Prince of Flight (8 page)

Sachin offered a cross look.

Rossi laughed. “Hey, I’m not wrong.”

No. He wasn’t. Sachin had denied his feelings for his mate far longer than Keonae. None of that changed the fact that Lark could not be his mate.

“She is not my mate.”

Lark crossed her arms over her chest and lifted a brow. There was no mistaking the clear offense she’d taken at his comments. “I may not understand everything going on here, but I have a feeling a true mate is someone special. Are you saying I’m not special?”

Rossi snorted. “Talk yourself out of this one, brother.”

Keonae touched his scarred face. “She is stunning. She is a ray of light. She is good and pure. I am hideous. A monster with the taint of wars and death upon me. The bird gods would not shackle her to someone such as me. They would give her a man of honor, of means, of character.”

Sachin rolled his eyes. “So you are saying they would gift her a man who at great cost to himself fought to protect his kingdom, who is a prince by birth, wealthy beyond measure yet lives like he is poor, and a man who would lay down his life for those he loves?”

“Yes,” said Keonae, reflecting. “That. They would give her that in a mate.”

“He is describing you,” Lazar said.

Keonae took another step back. “She is so beautiful. To be selected as my true mate and to get me—a hideous monster. I’m a beast and she’s a beauty.”

He yanked his shirt over his head, showing off his upper body, knowing the extent of the damage that had been done to him long ago by a group of vultures. They had taken turns clawing him open, dumping human soil into the wounds and then repeating the actions, before snapping his bones, laughing as his body fought to heal the damage but in the end failed.

He stared at Lark, wanting her to see how disgusting he was. He expected her to recoil in horror. The crazed woman licked her lips as if she was thinking of sliding closer and touching him.

Did she not see him?

“Holy crap, you’re totally ripped,” she said, her voice breathy. “You’re the sexiest man I have ever seen.”

His jaw set. Was she daft? “Look at me.
See
what is before you, woman.”

“Oh, I’m a-looking all right,” she said, biting her lower lip, nothing short of desire running over her face. “Can I touch what is in front of me? If I lick it, does it make it mine?”

Lazar barked with laughter at Lark’s outburst.

Keonae tossed his hands in the air. “You are daft.”

“Seems of sound mind to me,” said Sachin. He eyed Keonae, having seen him more than once since the attack long ago without a shirt. “They are not as bad as they once were, old friend. But I believe your mind sees them as fresh as the day you received them. Not as they truly are.”

Rossi had not seen Keonae shirtless since the attack. His brother neared him, pain in his gaze as he reached out to touch one of the many deep scars that traced Keonae’s torso and back. He still remembered getting each one.
 

“Brother, this never healed beyond this point?” Rossi asked. “But we got you home and cleansed your wounds thoroughly.”

Sachin drew Rossi back. “We were not quick enough, Rossi. He had been there for too long. The damage was permanent. And I do not speak falsehoods to your brother. The scars are not as severe as they once were.”
 

“Brother,” breathed Rossi, a tenderness to his voice that made Keonae uncomfortable. He did not want sorrow or remorse from his brother.
 

Keonae sighed. “Stop. I do not want your pity. I simply wish for you all to know why she is not for me. Why she cannot be my mate. She is perfection. I am all that is imperfect.”

“You’re a total dumbass,” said Lark, surprising him.

He glanced to her.

She bit her lower lip. “If your stunt was supposed to repulse me, you failed epically. All you did was turn me on more. I have big plans to lick every fucking inch of you, biker boy.”
 

“Biker boy?” asked Lazar.

“Motorcycle man,” Rossi added in explanation. “The machines with two wheels.”

“Ah,” said Lazar. “Yes, you have one of these?”

“I do,” said Keonae.

“I wish to ride it.”

“Another time, Lazar,” said Sachin with a snort. “Let us convince him he is not a monster. Then you may ask to play with his human toys.”

“You cannot convince me of such for I am a monster.”

Lark’s hands moved to her hips and the look she leveled upon him actually scared him. “Keon, if I hear you call yourself a monster again, I’m going to ram my boot so far up your ass that it won’t ever come out. You are the single hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. You are super sexy. Do you know how many times I’ve masturbated to images of you above me?”

