Rebel Obsession (37 page)
“Okay, we’ll let him know you’re on your way. Be careful, Candy.” He gave her the room number then hung up. As she turned for the Burnham and started running, she realized what she had to do. The idea had been simmering in the back of her mind like a promise she couldn’t remember making, but now the thought surged forward. She had nothing to live for anymore. Her father had taken something from her tonight…something important—her only reason to stay alive. But through her shit-infested mind, whatever that was hung just out of reach, right where her father wanted it to remain.
Well, fuck him. Fuck her goddamn father. She would teach him. She would show him how done she was with his bullshit rules and his oppressive control.
With every step, her resolve strengthened and she grew closer to her fate. Soon, her suffering would be over. Just one more fix. That’s all she needed.
Chez turned toward Apostle, who was lounging on a fancy but comfortable gold couch with a diamond pattern woven into the fabric.
“She’s on her way.”
“Good.” Apostle snapped his fingers at Jessup. “Get ready.” He turned back to Chez. “Nice touch with all that ‘safety, be careful’ shit.”
Chez grinned. “No problem.”
Jessup wiped his hands on his napkin and abandoned the plate of room service he had been eating to go to the bathroom and clean up. Apostle reached over and plucked an artichoke from the plate and popped it in his mouth.
“And you’re sure it’s her?” Apostle licked his fingers and grabbed another bite of food off the plate.
“Yes. She uses the name Candy. When I called her on it, she didn’t correct me. It’s Princess Miriam.”
Apostle wiped his fingers on Jessup’s napkin and stood up, pulling out his phone. He dialed Bishop’s number.
“Do you have it?” Bishop asked, not bothering with hello.
“Not yet. But she’s on her way.”
“Excellent. Don’t fuck this up, Apostle.”
Nice vote of confidence, asshole.
“I won’t. We’ve got a good plan.”
“Mmm, the same kind of plan that got Deacon killed?”
Apostle bit his tongue. Would he ever live down his twin’s death? “Don’t worry, Bishop. This will work.”
“It had better. I have plans for that royal blood, and I don’t want to be disappointed.”
“Jessup will return with her blood as soon as it’s finished.” Apostle stared at his reflection in the window.
His long blue-black hair hung to his waist and his face looked a bit less gaunt than it had. At least he was beginning to put on weight.
“I shall await Jessup’s return then.” Bishop disconnected and Apostle shoved his phone in his pocket.
If this plan of theirs didn’t work, he didn’t want to think about what Bishop would do to him.
King Bain paced in his tomblike office during a short recess in the proceedings. He had already sentenced Tristan and Severin, and now Trace was being brought in with Micah.
Micah. That powerful bastard had trained Bain back in the Old World. Talented with a bow and arrow, and even better with a knife, Micah should have been in charge of Bain’s entire fighting force by now. If not for what had happened to Katarina, he would have been. Such a shame. Bain shook his head at the memory of what had happened a long time ago.
He had been thinking a lot about the past, his mind drifting to family and his own upbringing. He had been a stubborn child, rebellious and headstrong. Miriam was definitely following in his footsteps, making him see just how much grief he had given his own parents.
Even so, things had been different then. Sure, they had lived in constant fear of wars and fighting with the drecks, and even humans had turned on them, making the vampire community hide away and live in secret. It was his duty to protect Miriam from becoming a victim in this new world where vampires not only had to protect themselves from drecks, but also from humans. Couldn’t she see that he only wanted to protect her?
And what father didn’t want the best for his daughter?
“You’re overthinking it,” Cordray said, slipping quietly into his office.
He spun around. He had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he hadn’t even heard her come down the hall. “Cordray?”
She wore metallic, print denim pants that looked like a second skin, as well as a black leather bustier that laced up the front and shoved her breasts into healthy mounds. Studded cuffs wrapped around her wrists, and she had to be wearing twenty different chains, rings, and piercings. But it was the tattoos of rainbow-colored birds and exotic flowers across both shoulders and down both arms, as well as what he could see of the dragon tattoo wrapped around her torso, that stole the show.
