Cinder and Char (5 page)

“What are you grinning at?”

“You just said you love me.”

Cinder could feel his cheeks reddening. Damn. Knowing the shifter’s enhanced senses made Char aware of his every reaction wasn’t his most favorite thing. “You must get your hearing fixed, because I clearly said like, not love.”

Char didn’t seem bothered. “I’ll take what I can get. Besides, I have a feeling you’ll love me soon enough.”

“The nerve,” Cinder muttered, although the prospect no longer daunted him as it had before.

The sounds of popping bone and rearranging flesh followed as the men turned into wolves, or something resembling wolves. For one, the shifters were three times the size of any wolf Cinder had ever seen. They were leaner and their limbs were longer, as if they were created for long distance running.

Char was the largest wolf among the pack and his coat was a lovely striking solid black color. Cinder patted Char’s muzzle as Char pressed it to his chest. He tried to be brave. Really. Char was on his side, but he had to admit those razor-lined teeth were a tad frightening. They were made for tearing and ripping flesh, Cinder realized. They were made for the kill.

Char nudged his head at Cinder’s side and began growling softly at him. At first, Cinder panicked. He thought Char had suddenly decided he was more edible snack material than delectable mate. It took him a few seconds to realize Char wanted him to mount him so they could make their escape.

The sound of the door breaking down nearly made him jump.

“Oh, hold your horses.” Cinder grabbed a handful of Char’s fur and tried to get on.

He imagined he was one of those medieval terran princesses gracefully mounting their horses, but Char’s fur was surprisingly soft and silky and he kept slipping. Cinder made a mental note to ask Char if he used some special sort of organic shampoo.

Soldiers shrieked in alarm as Char’s wolves lunged at them, disabling them before they could shift. By the time Char’s men had made short work of two squadrons, Cinder was still trying to frustratingly mount Char. It didn’t help Char was all growly and impatient.

To his utter horror, one of Char’s wolves approached to help lift his buttocks so he could throw one leg over Char’s side. Cinder clutched at Char’s fur and was about to orient himself when Char suddenly broke into a run. The rest of his wolves fell behind him. They went past the dingy light of the prison and into the well-lighted corridors of the palace’s lower levels.

Passing servants shrieked in surprise, but didn’t stop them.

“Prince Char, the imposter is holding an open session in the throne room,” one footman even said.

Char made some growling noises and for some reason, the footman understood.

“A session to discuss your accidental death, it seems, Highness.”

Char snarled at that, and continued bounding forward. They’d occasionally stop and more servants would divulge information. Their party encountered soldiers too, whose alliance was undecided, but whatever Char said convinced them. Soon enough, the train of wolves grew until Char had his own squadron at his back.

“My Char, I didn’t realize you can really be charming at times,” Cinder remarked.

It had been a bumpy ride so far. Riding a werewolf was clearly not the most romantic or life-changing experience in the world. Just how many levels the palace had, he didn’t know. Char and his men seemed to know their way around, because they squeezed into uncomfortable and seemingly unused passages severely in need of a good dusting.

“Once we get your throne back, I’m going in armed with a dozen or so housekeepers to spruce this place up. Honestly, Char. How can you let such fine marble go unpolished?”

Cinder was answered by what suspiciously sounded like a disgruntled groan from the big wolf. The hallways and corridors they passed became swankier. The harsh concrete floor was replaced by lush crimson carpeting and the furnishings grew grand and ornate. Cinder had to crane his neck once or twice to stare at an artfully done fresco on the wall or an elaborate crystal chandelier. Woofian nobility were certainly no different from nobility from other planets in their love of luxurious surroundings.

Ahead of them were double doors leading into an enormous hall Cinder presumed was the throne room. It was crowded. Throngs of well-dressed nobles gathered outside and inside the hall. Char didn’t bother with pleasantries. He simply charged through, earning them a surprised yelp or two as subjects darted and made way to avoid being run over.

A couple of soldiers were jolted into action as Char bounded forward the carpeting leading up the stairs to an elaborately carved and enormous oak chair. One commanding deep bass growl was enough for the soldiers to hesitate.

Cinder took it upon himself to speak, although he truly wished he had on a better set of clothes on his first appearance in the throne room. “Make way for the planet’s rightful prince and heir!”