She’d touched herself to thoughts of him? His cock sprang to life at the idea.

He stilled and then realized they weren’t alone. “Did you have to say such a thing in front of them?”

Rossi laughed. “I changed my mind. I really like her. Claim her and let us all be on our way. I have relations to mend with my own woman. I have no wish to sleep upon a stone floor again.”

Claim her?

The thought sent need pumping through him.

Lark continued to glare at him, cooling his passion. “Why do you see yourself as a monster? Because you have some scars?”

“
Some
scars?” he asked, there was very little of him that wasn’t scarred in some fashion.

She turned her back to him and yanked off her shirt.
 

His cock threatened to burst free from his jeans at the sight of her bare back.
Cursed Magaious.
Did the woman have no mercy? Was she a sadist? Did she enjoy torturing him so? She would make one hell of a fine head of the dungeons back in Accipitridae. She was a master of cruel and unusual punishment, standing before him, teasing him in such a manner.

He would have grabbed her and fucked her had he not wanted her covered from the prying eyes of his friends and brother. Her naked form was for his eyes only. “Lark! Cover yourself. They are all mated, but to show them yourself is not acceptable.”

“Brother,” Rossi said softly. “She is showing you something that you do not see. Look.”
 

He did, and slowly he began to see why she had exposed herself. The minute he spotted a row of scars that would line up perfectly to talons, rage coursed through him. The same fire that had burned in him long ago on the battlefield ignited. “Who hurt you? I will rip their heads off. I will tear them in two. I will dance upon their dissected corpses.”

Lazar and Sachin grabbed him, holding him in place as he continued to rant and rave. Lark was suddenly before him, her shirt back on. She touched his face.

“Stop.”

He obeyed her instantly.

“I killed the man who did this to me,” she said with a sigh. “But not before he killed my sister.”

“The twin you spoke of,” said Rossi.

She nodded.

“Who would dare to do such a thing?” asked Lazar. “Who would harm children? That is what you were when this happened, yes?”

She nodded and teared up. “He claimed to be our father. He said our mother was a human whore who had sold her body to his kind to be a birthing
chamber,
and that she’d hid us from him before abandoning us for being monsters. For being born from tests rather than a mated union. He said we had to go with him, that we had to fight in some war we’d never heard of. What I remember most was his smell. He smelled like death, like rotting flesh.”

Sachin gasped. “Was your father of the vultures?”
 

She shrugged, loss on her face. “I don’t know. He could shift into a bird, like the others who have come for me since then. I honestly didn’t even know bird guys came in variety packs.”

“Variety packs?” asked Sachin.

Rossi snorted. “Means different kinds.”

Sachin lowered his gaze, somber. “Think she is the female we were told they seek?”

“They’re always looking for me,” said Lark softly. “This isn’t something new.”

Lazar shrugged. “Then we are wrong?”

Rossi glanced over Lark. “I smell it on you, but no offense, you don’t seem very shifter like to me.”

Lark inclined her head and then held up a hand. “Before you ask, I can’t shift into a bird. I guess calling them vultures makes sense. Now that you say it, yes, I can see a resemblance in their wings when they’re out. I can’t believe I share DNA with a scavenger bird.”

“You may not be of the vulture,” said Sachin, hope in his voice. “It is possible you are of another line and that Rossi is mistaken.”

Lark shifted from one foot to another. “If it helps any, I know my father’s name. At least his first name. Cavanie. The ones who have come for me over the years talk about how I killed Cavanie.”

Keonae sucked in a large breath. Cavanie was one of the vultures who had taken place in his torture. One of the evil vile men who had left Keonae scarred. The bastard was dead? And by Lark’s own hands?

Sachin touched her and tried to pull her away from Keonae, worry in his eyes. “Come. It is wise you not be near him.”

Keonae grabbed his friend, holding him in place. “You seek to take her from me?”

Rossi touched his arm. “Brother, he wishes to protect her from you.”
 

“I would never hurt her.”

Lazar sighed. “She just confessed to being fathered by a vulture. You hate their kind. You wish death upon them all. They are the reason you carry the scars. They are the reason you do not return to our realm.”

Lark gasped and cupped her mouth.

