Prince of Shadows (2 page)

“She’s spunkier than I remember,” mused James, the oldest Terriot son, as he brushed an imagined speck of lint from his jacket sleeve.

“And I bet quite a looker, given half the chance,” Wesley added. He followed her retreat with an appreciative eye. “Hard to notice when that redhead was in the room.”

Cale kept silent. He ignored his brothers’ comments. They knew nothing about Kendra Terriot, and that was where he’d have the advantage. Because he knew everything. Her every secret, her every dream. Her every fear.

Bram stood, gaining their attention as he spoke. “Wesley, have James and Frederick help you arrange a sparring exhibition for this evening to give our future princess a taste of your talents. It’s been a while since you’ve had a chance to show off. Cale, stay with me.”

If his brothers resented his being singled out, they kept it carefully hidden as they obediently left the room.

The blow was as hard as it was unexpected. At one time, it would have knocked Cale to the floor and kept him there for a good number of minutes. But in his weakened state, Bram only unbalanced him for a stumbling step to one side.

“You forget your place, boy,” Bram snarled. He flexed his hand in aggravation as if angered more by his frailty than by his son’s insubordination. “Watch your tongue or lose it. No one makes demands of me.”

“Forgive me, my king.” Cale straightened without haste or fear to meet his father’s displeasure unblinkingly. “I apologize for speaking out of turn.”

After a tense minute, Bram cautioned, “Don’t let ambition get the best of you. It’s not becoming in a prince.”

Since when had subtlety reined in Bram the Beast’s gluttonous appetite for power? The first thing his father had taught Cale was to grab all you can reach before it gets away, then hold it at all costs, even if having it meant nothing. It was the ownership that mattered. As a rule, the Terriots wanted everything they saw, especially if it belonged to someone else, and they were willing to kill or be killed to possess it.

Probably why his father had sired a dozen sons, all on different females.

“Clever girl,” Bram mused with a reluctant admiration. “Your future queen took me by surprise with her boldness.”

Cale almost smiled. She’d shocked the hell out of him, too.
Then perhaps you shouldn’t have killed him. Bravo, Kendra.
Grown men hadn’t dared speak to his father with such condemnation.

My future queen.
Anticipation spiked like a fever, making Cale forget everything but the image of her in that damp, revealing robe. All he’d endured, all he’d sacrificed, was for this moment. “Then you’ll honor my request? Our bargain?”

Bram sidled away from commitment. “The girl has put me in an awkward spot. I can’t show you favoritism, not in front of the others. It’ll be up to you to discourage them while encouraging her to accept you. Are you prepared for that task?”

“I am.” No hesitation. An end was in sight, his reward for all the grueling achievements he’d piled upon a tenuous promise made long ago.

Again, his father only teased him. “There’s another matter. The MacCreedy female.”

“She should no longer be a problem.”
And good riddance.

“She’s never quite what she should be, is she? Her escort hasn’t come back. There’s been no word from them.”

Cale frowned, annoyed by Brigit’s ability to intrude upon his moment of accomplishment. “Maybe she talked them into taking her all the way to New Orleans with the promise of favors they’d be fools to think they’d ever enjoy.”

“I might believe that of others, but not of Foster and Pyle. Find out where they are and handle the matter. I don’t want her disrupting our plans.”

“Yes, sir.” That was the last thing he wanted as well.

“Claim your princess quickly before she or her quarrelsome family comes up with any other inventive detours. I’ll leave the ways and means up to you. If she won’t let you court her, convince her.”

“I will.”

Bram resumed his chair, appearing winded and tired, something he’d never have done in front of his other heirs without expecting to be instantly overthrown. Apparently, he felt safe in assuming there was a stronger familial bond between them. Perhaps another of those mistakes he’d regret.

“I won’t leave behind an empty throne, Cale. I want to secure future generations to rule in my absence. If you’re so eager to replace me, seed your female at your earliest opportunity. You can have a conversation with her afterward.”

“I understand.”

What Bram Terriot didn’t realize was that his coveted throne wasn’t the motivating prize Cale was after.

It was Kendra.

“What are you doing in here?”

The dark-haired female straightened from rifling the dresser’s top drawer and turned toward Kendra with a bright smile. “Hi! I’m Rosie. I’m your new roommate. I was just trying to decide where to put my stuff so I can move in.”

An unfamiliar resentment stirred at the thought of this stranger invading the space she’d shared with Brigit. Kendra’s tone was sharp. “That’ll have to wait until I’ve packed away my cousin’s things.”

