My King (Two Prince's Book 1) (2 page)

Go right ahead and call me a coward or a chicken, I don’t care.

I’m a twenty-three year old girl and I’m all alone in the middle of the night. I’d be dumb if I went to investigate some strange noise. I’ve seen one too many scary movies for that. Girl goes to check out a strange noise in the middle of the night. She ends up brutally raped, hacked into pieces and her body parts are scattered throughout the nearest forest. The only problem with this scenario is I’m not wearing panties, no bra and a see through t-shirt.

I snort in disgust. No thank you.              

On that note, I make my way back up the stairs.

I hurry, making sure I have my keys in my hand once I reach the top of the stairs. I unlock my door as fast as possible while glancing over my shoulder and down the stairs every other second. Hey, it’s only natural after all the commotion from a few moments ago.

When I hear the latch click I pull my key out and hurry inside. I quickly slam the door closed, doing up the dead bolt and chain immediately after it is shut.

I toss my purse to floor and kick off my shoes. Heading towards the bathroom, I flip on every light switch as I pass, needing the light to make sure there’s nothing lurking in the shadows waiting to pop out at me when I least expect it.

A little paranoid now, yes, yes I am.

I need to get out of these clothes and take a shower. I don’t want to go to bed smelling like a stinky bar. Booze and stale cigarettes. Yuck. I can feel my clothes clinging to me, stuck to my skin because of my own sweat. It’s disgusting.

When I get to the bathroom I turn on the shower, strip off my clothes and get in under the hot spray of water. For a moment I stand there, not moving, simply enjoying the blissful feeling of the water as it rolls down my body. It’s the perfect medicine after spending the night on my feet running around. I spend the next several minutes scrubbing the sweat and stench off of my body, washing my hair last. When I feel like I’m finally clean enough and no longer smell bad I turn off the water and step out. Wrapping myself up in a towel I catch a whiff of green apples. My favorite shampoo, yum.

I wrap my hair up in a towel and head to my bedroom, deciding not to bother with blow drying it. I’ll probably regret this decision in the morning when I wake up with a scary rats nest on top of my head. I’m too exhausted to care at the moment.

Standing in front of my old, beat up, dresser I pull open the top drawer, reach inside and pull out a pair of plain white, no-frills, no-nonsense cotton panties and an old, ratty, short sleeved, black band t-shirt. My normal sleeping attire. Once satisfied with my choices I close the drawer, dressing quickly after.

Comfy pjs.              

Perfect.

My bedroom fills my basic needs and nothing more. It’s bland really. Four white walls, lacking posters, framed photographs and mementos, knick-knacks, or keepsakes. Nothing to showcase my interests or my personality. Unless, of course, you look at it like I’m a basic person with a bland personality. Then it would be spot on.

There is, however, a few splashes of color on my bed. A black and lilac striped Ralph Lauren comforter, and pillows covered with lilac colored pillow cases decorate my full size bed. My two favorite colors.

My bed is pushed up against the wall below the room’s sole window. The window faces the street and I like to sleep with the blind open, flooding my entire room with dim light from the closest street lamp.

I scored an old, real hard wood, desk at Goodwill for a steal when we first moved in. it badly needed to be refurbished when I bought the thing. It still did because I’d done nothing with it other than use it as a space to rest my text books and my lap top on top of.

I’d bought my dresser at Goodwill the same day I bought my desk. Anna May had charmed her boyfriend at the time into hauling them home for me with his truck and then enlisting his friends to help him heft them up the stairs. If I’m not mistaken she broke up with him less than a week later, as was her way.

Deciding I’m much too tired to wait up for Anna May to come home, I switch my light off and climb into my bed. She can fill me in on the details of her hot (they were always hot) date in the morning. That is if she doesn’t end up brining him home with her. God, I really hoped that wasn’t the case because I wouldn’t be getting a whole lot of sleep if she did. The walls in this place were paper thin and she always made a whole lot ‘a noise. Some would call her a screamer.

As soon as I lay my head down I realize in my paranoia I left every light in the damn apartment except for my own on. Ugh. I drag my ass out of my comfy bed and head out of my room to turn them off. I have to pay half of the electricity bill, no way am I leaving them on to hike it up.

I’m flipping the last light switch off when there’s a knock on the apartment door.

A glance at the clock on the wall tells me it’s creeping up on three o’ clock in the morning.