His announcement immediately sparked a wave of confusion and outrage from the gathered assembly.

“There is no mistaking it, that’s Prince Char. Only the crown prince has that pure signature black color.”

“Didn’t Prince Ulfric just announce his brother was dead?”

Char stopped a few feet from the throne and Cinder dismounted. He was thankful he didn’t land on his butt after such a dramatic entrance. Cinder lived for drama and he was getting spoonfuls of it. If he’d known he was going to be embroiled in such an intriguing political upheaval, he would’ve jumped on the bandwagon long ago.

Elderly shifters in elaborate and thick velvet cloaks stood beside Ulfric, their expressions shocked and confused like the rest of the crowd.

“What is the meaning of this, Prince Ulfric?” one old man demanded.

“This is clearly an imposter,” one chimed in, but fell quiet when Char seamlessly began to shift.

“Your rightful king stands before you, honored advisors, and I come here today to reclaim my throne with my mate,” Char said. “Together, we will usher in a new age of change and bring prosperity to the land.”

“Your mate, brother?” Ulfric spat, recovering. “That flimsy weak terran?”

Ulfric seemed taken aback when Char broke into loud laughter. His guffaws resounded through the walls of the silent hall.

“Brother, esteemed advisors of the Royal Council, if you think me an imposter, then why has the planet’s ancient and sentient treasure accepted my mate?”

Cinder swallowed when Char pointed at him, or rather at his feet. Everyone’s eyes seemed to land on the glass heels he still wore, and Cinder wasn’t sure why they looked shocked. He assumed they were jealous of how sexy he looked in the heels, so he did a little twirl with the heels. Cinder caught Char’s wolfish grin.

“Without the clan’s ancestral treasure, my mate, Cinder, would not have been able to aid me and my men in our escape from our wrongful imprisonment.” Char’s statement was backed by some of his men, who dutifully recounted the events in the dungeon.

The old men began whispering quietly among themselves. Cinder was pleased to note they seemed to ignore Ulfric’s angry protests.

“Do you have physical proof of your claim, Prince Char?” one spidery old man asked.

“My dear Cinder, would you kindly do a dance for my advisors in those heels? Dial it down, though. These old fools might die of a heart attack from your provocative moves.”

Cinder responded by tossing his matted and filthy red hair and strutting to him. What Cinder would give for an expensive hair treatment, wash and styling and some color, but he had no choice but to make do.

He brushed his hand over Char’s amazing biceps and whispered close to his ear, “Dial what down, Char? Jealous they’ll fall for sexy little me, too?”

Char caught his earlobe with his slightly sharp incisors. “Don’t you already know by now I’m one possessive bastard of a prince, Cinder? Come, show my court how splendid you are.”

Cinder let out a very unladylike snort. Damn. Char and his brutish shifter ways were rubbing him the wrong way. “You don’t have to dish out compliments and try to flatter me.”

“Oh, I’m not flattering you, Cinder. I’m just telling the truth.”

He trembled when Char possessively wrapped his deliciously corded arm around his waist.
Oh my. Does he know he’s doing this in front of the entire court, his advisors, and his bastard brother too?
Gods, he must. He’s showing his people we’re happily mated, and damned if he’s not right.

But would he be strong enough to be the mate Char needed? To carry wolf cubs? Cinder preferred feline creatures to canines, but he could imagine having to care for adorable little cubs who looked like Char and him. He could put bejeweled pink collars on them and dress them in pretty bows.

“Cinder?” Char asked again.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, yes. A dance you shall be treated to, Char.”

Cinder tapped his heels experimentally on the expensive marble. He was admittedly a little nervous, which was very unlike him. Cinder had danced for drunks, miners and scum, but he’d never danced for an entire room of nobles before.

Think of Char and helping him get back his throne. Think of the cute little shifter children you will have.

Cinder remembered the emotions running through him in his cell only an hour or two ago, and how he’d waltzed across the dusty floor thinking dancing was all he had. Conjuring those feelings again, Cinder began to move. This time he danced only for his prince.

He noticed Char’s gaze was solely trained on him and him alone, as if the crowd and the state of his throne no longer mattered. It made Cinder think nothing in the universe mattered to Char but him.

