Prince of Shadows (4 page)

“I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be . . . appropriate.”

He nodded, searching for the right words before saying plainly, “Everything I’ve done has been for you. I’ve been waiting to make you my queen.”

Now she was truly at a loss, managing to gasp, “How could you say that? How could you make what you’ve become about me? Don’t you dare blame me because you were weak.”

His stare went blank. “Weak?” A strained laugh of disbelief escaped him. “Is that what you think of me? That I was weak? I was eleven years old. What did you expect me to do?”

“We were friends, Cale. I—” She caught herself and replaced the word that sprang to her heart. “I trusted you. And how did you repay that?” She turned away from the sight of him, her eyes flooding with pain. “You were there that night. I saw you in my mother’s room. You were there when your father had the MacCreedy family killed. Were you there when my father died?”

“I was.”

“And you agreed with what was done?”

“It was necessary.”

She shuddered and covered her face with her hands to shut out the horror of what he’d become in her eyes.

He’d crossed the room before she was aware that he’d moved, coming down on one knee to nudge his head beneath her chin the way he’d done when they were children. The gesture was so intimate and unexpected that she didn’t know how to react until he spoke again in a tight-throated whisper. “But I didn’t agree.”

Kendra’s hand was on his hair before she could stop herself, stroking lightly. So soft, the rest of him so hard. Her arms went reflexively about him, tightening as if her life depended upon her ability to keep him close as she breathed him in, the bittersweet familiarity of his scent instantly soothing the ragged edges of grief.
Oh, Cale. How I loved you. How I’ve missed you
. She touched her lips to the back of his neck as her fingertips traced the foreign textures of his adult face.

“I would never hurt you, Kendra.”

Her thumb brushed against the raised scar cutting across his cheekbone. Remembering where it came from returned her senses with a harsh jolt. “You don’t think my parents dying
hurt
me?”

“What was I supposed to do?” he asked again, his words vulnerable and searching as he continued to lean in to her. “Die with them? Would you rather they’d killed me, too?”

She closed her eyes and saw him clearly, standing in the carnage of the MacCreedy living room, a soulless reflection of his father as he watched her being led past him without a flicker of response. Her answer was wooden. “Yes.”

She felt his sharp recoil, heard his quick intake of breath. She was pushing him away, setting him back on his heels, where he regarded her from behind that carefully guarded mask.“You don’t mean that.”

“I will never forgive you.” She enunciated each word for emphasis. “And I can never be with you.”

“I’ll change your mind.”

“How, Cale? By bringing my parents back from the dead?”

For a long moment, he held her agonized stare unblinkingly, then rose without a word, leaving her alone to shed her tears.

“How’d things go for Bachelor Number Eight?”

Cale didn’t turn at the sound of Wesley’s voice. He was standing at the edge of the terrace behind the lodge, staring somberly at the chill waters below, thinking that with one step, he could make all her dreams come true. “She’d prefer it if I were dead,” he answered tonelessly.

Wes pushed at the back of Cale’s head, forcing him to plant his feet or stumble dangerously forward. “She’d prefer me neutered. Good thing the old man didn’t give her that much power. He’s losing it.” Then a cool speculation: “The crown will be up for grabs sooner than we expected.”

“I think he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“Pitting us against each other?”

Cale smiled at that. As if they’d ever been a close-knit, happy unit. He wasn’t sure when he and Wes had gotten friendly. There’d been so much animosity while they were growing up. “By doing what needs to be done to unite our family” was his quiet conclusion.

Wes snorted. “Now you sound like Jamie. The old man doesn’t give a damn about us or our people.” He glanced about after the fact to make sure he hadn’t been overheard. “You know what he is, Cale.”

“Yeah, I do,” Cale agreed with the same thoughtful intensity that had his half brother frowning. “But he has what I want.”

“And you’re going to step right into his shoes.”

Cale’s gaze flickered up and quickly away as he considered how much to say. “Not the power. Her. She’s the one, Wes,” he confessed, perhaps unwisely.

Wesley was silent for a long moment, then chuckled. “Don’t you think it would be smarter to pick a mate who prefers you breathing?”

A reluctant smile crept out. “Probably.”

Wes blew out a big sigh. “Well, then, brother, you’d better come up with a way to convince her that you’ve got something she wants before you have to see someone else’s mark on her.”