Thinking that it’s my girl because it’s well past the normal time for visitors around here and perhaps she’s a wee bit drunk and can’t find her keys or something along those lines, (hey, it’s totally happened before) I walk towards the door muttering expletives the whole way there.

“Jesus H. Christ woman, relax. I’m coming, I’m coming.”

I slide the ball on the chain through the lock and slip it out, flip the bolt on the deadbolt and pull the door open slightly, towards me.

Boy, do I get a surprise.              

The person standing on the other side of the door is most certainly not my roommate.

I have no frickin’ clue who this person is.

All my brain is registering is that it’s almost three o’ clock in the morning and this weird looking asshole is knocking on my door, wearing sunglasses no less.

Freaking sunglasses… at three ‘o clock in the morning!

Seriously, I have got to start using the damn peep hole.
The thing is there for a reason, Shayne!
I tell myself.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” I angrily snap at him. Yeah, I know I’m grumpy and I sound like a total bitch but it’s the middle of the night and this weirdo came a knocking on my door. Bad manners on my part, but being nice is the farthest thing from my mind at the moment.

Sunglasses stares at me. I tell myself that I am not intimidated by this freak show and stare right back at him. Which gives me a chance to take in the rest of him. He’s got messy black hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in about five years and it lays limp across his forehead. He’s taller than me by almost a foot, I have to crane my neck up uncomfortably to look him in the eyes. And he’s dressed, head to toe, in all black. Black boots. Black jeans with a rip in the left knee. Pull over back hoodie. Black sunglasses.

Awesome.

Just fucking great.

The gothic version of emo decided to come calling in the middle of the night.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he was sportin’ eye liner under those shades.

“Look buddy, it’s late, could you just tell me what you want and then be on your merry way?”

He stands there staring at me.

That was it.

Nothing else.

No response.

Not a single thing.

I bet he’s not even blinking behind those damn shades.

I heave a giant, very audible, sigh. I’m fed up and done with this bullshit. Frankly, I was done with the whole damn day. I wanted nothing more than to slam the door shut in his face, go back to my room, crawl into my bed, close my eyes and sleep for the next day or two. So I shut the door in his silent face, or, at least I try to. Before I can get it shut all the way, he shoves his foot inside, stopping me from closing it.

Oh fuck.

This night just took a serious turn for the worst.

Shayne

“Where’s Ian?” He asks me, his voice coming out sounding harsh, scratchy, and rough, like he was unused to using it.

The hairs on the back of my neck and arms rise solely from hearing those two little words come out of his mouth. It wasn’t the words, obviously, but the way he spoke them. There was an edge to his voice that put
me
on edge. A harshness that reached out, caressing my skin with each word spoken, causing my hair to stand on end. My guess would be his eyes were nard as stones behind those shades.

He gave me a serious case of the creeps and a longing I’ve never had before for a hand gun.

“Ian…?” I ask. I shake my head and clear my throat before continuing, “There’s no Ian here. You have the wrong place,” I tell him. My voice coming out as a squeak, even after I’ve cleared it. Admittedly, I think I might have pissed myself a little when he shoved his foot in the door.

Bending at the waist he leans in close to me and all I can smell is this sour, rotting stench that’s drifting out of his mouth. Maybe even his pores. It smells almost like he’s rotting from the inside out. I have to concentrate really hard on not breathing in through my nose and not gagging.

I wish he would back up a little because if I have to smell too much of this then there’s a good chance I might just toss my cookies all over him.

To be honest, I’m not quite sure what would smell worse; my vomit or his rot.

Holy fuck, but Sunglasses is nasty.

I don’t much care for him being in my space at all.

“Don’t lie to me, bitch,” he rasps out at me.

Whoa.

I had gotten a creepy, dirty, somewhat scary vibe off of him but I was not expecting this. Stupid on my part. Especially after he shoved his foot in my door stopping me from shutting it in his face.

I may have started out annoyed (and a little scared), but now I’ve moved straight to freaked right the fuck out.

A moment of silence passes between us as my thoughts swirl in my mind at a rapid pace.

Something in my brain clicked together and I moved straight to pissed right the hell off.

Seriously, he called me a bitch! Who does this dude think he is? It’s the middle of the night and
he
knocked on
my
goddamn door, being an asshole, scaring the crap out of me and now he’s going to call me names?

Oh fuck no.

I do
not
think so!

I give the door a good hard shove, really putting my weight into it.

It doesn’t even move a freaking inch, which kind of freaks me out more but damn if I’m not too mad to really let this sink in before it’s
me
that leans closer to
him
.