“Oh.” A quick bat of big dark eyelashes. “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rush you.”

Kendra’s manners got the best of her temper. She smiled apologetically. “Give me about an hour to make room for you.”

Rosie’s grin dazzled. “Great. I can’t wait to be best friends.” With a friendly squeeze of the arm, she bounded out, leaving Kendra disheartened by the task ahead.

Only forty-eight hours ago, she would have indulged in tears until Brigit calmed her anxieties. Now she couldn’t afford the luxury of weakness. She had to be strong and watchful. Taunting Bram Terriot hadn’t gotten her off to a stellar start.

Her gaze settled on the open drawer, and a furrow crowded her brow. She went quickly to check the contents: her jewelry box, some mementos of the past. An ugly suspicion bloomed. Which had Rosie been after? Her riches or her memories?

She touched the packet of letters and photographs, noticing that they were ill aligned, as if batched together in a hurry. One was upside down. She separated it from the others, her chest clutching tight as she turned it over to study the four children on a pontoon boat. Her mother had taken the picture from the dock below on a hot summer’s day. It was the last time they’d all been together.

A swift, nearly crippling sorrow rose when she thought about those early days of innocence. She tried not to look back, but that poignant scene held her.

Silas MacCreedy was piloting. Tall and whipcord-lean in his swim trunks and polo shirt, eyes concealed by dark glasses, with an unsmiling expression that said he’d rather be anywhere else. Brigit, already beginning to exhibit curves in her bright yellow bikini, was stretched out on the deck, reading a fashion magazine while religiously working on her tan. Kendra had been captured mid-shriek, about to be tossed overboard by the final member of their constant quartet.

Her arms were wrapped about the neck of the boy whose wide grin was as dazzling as the brilliant precious stones in his ears. The obnoxiously large diamonds were given by Bram Terriot to each of the young princes upon the swearing of fealty. How she’d cried that morning when she’d seen them freshly piercing his lobes, because they meant he was no longer hers.

With a sudden ache of clarity, Kendra could hear his quirky laugh, see the playful devilry in his eyes, feel the heat off his skin. Her thumb traced that mischievous smile.

After a glorious day upon the water, he’d pulled her away from her cousins and taken one of the diamond studs from his swollen ear and placed it in hers, pledging that she would always hold an equal share of his love and loyalty. Being a silly young girl, she’d thought that gesture the most painfully romantic thing ever and believed him with all her naive heart.

Kendra buried the photo and the memory with the others, then took out her jewelry box to check the contents. She didn’t own anything extravagant, not like Brigit, who coveted flash. Just a simple rope of pearls her mother had given her, a fine gold necklace from her father, some colorful bracelets Silas had brought back for her from his first trip abroad, and one large diamond ear stud, its post still dark with blood.

She hadn’t noticed until Cale Terriot had stepped forward boldly that morning. He still wore its single mate.

two

Potential friend or treacherous spy? Rosalee Danner hung her clothing in a recently emptied closet while chattering about that evening’s contest like a silly star-struck groupie. Kendra knew better than to believe what she observed at face value.

Intrigues ran deep and dangerous in the mountain stronghold where the House of Terriot protected itself from the outside world while battling among themselves. Alliances made one day became bitter rivalries the next. As leader of their clan, Bram encouraged violent competitiveness in his people, especially in his sons. Strength meant power. Cunning ruthlessness ensured keeping it. His successor would have to possess a superior degree of both.

The MacCreedy family had famously refused to come to heel, unwilling to bow before Bram or to play his political games. Whether they were noble or foolhardy, their rebellious stand had been a continued thorn in Bram’s side as they chose to live under the radar in uncontrolled Louisiana rather than within the Terriot territories of Nevada. As Silas and Brigit’s father was the second cousin of and great friend to her own, Kendra was able to spend time with them when her parents traveled on Terriot business, but her family had been unshakably loyal to their clan. She’d adored her older cousins, the coolly intelligent Silas and flamboyant Brigit, and when tragedy took her mother, she’d found a safe haven in their company. Over the years, they’d become permanently entangled in one another’s lives, Brigit as her fierce protector and Silas as her unrequited love.

If anyone could rescue her from this political destiny, it was the two of them. All she had to do was stay alert and tread carefully. And evade the trap of bondage to one of Bram’s sons.

“It must be so exciting, knowing they’ll be fighting over you,” Rosie gushed as she stretched out atop Brigit’s bed to gaze dreamily at the ceiling. She’d have been shocked to realize how horrified Kendra was by that idea.