She crossed the masterpieces known as her arms and leaned against the wall. “You’re overthinking it,” she said again.
Only Cordray could get away with poking around in his thoughts without permission. “Overthinking what?”
She arched an eyebrow and gave him a knowing look, her mouth quirking into a crooked grin. They both knew exactly what she was talking about. He could hide nothing from her—never had been able to, either. “Don’t give me that, Bain,” she said. “You know what I’m talking about, and you need to quit comparing how our father raised you to how you’re raising Miriam.”
Cordray knew him better than anyone. Better even than Cara. The two shared a secret no one else knew. Bain’s father had never mated to Bain’s mother. It was nearly miraculous he had been conceived at all. Unfortunately for the queen, over one hundred years later, the first King Bain found his true mate in a human who served in his castle, and within the year, Cordray was born.
The situation had been difficult for all involved, and new laws had been passed pertaining to the changing of human mates so that Bain the First could rightfully turn his mate from human to immortal and spend the rest of his life with her. But everyone who knew the true relationship between Bain and Cordray had died a long time ago. Cordray was all Bain had left of his family, and they kept their relationship a sacred secret for fear of stirring up dissidence in the community. There was nothing like a scandal to weaken solidarity, which was something Bain couldn’t afford.
“I want what’s best for her,” Bain said.
Cordray cocked her head in that no-nonsense way of hers and sighed. “What’s best for her is for her to live her own life, idiot.” She pushed away from the wall and turned before looking over her shoulder at him. “She’s not a normal female, you know. She has too much of you in her.” She began to walk away. “Micah and Trace are ready for you.” Her three-inch, platform heels clicked across the hardwood floor and then she left the room.
His heart was heavy with personal burden. Miriam’s words had cut him deeply earlier, and now Cordray’s weighed just as heavily.
Were they both right? Was he being overly cautious and too controlling where Miriam was concerned? He only wanted what was best for her, and she deserved a worthy male with strong bloodlines. In his opinion, that wasn’t Io. But Io had mated her. Just like his father had mated the unlikely human servant, Io had formed a link to his daughter.
Still, Io had lied to him, in a manner of speaking. So had Miriam, and so had Io’s commander and teammates. What kind of king would he be if he allowed such insubordination to go without punishment? If word got out he had bent on what had been perceived as common law for decades, if not centuries, as it pertained to the royal family, would that open him up to scrutiny? Would those he ruled see that as weakness and try to exploit it?
Bain had ruled since his father had been killed in battle over seven centuries ago. Fear had kept the race compliant and orderly ever since. He couldn’t afford to show weakness. He couldn’t let his people think he was going soft. His rules and his laws had to be followed, and if they weren’t, it was his responsibility to make those who broke them suffer.
But Miriam had a point. His law also supported the rights of a mated male to claim the female he had mated, regardless of all else. He had broken up countless marriages to ensure the mating call was answered between a male and his female. With vampires, the male’s mating claim was sacrosanct.
He sighed and picked up the picture he had kept on his desk ever since it had been taken when Miriam was only six years old. The photo was black and white, and she was sitting on his lap. She had been in a fit of laughter when the picture had been taken, her face turned up to his, her little arms reaching for him.
When was the last time Miriam had reached for him?
He set the picture back down and turned away. She and Io had put him in a tough predicament. His decision today would either push his daughter away forever or open him up to ridicule from his people. Either was a no-win scenario.
Bain smoothed his hands over the red, satin stole that draped over the heavy, black cassock he wore, then he fingered the ancient, bronze medallion passed down from his father. It was heavy and round, and its surface was embellished with ancient glyphs and two ornate, crossed swords over a full moon. He wore the medallion during legal proceedings or other official business.
What would his father do if he were in his place? If only he weren’t the king, hard decisions like this would fall on someone else’s shoulders.