Hair bristled on the back of Cale’s neck as a low threatening growl escaped him. That wasn’t going to happen. He glanced at his brother with ill-concealed irritation. “Kinda hard to convince her from a distance. I need some up-close-and-personal time with her.”

Wes considered the problem, then his smile spread silkily. “Maybe I could help you out there, bro. I could drop a suggestion to my mother. You’d owe me big.”

“You could name your price.” He’d pay it. Nothing was too much, with Kendra in the balance. Maybe he was weak, and she was that weakness. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was having her beside him as he ruled.

Cale continued to linger alone in the slowly spreading warmth of midday, staring moodily down into the lake.

“My prince, I have news from Foster.”

The sudden presence of someone at his left elbow gave Cale a nasty start. He hadn’t seen the approach. He took an instinctive step away, and only a quick hand on his elbow kept him from that plunge to make Kendra’s wishes complete. The messenger looked terrified at his own boldness. “Forgive me, my prince. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Cale took a calming breath. “What’s the news?”

It wasn’t good. In fact, it was disastrous.

Brigit MacCreedy had killed one of the men escorting her off the mountain and seriously maimed the other before disappearing without a trace.

“Find her. She’ll head for her brother in New Orleans.” Cale thought for a moment, then added grimly, “And put a trace on her cousin’s phone.”

Because if she didn’t run to Silas, the first person Brigit would reach out to was Kendra.

four

They arrived with flash and fanfare, the women like celebrities in an obscenely long limo, their men in a surrounding entourage of Jeeps and muscular off-road bikes. Fawning club staff rushed to assist the ladies from the vehicle but were elbowed aside by the bristling cadre of protectors who immediately circled the females to escort them inside.

The club’s patrons stared as they passed, the females appreciated for their style and beauty, the brutally handsome Terriot men gawked at as if they were film stars. Or mobsters. Every man wished to be them. Every woman wanted to bed them. And the owners, seeing dollar signs, rushed to welcome them.

A section was cleared for their party. The bonded foursome of brothers grouped together with their mates. The eligible females were seated with deference in a large booth, where they couldn’t be easily approached. Not without going through a wall of fiercely territorial males.

Kendra had been reluctant when Rosie rushed up with news of the outing. A little schmoozing with the locals, James had told her. Good for community relations. Their clan paid handsomely to be left alone, but when they went out in public, they went big and spent large. He’d assured Rosie that it would be safe and fun and she’d enjoy it. She squealed that she’d just
die
if Kendra didn’t go, too.

Quite frankly, Kendra was ready to expire from sheer nerves at the thought of being caged another minute longer. So they raided the clothes Brigit had left behind.

If Kendra’s flashy cousin had a talent, it was for amassing a spectacular wardrobe. Rosie fell in love with a sheath of teal lace that she was more than willing to pad her bra to fill out. For once, Kendra abandoned her inherent modesty, figuring this might be her last chance to feel the illusion of freedom.

Rosie gave a low whistle as Kendra took a turn in front of the mirror. The short figure-hugging dress had gone into Brigit’s discards because the coral shade clashed with her hair. But against Kendra’s soft blond updo and fair skin, the look sizzled: styled with low-scooped cowls both front and back, and ruched along the sides of the skirt to pull the stretchy fabric as tight as shrink wrap. It would bag her a prince by night’s end, Rosie pronounced. Not exactly what Kendra wanted to hear. Especially when she passed in front of the princes on the way to the booth, to their low rumbles of appreciation.

In the club, in the glamorous, sexy clothes and evening makeup, with the thuggishly sexy protectors decked out in tailored jackets and formidable scowls, the mood was magic. Strobing lights dazzled off reflective surfaces. Music spun by a popular DJ was loud and pulsed exuberant energy. Kendra felt alive with anticipation. Waiting for something to happen.

And waiting.

Hours ticked by.

“What’s up with this?” Kendra looked from the isolated corral of restless females to the Terriot males, making explicit use of body language on the dance floor with every responsive human in a short skirt. “They get to have fun while we sit and look pretty?”

Her narrowed gaze snagged on Cale Terriot, palming the backside of a brunette who seemed determined to crawl into his suit jacket with him. His smirky grin froze when their stares connected. She turned away, tipping back the rest of her Captain and Coke to cool her agitation.

Rosie pouted into her umbrella drink as her glance slid longingly to the lighted dance floor. “I want to be groped by a hot guy.”