Cinder wasn’t aware of the heels creating cracks and fissures on the veined marble floor as he spun. The next time he did a complicated twirl, Char took all the breath out of him by taking his hand and joining him.

“I didn’t know you danced,” Cinder whispered.

“I don’t, but if I didn’t join you I was afraid I’ll end up killing the people leering at what’s mine.”

“Way to kill the romance, Char,” Cinder whispered furiously. He groaned when Char ground his deliciously hard body against his. “Is it my imagination, or can I hear drums?”

The drums pounded in his head with a rhythmic beat, primal, heart thumping, and full of life.

“I can hear them too. They’re ancestral drums. I think the artifact is reacting to our dance.”

Cinder looked down to see the glass heels glowing, emitting some sort of shimmering light. When he turned his head to the crowd, he saw the throne room had turned into a dance floor. Couples swayed together, moving to the beat of the phantom drums, lost in the company of each other. He even spied two or three advisors humming and tapping their feet.

“You know, Char, until today I’ve never really believed in magic.”

Char gave him a wolfish grin, but the grin vanished when a loud howl of fury interrupted the mood.

“The Charming dynasty will not be led by a pansy and my useless whore of a brother,” Ulfric screamed.

His face red and embittered by lines of rage, he looked more monstrous than human. Tearing away his regal robes, Ulfric’s change happened in less than a second. Cinder saw his figure blurring into a massive tawny beast. Ulfric leaped right at Char, sharp canines and deadly claws extended for a killing blow.

Time trickled to a halt. Cinder’s head whipped from Ulfric’s charging figure to Char’s stunned expression. Char might have been a great warrior, but the shock of his brother’s betrayal was too hard for him to process. Cinder wrenched himself away from Char and planted himself right in front of Ulfric’s line of attack.

“Cinder,” Char cried, voice harsh and filled with worry. He was beginning to shed his human skin for his wolf, but it was too late.

“I’ve got this, Char.” Cinder clumsily executed a kick he’d seen actors do in fighting movies.

Given his experience was limited to watching the actors’ buffed bodies as opposed to noticing the storyline and high-speed fighting moves, it was a desperate attempt at best. None of those heroes had magical artifacts, though. Pouring all his annoyance into the shoes, Cinder felt the heels once again emit pure kinetic energy, sending the rampaging wolf flying through the air.

Ulfric hit the wall behind the throne with a painful thud. He let out a pathetic whine of pain before falling unconscious. Silence followed. Cinder looked at Char, now in wolf form, staring at him with amused amber eyes. He let out a huff when Char affectionately poked at his side with his big shaggy head.

“Can Char take back his throne now, or do I have to kick someone else’s ass?” Cinder asked the advisors.

The eldest of the bunch, and who later Cinder found out had served Char’s father, came to him and clasped his shoulder. “You have proven yourself, Cinder, I believe?” At his nod, the old man continued, “Prince Char will be reinstated as king and you will be recognized as his rightful mate.”

“And him?” Cinder nodded to Ulfric’s unconscious form.

“I ought to have him killed,” Char said. He was again back in human form. Standing so close to him, it was the first time Cinder was aware Char was naked and leaning close to his rags.

“By our laws, plotting to kill the royal family can merit execution,” the old man said.

“What do you think?” Char asked Cinder, surprising him.

The fact his mate valued his opinions was a thumbs-up in Cinder’s book. He thoughtfully looked at Ulfric’s crumpled form and remembered the way Char had hesitated when Ulfric tried to kill him. Char really loved his brother, Cinder realized, even though Ulfric would never return the same sentiments.

“We can give him a choice. Either be executed or throw him in prison until he repents.”

Cinder felt Char’s lips on his forehead. “You’re an angel, Cinder, giving a man like that a second chance. It’s not something most people would consider.”

“Oh, I’m just being nice. He can rot in prison for all eternity.” Cinder’s eyes dropped down to Char’s bare chest and belly.

He was suddenly aware of Char’s prick pressed against his ragged clothing, and his own rising underneath the thin cloth. Gods of the Galaxy, he shouldn’t be feeling this horny in front of the nobility and Char’s advisors. It was appallingly inappropriate. “Shouldn’t you put on some clothes?”