“Listen Sunglasses, this is all a misunderstanding,” I tell him, “You have the wrong apartment. That’s on you, not me. I would appreciate it if you got your foot the fuck out of my door and then got yourself the fuck out of here. Then, I suggest you get yourself a toothbrush because your breath is rancid, r-a-n-c-i-d,” too into my rant, spelling out words for him, words he probably didn’t know how to spell before I decided to educate him, I missed it when his body became stiff and his hands, that, up until then, had been loose at his sides, balled into fists. “Rancid. Now, please, it’s time for you to-“

One second I’m bitching at him, really getting into the subject, doing a great job of giving him a piece of my mind, something I would not have done before I started working at Lush, and the next second, I’m literally flying backwards through the air.

On
e
handed, he shoves the door open with so much force that when it slams into me it sends me up, off of my feet, flying backwards through the air.

My arms uselessly windmill at my sides. My legs kick out at nothing but air and blank space.

I hit the wall with a sickening thud, my head bouncing off of it with a loud
crack!

I crumple to the ground in a heap, my breath knocked clean out of me. I can feel my mouth slowly filling with blood, from where I bit the inside of my cheek when my head bounced off the wall.

Out of sheer preservation I curl in on myself, my side and hip screaming out at me in protest as I do so, but I don’t stop. For some reason I cannot explain I feel like I need to wrap my arms around myself. Perhaps it’s the only thing my subconscious can drum up to protect myself from that asshole.

I blink.

And blink again.

My vision is blurry and I’m seeing spots. I try to shake my head to clear it but it only ends up causing more pain to shoot through my head. I whimper and squeeze my arms tighter around my midsection. It’s the only part of my body that isn’t screaming out at me in pain, seemingly the safest place on my body at the moment to touch.

Suddenly my hair is being wrenched painfully and my head jerks backwards at an unnatural angle. I cry out in pain thrashing my arms out in agony as I’m forced to uncurl my body from the protective ball that I was curled into.

I find myself on my back.

He has an unyielding death grip on my hair.

My body aches all over.

Tears and snot are streaming uncontrollably down my face.

Black snakes across the edge of my vision.

I can’t stop myself from wondering why me? What did I do ever do to deserve this sort of mistreatment? I could think of no reasons why. Up until I acquired my job at Lush I’d lived my entire life without ever even being rude to another human being.

He leans down into me, his rotting breath wafting across my face.

I gag.

“You stupid, stupid little girl. You should have just told me where he was. This could have gone so much easier for you,” he spits down at me with a sneer on his ugly face.

“I-I don’t know-” I manage to stammer out before he pulls harder on my hair, essentially cutting me off.

“You lie.” He snarls in my face. “I can smell him. His scent is all around you, all over this place. He’s been here. And recently. Him, and another.”

I try to shake my head because I honestly have no idea what or who he’s talking about, but my head barely ends up moving an inch before he tightens his grip even further and I find myself crying out in agony once again.

I hold myself completely still trying not to sob. All the while useless tears continue to fall from my eyes raining down on my face.

He puts his face, already too close to mine, in my neck and breathes in deeply. “Mmm...” he murmurs into my neck causing an unholy shiver to rent up my spine. “Last chance girl. Tell me, where is he?” He conversationally asks.

Having learned my lesson the last time I don’t try to shake my head. Instead I whimper out a pathetic sounding, “I don’t know.”

And it’s the God’s honest truth, I don’t know.

The pain in my head form his grip on my hair hurts so bad I can’t think of anything else. My mind is literally a blur of burning white hot anguish.

He who?

I continue to cry. To my shame and absolute mortification a small sob escapes past my trembling lips.

He sighs in such a way that, absurdly, I know he’s disappointed in me. “So stupid. He’s not worth protecting, girl. He’s not worth dying for,” his face is still in my neck and I can feel him breathing me in. “You smell so good.” He groans. “A shifters mate, a
King’s
mate, and an untouched one at that. So good.” His tongue snakes out and he runs it up the length of my neck, from collarbone to earlobe.

I shudder in revulsion, managing to hold back my gag this time, but another sob escapes.

“Please,” I whimper brokenly, “don’t.”

What exactly it is I’m begging him not to do I have no idea but I feel the need to beg all the same.

He laughs right before his teeth rip into my flesh at the base of my throat.

Pain, so intensely hot it feels as if my flesh is on fire, rips through me.

I scream.             

And scream.

And scream.

Then, mercifully, everything goes black.