight threads of constant readiness to loosen into a fatigue so deep it was like standing on a hill of sand as it gently eroded away. Instead of calm, a heavy fog of anxiousness began to spread. He reached back for one of Kendra’s hands to keep from getting lost in the emotion.

Such a small hand when fitted next to his, so delicate and seemingly powerless, yet with the strength to crumple and discard all that he was or ever hoped to be with one careless or deliberate gesture. Could he trust her? Could he believe in this fragile alliance between them, or was she a softer, sweeter, more dangerous version of the other clan females?

He brought her hand up to his cheek, let his lips brush over those slender fingers as he drew in her soothing scent.

He’d forgotten none of the lessons learned so harshly under his father’s tutelage.

Cale closed his eyes but couldn’t block the image, the sound, the rush of helpless horror. His mother’s hand crushed in his father’s grip. The snap of delicate bone as his roar of fury drowned out her plaintive cry.
Don’t you ever lie to me. The truth. Now! You have nine fingers left before I’m out of patience. Tell me what I want to know.

And she told him everything in a quick gush of words. Everything he wanted to hear and more.

Leave nothing to chance. Always stay in control with a firm hand. The firm hand he’d felt on so many occasions that it seemed more the norm than the exception. That was the way Bram Terriot did things. A way he expected his sons to imitate.

“Have you heard anything from your annoying cousin?” Cale asked quietly.
Don’t lie to me. Please don’t lie to me.

A brief hesitation, then an easily divulged “She called the other night.”

“When?”

“While you were asleep.” A soft chuckle that pinched about his heart. “I didn’t think you’d want to say hello.”

“What did she want?”

“Nothing, really, except to let me know she was in New Orleans at Silas’s place and not happy to be there.”

“You wish you were with her.” It wasn’t a question.

“She’s better off there. Safer. But I do miss her.” She leaned her cheek against his hair. “Even though you don’t. She was afraid I’d been worried.”

“And were you worried? Did you think I’d done something terrible to your dear cousin?”

“No.” He felt her smile. “Not that you wouldn’t want to.”

Cale examined that gentle hand tucked so trustingly within his own. A quick squeeze, a twist, would bring her to her knees, willing to tell him anything, to agree to anything, to be his mate, accept his bond, disown her family, remain at his side, probably even swear that she loved him. What would he gain with that compliance? Nothing but more of the same emptiness he felt now.

He pressed a kiss to each fingertip, his mood so sad and strange that he didn’t recognize it. Just tired. That was all. So tired of the fight. He folded his arms on the tabletop and laid his head upon them, pulling her hand underneath so that his cheek rested in her palm. His eyes closed as he murmured quietly, “I could never hurt you, Kendra.”

Could
never
,
not
would
never
.
A subtle difference lost to him. But not to her.

Kendra continued to rub the back of his neck until his breathing grew deep and even in sleep. She gave his hair a final stroke. The intimacy of that act making her hurriedly pull her trapped hand away.

Would she be able to do whatever she had to if the opportunity to escape arose? How could she run, not walk, away from him without looking back?

sixteen

Integrating into the protective Terriot circle required meeting with Martine, who, as Bram’s long-standing consort, made sure the mechanics of their isolated compound ran smoothly. Seated in her luxurious private rooms sipping tea from a paper-thin china cup, Kendra had her first opportunity to study the reigning matriarch of the clan.

It was clear where Sylvia had inherited her stunning beauty. Though she was at least fifty, Martine’s features were flawless, her hair an undiluted auburn flame. Graceful, soft-spoken, reserved, she radiated a sense of strength and control that Kendra envied. If she ever sat at Cale’s side on the throne of the House, Kendra wished for a measure of her dignity.

“So,” Martine began casually, “how are things progressing between you and Cale? My daughter tells me you’re still a virgin. I find that surprising, since your prince has a reputation for being aggressively virile.”

Kendra choked on her tea. Was the state of her hymen the topic of everyone’s conversation?

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, child,” the older woman soothed. “It’s my job to be concerned with the well-being of the females under our House’s protection. I take it seriously. I expect you to tell me if his behavior is unacceptable.”

Kendra blinked. This from the mate of the most notorious abuser in their clan? Or perhaps because of it.