When he re-entered the main chamber, everyone was seated and ready to proceed. His gaze met Micah’s for all of a second, but long enough to see concern simmering like burning soup within the depths of his eyes. Clearly he and Trace were as close as he had been led to believe, which meant Micah wasn’t going to like what was about to go down. Not one bit.
Donovan barked orders into his radio as he ran back to the king’s residence. Miriam’s trail had gone cold in the ravine two miles into the woods.
“Track her, damn it! She’s got to have her phone on her!”
Shit. Donovan didn’t have time for this. The king needed to know immediately what had happened. He hit the king’s cell phone again, but it went straight to voicemail. Of course he wouldn’t have it on while in trial, but this was one time he wished the king had made an exception.
He would have to hoof it to the Justice Center. Donovan only hoped they could retrieve Miriam before she did anything stupid.
* * *
Trace glanced at Micah, who bobbed his head at him as if to remind him to keep his chin up. The rest of the team sat in a tightknit group around him.
He was surprisingly relieved that Micah had forced the dom issue, but he couldn’t get a bead on what Micah thought about what he’d said about Sam. It wasn’t that he wanted to fuck Sam. Or Micah. But he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed their physical beauty. What if a time came when he pushed for more from either or both of them? It wasn’t out of the question. Being unmated, he could easily bend to his attraction and take things too far. He could already feel himself being pulled toward Sam, and he couldn’t jeopardize his friendship with Micah like that. Not without letting him know up front what was going on…that he
did
find her—and him—attractive.
Shit. If only he knew what was going on inside Micah’s head the way Micah seemed to know what was going on inside everyone else’s. But Trace wasn’t one to poke around in someone’s mind without permission or good reason to, whereas Micah simply couldn’t help it. And from what he could tell, when Micah was traipsing through people’s thoughts, they couldn’t feel it like they could with others.
Case in point, Trace glanced toward the female sitting in the row of chairs against the wall. Her catlike eyes, perfectly outlined in dark eye shadow and liner, turned toward him and narrowed with familiarity as one corner of her red- and black-stained lips curved upward. He had never seen her before, but she clearly knew him.
She immediately attempted to invade his mind again. This was the third time in five minutes. What felt like worms probing at his grey matter squirmed inside his skull. He clamped down on his thoughts and glared at her. She arched an eyebrow and shrugged as if to say he couldn’t blame her for trying, but instead of backing off, she dug harder. The worms turned to snakes that slid into the crevices of his brain and squeezed.
What was her story and who the hell was she? She looked like his kind of woman. Tattoos and piercings, lots of black leather and skintight clothes. Whoever she was, she was a tough little bitch. He bet she could rough him up good. But she would have to learn that his thoughts were off-limits.
Slam!
He shoved her out like a rude host. She ricocheted back in her chair, her lips curling into a mischievous grin as one brow arched. Oh, she liked that, did she?
“Trace.”
He snapped his attention to the front.
King Bain was looking at him as if he had been waiting longer than a moment. “Would you care to join us, Trace? After all, this is your trial.”
He exchanged glances with Micah, who was frowning at him. Looked like he had been so preoccupied with the odd female to the side that he had missed his name being called.
“Uh…yes. I’m sorry Your Honor, or Excellency, or…King.” What the hell did you call the king when he was acting as judge and jury, as well as the king? He had never been in this situation before.
The king sighed. “Your Honor is acceptable, Trace. Now, please step forward.”
Micah patted him once on the shoulder for encouragement, then he walked to the front.
King Bain looked to the side. “Cordray?”
Trace looked over and saw the inked up female stand and join him. She took the place in front of the bench, just to King Bain’s left, looking at him. What did she have to do with him?
“Cordray, is this the one who manipulated the memories of my guards?”
“Yes.” Her voice was low and sultry, and her eyes penetrated his.
“Please relay as evidence what memories he changed, how he changed them, and the new memories he implanted.” King Bain looked down at his notes.