“They like to show us off.” Sylvia sighed. “Like a flashy sports car to pull up in, park, and forget about until the drive home. My meter’s tired of running on empty.”

Kendra made a disparaging noise that would have made Brigit proud. “I didn’t get all dressed up to sit in the dark like the chaperone at a high school formal.”

Rosie’s delicate brows flew upward. “You went to a human high school?” Envious attention turned her way.

“No,” she admitted. “But I watch movies.”

And while they were growing up, she and her cousin had danced along with them and to the blaring from the boom box in their room, mimicking music video moves. Missing her friend, Kendra wanted to taste that delicious giddiness again.

She’d never danced with a man, had never moved with a partner through those paired steps that were the closest thing to sex that one could have with clothes on and a roomful of strangers watching. Sex being the other thing she’d never enjoyed. Suddenly, Kendra wanted a hot man to grab her ass and whisper salacious things in her ear.

Tonight, irrationally, unexpectedly, she wanted that man to be Cale. Her focus riveted to those long fingers squeezing a leather-clad cheek as if testing for ripeness.

Maybe it was the dark suit coat worn over a black shirt unbuttoned far enough and tight enough to showcase his chest. Or the way the pulsing spotlights flashed off his single earring and sketched his harsh features in fascinating plays of glare and shadow, making the scar mysterious instead of sinister. Maybe it was the incinerating heat in the fixed stare that had never left her. Or maybe it was just the good Captain loosening up her inhibitions. One thing it wasn’t was a longing for reconnection with what she’d lost. The adult Cale didn’t make her think of the child, because damn, he was hot. Smoking hot. Scorching hot. Drooling hot.

She fanned herself with her drink coaster as a replacement glass appeared to quench her suddenly desperate thirst. A couple of quick gulps only had her flaming more uncomfortably.

The DJ cleared the dance floor with a series of announcements. Their clansmen drifted toward the bar instead of rejoining the table, an insult provoking Kendra’s already edgy mood. To be invited and then ignored? Taken for granted?

What would Brigit do?

When the music started up, Kendra stood to announce, “Ladies, they’re playing our song.” She gripped Rosie’s elbow to drag her out of the booth, and after a shocked second, the others gamely followed.

She’d never been the impulsive one to step boldly out of the shadows and demand attention. She’d never done anything reckless or daring or the least bit inappropriate. Goaded by the whisper of spiced rum, she figured it was about time she did.

Cale was sipping his beer when Wes nudged his elbow, sloshing it down his chin. “Hey, watch it, man,” Cale exclaimed.

“You’ll want to see this.”

Cale turned to follow Wesley’s wide-eyed stare and nearly dropped his glass along with his jaw. The sight of the clan females strutting their exquisite stuff out on the dance floor to the raucous beat of Joan Jett was startling enough, but to see sweet, soft-spoken Kendra getting down and dirty to the taunting lyrics nearly made his heart stop, then start chugging like a runaway freight train.

She was . . . unbelievable.

Hot chicks hoochie-dancing together, pole optional—the kick-start to every guy’s wet dream. He’d been having fantasies about Kendra since he was ten. This surpassed every one of them.

Where the hell had she learned to move like that? Shoulders undulating, dropping down low, shaking her moneymaker and giving change with the swing of her hips. As her hands speared into her hair to yank it into a messy tangle, his mouth went dry and his groin heavy. All he could see and scent was her as she mouthed the song’s snarling sentiments, “I hate myself for loving you,” her index fingers stabbing at his chest.

Wesley jabbed an elbow into his ribs, but Cale was already moving. He reached back to set his glass on the bar, missing. He never heard the crash as he walked toward the dance floor with aggressive, claiming strides.

She had her back to him, her sassy hips making a tempting swivel that brought her around right into the curl of his arms. She snapped taut with surprise. Her gaze flashed up to meet his, her dark eyes a confusion of alarm and . . . what? Then the kohled eyelids lowered, her lips parting on a breathy sigh. Her arms glided over his shoulders, her body swaying in to his. For a moment, he couldn’t move.

Her words caressed his neck. “Dance with me” was what she said, but the subtext read “Fuck me horizontal.”

She layered against him like a fitted sheet as he put the song’s primal rhythm into motion, riding his movements, her body warm and liquid. He couldn’t help paralleling it to how they’d be in bed. Spark to ready tinder. That was where he needed this evening to end so he could think clearly again.