Though Martine was mated to Bram—for that was the only way he could share the strength of his Shifter genetics with offspring—it was well known that he’d never bonded to any of his females. He had no queen. He’d never given any of the mothers of his sons the standing that would raise them above the others to be his near equal. That had to be chafing his current mistress as the years crept up on her, and it gave Kendra a new respect for her and her efforts to shield those in her position. A noble if futile effort. If Martine went to Bram with complaints of cruelty from one of his sons toward a mate, his most likely response would be to hit harder so she wouldn’t talk of it.

“Cale treats me respectfully,” Kendra demurred. “We’ve known each other since we were children. Intimacy is something we’re approaching slowly, but progress is being made.” She flushed to emphasize that point. “We treat our bonding very seriously.” Let the rumormongers chew on that.

“I’m glad to hear that. You have an advocate here, Kendra. I want you to feel free to come to me with any concerns, the way your mother did. She was a lovely female. You remind me of her.”

Kendra thought of what Vera had told her, about going to Martine for help with her mother, and wished she knew the older woman well enough to ask for additional details. Perhaps that trust would come in time when—if—she settled into her place at Cale’s side. Perhaps she, too, could become an advocate for the females of their clan and hopefully make a difference.

“Thank you. I will.”

Perhaps she wasn’t so alone after all.

Usually, Cale’s workouts were anticipated personal time removed from any outward thoughts. Plugged in to his music, he’d let the hard-driving beats of Eisbrecher and Chrome Division direct his body through a punishing ritual of strength and endurance where he was attuned only to his muscle groups and the steady pace of his breathing. For two hours, sometimes more, he was in his own private Zen state of fiercely grounded energy, feeling unstoppable and in control. Today, an hour in, Cale wasn’t feeling it.

Because of that damned kid and the sorrow in his eyes.

He was all too aware of Kip sitting silently off to the side watching him train, haunted anguish on his face. He could see himself in that same spot some fifteen or more years ago, aching and adrift with the same lonely helplessness.

If only I were bigger, stronger, faster, tougher
,
I could protect those I love from anyone who tried to hurt them.

Bigger, stronger, faster, tougher
had become his personal mantra, and it had beaten him almost to the limits of his life. Over and over. Knocked down, bruised, bloodied, and broken, but always getting up. Always. Eventually, his brothers and then his trainers had begun to look at him differently, with surprise, with amusement, and finally, with hard-won respect. He’d heard their ridicule turn to uncomfortable advice:
Stay down, Cale. Don’t you know when you’re beaten?
He wasn’t beaten until he stopped trying to regain his feet.
Never give up. Never back down. Never walk away. What don’t kill you.
He was a Terriot prince
.
The world would bend and tremble before him. And on the day his father looked upon him with pride, it did.

He never felt the shattering reverberations as he launched repeated kicks and forearm strikes at the weighted bag, as if attacking his own guilt and shame. But he couldn’t escape it. At last he stepped back, breathing hard, and called out to Kip. “Grab those pads. You might as well do something useful.”

Kip strapped the bulky sparring pads on his forearms with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. Cale held back on the first few punches, until he was sure the kid wouldn’t drop his guard and get hurt, then started whaling in earnest. Kip tried but wasn’t able to hold his footing. Angrily, he threw off the protective gear in frustration.

“Okay, kid, you don’t want to help me train. What do you want to do? You want to punch me? Go ahead. Get in a few licks, if it’ll make you feel any—”

Cale never saw the swing that nearly put his lights out. A halo of stars exploded through his left eye as he staggered and almost went down. Another solid hit took him in the jaw before he could angle enough to get Kip into his limited field of vision. The next swing met his palm, and he held on to that fist tightly, able to catch the boy’s other wrist and hold it harmless, as his brother sobbed furiously, “You son of a bitch! They’re dead because of you,” and collapsed against him.

Cale held him easily, letting him cry most of it out before saying, “I miss them, too. I wish I could bring them back.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Kip snuffled, scrubbing his damp face on Cale’s T-shirt. He pushed away, unable to meet his brother’s empathetic stare. “I know you didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Derrick. And Michael, that was his own damn fault. He shouldn’t have been Kicking it that night. It was a stupid thing to do, and I told him so.”

“What was he doing?”

“Kick. You know.” When Cale shook his head, Kip elaborated. “Lots of guys are doing it. It’s some kind of super-enhancer, supposed to bulk you up and get you all juiced. I told him it made him into a dumbass, not a badass. It was the Kick. He wouldn’t have come at you otherwise. He thought the world of you, Cale.”