“They’re not interested in me. They’re battling for the throne, and I happen to be their ticket to rise.”

Rosie rolled onto her side to regard Kendra with awe rather than envy. “Still, such an honor. Which do you favor?”

Kendra suppressed her shudder. “I’m keeping an open mind.”

“Pick James. You two would suit each other. Then we’d be like sisters.” She was the eldest son’s first cousin. If that match were made, Rosie’s status would elevate enough for her to snag a prince of her own. Kendra read the eagerness in her stare.

“Which one would you choose for yourself?” she asked out of curiosity. And to see where the girl’s loyalties might lie.

“Rico. Or Michael. I can’t decide. They’re both so . . .” She shivered ecstatically.

Dangerous,
Kendra inserted. “Not Wesley or Cale? They’re the most likely to succeed.”

“Wes’s mother scares me, and Cale . . . he’s just plain scary.” Her gaze widened. “I hear he declared for you.”

If Rosie had heard, everyone had. Clever of him, putting that claim out so quickly, even at the risk of his father’s anger.

“I saw your pictures,” Rosie admitted with a blush. “I didn’t mean to look through them, but I’m such a snoop.” She grinned, and Kendra found herself forgiving her. “You and Cale spent time together? I can’t believe that was allowed.”

“His mother and mine were best friends, so we saw a lot of each other when we were little. We haven’t spoken in years. I’m sure he doesn’t remember those days.” She was trying not to. Looking back was an exercise in futility, Silas always told her. That left only the uncertain dread of her future. Maybe her new roommate could be of some assistance there.

“Rosie, you know all the latest news. I’m so out of touch with that sort of thing.” Brigit’s plan to isolate Kendra from the politics of their clan had included distancing them from the females of their group, even under the protective roof of their lodge. The two of them kept to themselves, with no allies or friendships. And now, without her cousin’s company, Kendra was adrift and unsure where to safely turn. “Maybe you could help me find out something.”

Rosie brightened instantly. “If I can.”

“What have you heard about my cousin Brigit?”

Rosie leaned forward to intimate. “I heard she rejected Cale’s sexual advances, and he had her banished.”

Kendra almost laughed out loud at that absurdity but pretended proper shock. “Really?” The two of them wouldn’t voluntarily touch unless to exchange blows. But it did mask the true reason: to get rid of a roadblock to her own imminent mating. Brigit had managed to keep the Terriot men at bay with tenacious dedication.

“I haven’t heard from her,” Kendra continued. “Do you think you could find out where she was sent?”

“I could ask James. I’m sure he’d know. And don’t worry, I won’t let on that it was you who was asking.” Her smile grew speculative. “Maybe you’d let me sit by you this evening.”

So little Rosie wasn’t so simple after all. “Right next to me,” Kendra agreed.

She had her first ally.

Unmated females in the House of Terriot were protected as fiercely as their business interests. The Shifter clan had grown obscenely rich off of what had started as protection and intimidation, then grown into investments, groomed mostly by Kendra’s father, in the casino and entertainment trade in Reno and Las Vegas. It was their purposeful attention to bloodlines that kept them powerful within their own Shape-shifter world.

Before Bram’s feudal rule, their strength had been nearly crippled in struggles with Memphis rivals, the Guedrys. Bram had stabilized their family by linking the purest, most respected of their lines in the seeding of his sons. Enemies were absorbed into that collective or destroyed with swift brutality. The way the MacCreedys had been.

The Twelve of the House of Terriot held the future of the clan within their genetic breeding pool, and the well they drew from to expand their line had to be untainted. The instant eligible females were fertile, they were sequestered in their own guarded lodge, their access to family and especially breeding-age males strictly monitored. It was more prison than dorm. They ate together in a common room and traveled in a group with chaperones except on rare occasions. The confined proximity created strong bonds, but mostly, it fostered fierce competition.

As she crossed the dining room with a tray full of food she had no appetite for, Kendra was aware of all eyes upon her. She was used to being ostracized because of her affiliation with the MacCreedys, widely considered traitors to their clan, but she was also resented for the freedoms it had earned her. She and Brigit had been raised outside their rigid society rules and had escaped the cloistered walls to mingle with other clans and even with . . . humans. Orphaned and highborn, she was a novelty, a curiosity, and now the center of a lucrative betting pool attached to her chastity and to which of the princes would ultimately claim it. Great stuff for conversation and speculation, unless one was the focus of it.