Keonae charged past Sachin and grabbed her, drawing her close, kissing her forehead. He shook with raw hunger for her. “You did not do this to me. I do not hate you. I seek you out nightly in hopes of seeing you smile, of hearing your laugh, of being gifted the small bit of time and conversation you give me. I could never hate you. You make my body burn with need, my chest tight, and my thoughts a mess.”

“You love her,” said Rossi, appearing almost bored.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lark, agitated. “He barely knows me.”

Keonae lifted her gently, the emotions he’d fought so hard to deny surfacing quickly. “You are the reason I bother getting out of bed every day. You have given me something to look forward to. You give me purpose, Lark.”

“You
love
her,” stressed Rossi, smug satisfaction upon his face.

Keonae opened his mouth to object, but that wasn’t what fell out. “Yes. I love her.”

He practically leapt back, fearful he’d get it on him, whatever
it
was. Frantic, he glanced to Sachin for guidance—after all, the man was the king’s adviser.

Sachin tipped his head back and laughed.

Some help he was.

Lark stared at him with wide eyes.

Rossi laughed too. “I’ve never seen him scared of anything. Now he’s scared of a half-breed.” His laughter faded as he commented. “I didn’t mean it the wrong way. It’s just that she smells mostly human to me with only slight undertones of shifter.”

Keonae’s jaw set. “Apologize to my woman this instant.”

“Your woman?” asked Lazar as he licked his lips, hiding his amusement with the situation rather poorly. “The same woman you are about to take flight to run from?”

“Well, he is good at running,” added Rossi, lifting his shoulders in casual reference. “Hey, it’s true. He did take off and leave us all for how long? Ha, he’s the prince of flight. Can we get that monogrammed on his ceremonial robes?”

“Your mood is less sour. This is good.” Lazar scuffed Rossi on the back of the head and then dragged the man from Keonae’s reach. “We shall go and let the two of you sort out this newfound connection for yourselves. You do not require witnesses.”

Uneasy about being alone with Lark, because he did not trust himself not to ravish her, Keonae tried to go to Sachin who tossed his hands up and shook his head. “Oh no, old friend. You are on your own here. I will have guards sent this way to help you oversee the area. Before you protest”—he nodded in Lark’s direction—“I suspect you will be quite busy with your new bride. Take the help, Keonae.”

With that, the men exited the bar, leaving him standing there, afraid to face the one woman who had the power to bring him to his knees. She cleared her throat. He tried to pretend he didn’t notice she wanted his attention.

“Really, you’re going to act like you don’t hear me? Are you also the prince of pre-school?” she demanded, tapping her foot.

He met her gaze.

She licked her lip. “You love me?”

“I do,” he practically whispered.

“Why?”
 

He blinked. “You remind me of the sweet summers near the edges of the springs of the Tocalie Mountains. Your scent is like that of the mavabian flowers that dot the outer regions. I see you and every day I fight the urge to draw you close, to hold you, to join with you and most of all, to know you will never leave me.”

She said nothing for a long moment and he realized what he’d done. He’d confessed love-sick nonsense to her and more than likely overwhelmed her with his clear state of need.

“Wow, that is not a line I’ve ever heard used before,” she said with a slow smile. “I don’t know anything about those mountains or that flower thing, but I have to say you won me over.”

He nodded. “I was once known as a great romancer of women.”

Her expression hardened. “Oh really?”

Keonae gulped, realizing too late that he’d said something he shouldn’t have. Women raised in the human realm were quite confusing. A woman from his own realm would have been happy to hear he’d been sought after by many. Apparently, that did not translate over well to the human realm. “Did I say a great romancer of women? No. I lied.”

“Uh-huh.” She narrowed her gaze on him. “So you’re really a prince of bird guys?”

He hid his laugh. “Yes, of the hawks of the realm.”

“Realm?”

“You have much to learn of our kind, Lark,” he said, lifting his hand to her. He stared into her eyes, the attraction to her undeniable. She came to him willingly and he drew her in close, inhaling her scent, committing it to memory. Unable to hold back any longer, Keonae captured her lips with his, his tongue instantly finding hers. His scarred cheek pulled tight, but he didn’t care. His only thoughts on her.