Very quietly, Cale asked, “Where did he get it, Kip?”

“Don’t know. Probably from those fools he hung with.”

Now that they were dead, he couldn’t ask them.

What the hell had Sylvia been giving him?

Tony was an admirable watchdog. He didn’t intrude. He didn’t complain. He waited and he watched. Kendra felt safer in his presence. Safe enough to share some conversation with him on the chilly terrace as darkness began to fall.

“How long have you known Cale?”

“Since he was just a little pup,” Tony confided, stirring his fourth packet of sugar into a perfectly good cup of coffee. “His father gave him this casino that was bleeding cash and told him to fix it and make it profitable. Kid wasn’t even old enough to go into the bar and order a legal drink. What’s he gonna do?

“He doesn’t tell anyone who he is, gets a room, spends a few days at the tables, watches the shows, orders room service, throws big parties. Just another rich kid pissing money. Until everyone gets called into the ballroom, and this kid shows up wearing a suit more expensive than my mortgage and that big-ass diamond in his ear, and totally cleaned house, top to bottom.” Tony smiled and took a sip of his coffee, grimaced, and added more sugar.

“What did he do?” Kendra asked, intrigued.

“In three days, that little sucker had ferreted out every bit of waste and corruption from the bookkeepers to the blackjack dealers. He knew which waitresses were underreporting their tips, which doormen were doing blow, which pit bosses were padding their pockets . . . and he fired everyone. Everyone!” He chuckled to himself. “What a ballsy move. Made everyone reapply for their jobs. Did all the interviews himself. He shadowed every job to learn the industry while he talked to the staff members about their families and what they’d change if they were in charge. He promised everyone a taste of the profits. If he made money, so would we. But if he got less than our all or we tried to take advantage of him, he’d take us out with the trash. And we only had to see him do that once. He is one ferocious little bastard.

“In six months, the place was in the black for the first time ever. Now it nets the highest profit of any place in Reno. And he’s happy as long as he can drop in for a good steak.”

It was the place he’d taken her for dinner.

“Cale’s a smart man. Not afraid of the work, not scared of the odds. He’s not like his father or the others. He takes pride in what he does and makes it personal, makes you want to do the same, not just for him but with him. He’ll be good for our clan. He’ll take us back to when Terriot was a name you could respect instead of fear. Our people trust him. I used to break knees, collecting on debts. Now I’m head of Cale’s personal security, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. Or you.”

Kendra blinked in surprise as he looked at her in absolute sincerity. “Me?”

“I’ve had Cale’s back for over ten years. I’ve watched him grow from an ambitious boy to a powerful leader. I’ve seen him face down a roomful of rogue killers in his shirtsleeves and talk them down without once resorting to violence because he had that look in his eye that said he could take them out. I’ve seen him stand up to his old man when the rest of them were on their knees, and then I’ve had to put him back together after. Do you know why he pushes so hard, takes such risks?”

Kendra shook her head.

“Not for his king. Not for himself. For you.”

“For his queen,” she corrected.

“No.” Tony put his big hand over hers and pressed lightly. “For you. In ten years, yours is the only name he’s ever spoken. Everything he’s built, everything he’s accomplished, everything he’s fought for has been for you.”

Cale felt Kendra’s hesitation at the doorway to their darkened bedroom. Uneasiness softened her tone. “Cale?”

“It’s late.”

“I was with Tony. You didn’t need to worry.”

“There are other things I need. Come over here.”

Hesitation became reluctance. After a long pause, she crossed the room, coming near but not too close. What had alarmed her? Was it his scent, his tone, his posture? She was as wary as a prey animal approaching a sensed but not yet understood threat. “Why is it so dark in here?”

Because his intentions were dark, and his soul was draped in shadow. Because he couldn’t bear to see her fear clearly etched, her panic starkly defined.

Cale had returned to their chalet to find her absent. As he showered, that thread of anxiety began to weave itself into a blanketing worry. Where could she be, and for what purpose? Goaded by his father’s threats and insinuations, the truth of his tenuous hold on Kendra chafed from an inconvenience to a cold, aching fear. As he was dressing, he heard the buzz of her phone. It took him a minute to find it, and by then, the attempt had gone to missed call. With the press of the history button, a single name surfaced, and the carefully erected world he’d created for himself and his queen collapsed.