So Kendra was surprised when her name was called and a chair pushed out for her across from Wesley Terriot’s half sister, Sylvia.

Being the oldest of the unmated females gave Sylvia a certain degree of notoriety. Gorgeous, clever, and a complete political animal, she’d reportedly rejected three Terriot princes, something unheard of and scandalously impressive. Brigit called her a manipulative bitch with grudging respect and had warned Kendra of her agendas.

Sylvia smiled up at Kendra, expression benign, as she said, “I thought it was time we got to know each other. Please sit.”

“I know who you are,” Kendra murmured as she took the seat and regarded the beautiful creature with elegant manners, wavy auburn hair, and catlike blue eyes, the way she would any dangerously exotic species.

“You know who Brigit
said
I was. Though I admired her fashion sense, little about your cousin inspired thoughts of friendship. She and I were too much alike. But she did mentor you closely, and without her, I thought you might need counsel.”

“I’m not seventeen. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Sylvia laughed, showing perfect teeth. “No, you’re not. But you are a sheltered female about to be tossed to a group of extremely predatory wolves with only one thing on their minds. Am I wrong to think you find that a little intimidating?”

“No,” she admitted quietly. “You’re not wrong.”

“Since I’ve been where you are, I could offer some advice. Whether you take it or not is up to you.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Not from any unselfish motive, I assure you.”

Kendra relaxed at that candid admission. “Your motive?”

“I have my own interests to protect, and as long as they don’t clash with yours, I see no reason not to play nice.” Her stare grew penetrating. “Are your interests focused on any particular prince?”

“My interest does not live on this mountain. I have no desire to bond to any prince.”

That bluntness brought back the silky smile. “Good. When you’re ready to pursue your outside interest, you’ll find I can be helpful. Just don’t interfere with where my attention lies.”

“Where would that be, so that we don’t cross paths?”

“I’ll let you know if it becomes a problem. I’m willing to wait and work for what I want. Are you willing to do the same?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then we’ll be of use to each other.”

Cale had one goal for the evening, and it had nothing to do with impressing his future queen. His focus was on discouraging his competition as quickly and decisively as possible.

His brothers were trained in weapons and hand-to-hand. Each had pursued a particular style, and all were undeniably lethal. Because Cale had needed to overcome so much, he’d mastered every discipline.

Runt of the litter
. That harsh stigma had followed him throughout childhood. The one his father should have crushed under a stone upon birth. Puny, sickly, an embarrassment. Survival had been a daily struggle, to thrive a near-Herculean feat. In order to have, hold, and protect those things closest to his heart, he’d had to be bolder, braver, more ruthless than the others. He’d had to train until he was too exhausted to stand. He’d faced down any risk, any challenge, any threat in order to keep the edge. He’d accepted punishment without flinching, delivered cruelties without hesitation, because nothing could beat or torture him as much as the thought of another humiliation like the one he’d suffered at Silas MacCreedy’s hands. And now that all he’d fought for was within reach, he wasn’t going to let it slip away again.

He was aware of the audience seated in the bleachers above the high walls of the racquetball court where they often sparred, but he didn’t acknowledge them. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Yet still he was.

There were almost ten years between Cale and his three youngest brothers. He’d quietly taken them under his wing to help with their training. Because they’d been too little to remember when he was a disgrace, they regarded him as if he were immortal. And he kind of got a kick out of it.

Kip, the youngest prince, was seventeen and this was his first contest. His nervousness had him sweating. Cale stepped up next to him to advise without seeming to, “Breathe. Keep your hands dry. Who do you face first?”

“Colin.”

“Go at him fast and hard. Don’t give him time to think.”

“And what advice do you have for when I go up against you?”

“Lose gracefully.”

The boy grinned at him and wiped damp palms on his T-shirt. “Thanks, Cale.”

“What don’t kill you, brother.” Methodical Colin would crush him, but a quick attack would give a good accounting.

Restoring his game face, Cale drank deeply from the mixture in his water bottle as he watched James and Frederick square off for the first match. James was good with weapons: crossbow, rifle, blades, throwing stars, but no equal to the hotheaded Rico’s hammering body blows. Not a humiliating loss but quick.

Giving Kip an elbow bump as the boy walked toward the court, Cale plugged in the earbuds of his iPod and cranked up the volume so he could sink into the heavy-metal fury of “Let the Bodies Hit the Floor.” The first warm twists of aggression unfurled. He put on his wraparound dark glasses and waited for the heat to burn. A lovely, fierce blaze that would make him if not immortal, then at least pretty damned invincible.