Her thumbs traced the whorl of his ears, making his control shiver. She couldn’t be unaware of how hard he was for her as urgency growled, “Take her, and take her deep, so she’ll never think of anyone before or want anyone after.”

“So now you’re in love with me?” he shouted over the music. The notion teased as provocatively as her rocking hips.

She puzzled over his gruff words. “What? Oh. The song. It’s just a song. I don’t have to love you to want you, do I?” She punctuated that sultry question by nibbling at his neck.

His system shuddered. Fighting against the pull to behave badly and scare the hell out of her, he laughed. “You’ve managed to drink me desirable, is that it? Or would you grind on anything that moved at this point?”

That switched off her steam bath of attention. She planted her feet and gave him a shove. “You are such a
dick
. Do you know that?”

The look, the language, the behavior. It was so unlike her. He was
so
turned on. “Yeah, I know.”

Her features quivered at his flip reply, then firmed. “I just wanted— Never mind.” She spun and started across the dance floor, quickly disappearing within the writhing crowd.

What? Wanted what?

He started after her, using his shoulders and finally his elbows to part the way. The sight of her already in another man’s arms, as the music took a turn to slow and sorrowful, triggered everything that made him so dangerous.

Cale gripped the human’s arm, plucking him away as if he’d been an insect. All he could see was the anger and hurt in Kendra’s eyes as he demanded, “What? What do you want?”

The other man took that inopportune moment to try to reclaim his dance partner. “Hey, pal, we had something going on here.” He pressed Cale’s shoulder for emphasis. Bad move.

Cale gripped his hand and, with a squeeze, dropped the surprised fellow to his knees. “You’ve got nothing going on here. Get lost or get hospitalized.”

Transfixed and then terrified by the unholy red gleam flashing in Cale’s eyes, the human scrambled away.

Kendra tugged to get free, but Cale used the rebound of momentum to secure her tightly against his chest, holding her to him as he began to move to the music. Seether’s “Broken” echoed the anxiousness pulling through him as he tried to quiet her within his embrace. Because he
hadn’t
felt right when she was gone. His hand cupped the side of her head to tuck it to his shoulder as he whispered low into her hair, “Tell me what you want. Tell me what I can do for you.”

She gave her head a jerky shake. “It doesn’t matter.”

His mouth brushed over silky blond curls. “It does to me.”

“Since when?” she challenged in a choky little voice.

“Since . . . always.”

He continued to move her slowly, rocking in an easy shuffle. Finally, her hands came up to rest at his hips. Sliding around his waist. A nice fit, the two of them, just as he’d known they would be.

Then the song ended. What he wanted was quite impossible: to just stand there, holding her, feeling her breathe.

Kendra drew back and took an unsteady step away. Her mind was reeling with bewildering emotions tossed on a rum-soaked sea. Her face went hot and then icy cold, and it was all she could do to murmur, “I need some air,” before bolting for the closest exit.

The bracing night breeze slapped the dizziness from her. She sucked in huge gulps, hoping to bring clarity, but her thoughts remained elusive and fuzzy-edged. Startled by a sound from behind, Kendra took a stumbling pitch to the right. A strong arm hooked about her middle to keep her from face-planting in the dark loading-dock area. Embarrassment warred with the need to toss up four tall glasses of alcohol.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” she said, panting. “In fact, I never drink. Whew. I’m such a lightweight.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” His voice was quiet, almost gentle. She didn’t know who this Cale Terriot was. He scared, confused, and excited her in equal doses.

But was she . . . safe with him? Did she want to be?

Kendra continued to breathe deep, and he continued to hold her loosely, saying nothing. She couldn’t find a balance between the crazy tilt of her feelings and the ache in her heart. “I don’t want to go back in. It was silly to think . . . I’ve made such a fool of myself. Imagine anyone . . .” Her anguish broke loose in little incoherent pieces.

“Anyone what?”

“Nothing. I need to leave.” She tried to wrestle free. Though the band of his arm didn’t tighten, it formed a barrier to her escape. “Let me go.”

“Tell me. Then I’ll take you back.” He leaned close so that his cheek brushed hers. His skin was startlingly warm and smooth, shocking her into revealing her deepest pain.

“I want someone to want me for myself. Not as some trophy. I want someone to grab my ass. What’s wrong with my ass?”