Rise of the Lost Prince (13 page)

He countered, smacking at her
arm. “No arguments here.”

She ducked his blow. “Then why?”

He stepped to the side. “Why
what?”

Wyndi spun. “You know what.”

He kicked out his foot, silver
boot buckles glinting. “Do you mean about the other night?”

She jumped. “Yes.”

“Now’s not the time. Keep your
eye on the prize,” he said. “You want my throat.” He swung.

No. She wanted his balls in a
sling. She bobbed, weaved, bent to miss another swing, straightened and brought
her knee up between his legs. Not hard enough to require a retrieval, but
enough to make him consider he may need one.

“Shit!” he grunted, hunching, and
grabbing at his more than likely throbbing testicles, and that was when she
went in for the kill.

Training blade at his throat, she
snarled, “I have my eye on the prize. You’re dead.”

Dash clapped, then yelled, “Vape!
Bring some ice for the big guy’s balls. His little woman just schooled him.”

Chapter Eleven

Petúr didn’t think his woman had
it in her, but the saucy little minx actually doubled him over with a knee to
his balls. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of her or appalled.

Winded he said, “Dash. Give us a
moment.”

“All right,” Dash said,
chuckling. “If you’re sure you don’t need some ice.”

“You don’t need to give us a
moment,” Wyndi said, eyes rounded, staring at the warrior. “You can stay.”

Was she scared Petúr would take
her over his knee and paddle her delightful bottom for kneeing him?

“Yes,” Petúr said, scowling at
her. “We do need a moment.” He straightened, and turned to look at Dash. “No
ice. Go.”

“Okay. I’m a-goin’.”

Once he and Wyndi were alone in
the training room, he stalked forward. She backed up, and kept on backing until
her shoulders hit the wall. Keeping his gaze locked on her, he pressed forward,
pinning her there with his bigger body, knee going between her legs. He could
hear the
thump-thump
of her heart and
see the pulse beating in her throat. Sweat glistened over her lip. And damn,
her cotton candy scent was intensified.

“Are you going to tell me what
that was all about?”

Her long eyelashes fluttered.
“You wanted me to learn. So I learned.”

“I don’t recall ball bashing in
any of the lessons.”

She stared into his eyes, her
pointed little chin set. “I won, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did.” He grabbed her
hands, manacling them in one of his, and pressed them above her head. An almost
imperceptible shudder rolled over her. For all her pissed-off bravado, the
woman still couldn’t hide the fact she wanted him. Pride filled him. “But, just
so I’m clear, the whole knee to the groin thing wouldn’t be more about what
happened the other night, and less about winning, would it?”

“Maybe.”
Her lips
pursed.

He dropped his head and
whispered, “‘Maybe’ is a hedge?”

Goose bumps flew across her skin,
and he wanted to soothe each one with his tongue.

“Yeah, well. Maybe is what you’re
going to get.”

“No. Not good enough. I want
clarification.”

“Maybe,” she said, voice clipped,
“I’m mad.”

Ah. Now they were getting
somewhere.

“Mad because we didn’t finish what
we started in the bathroom?”

Her kissable lips pressed into a
thin line. Opened. Closed. Opened. “What you started.” And she was sure to
emphasize the ‘you.’

He smiled.

“Don’t you dare smile,” she
snapped. “I was naked, and spread out, and almost ready to—” She clamped her
mouth shut.

“You were ready to come,” he
stated, not asking.

“You just stopped. It was
humiliating being rejected.”

“I didn’t mean to humiliate you.”

She dropped her head. “You did.”

“I’m sorry.” He nudged her chin
up with his nose. “I really am. Forgive me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“While you’re thinking, mull this
over, too. I didn’t reject you.”

Celestial blue flames flickered
in her eyes the instant before she narrowed them on him. “Newsflash. Not
wanting me and leaving me is a rejection, Petúr.”

He kissed her jaw. “FYI,” he
said. “I did, and I do want you. I only walked away because I didn’t want your
first time to be by my fingers, fast and hard in a freaking bathroom.”

Her features softened. “You want
me?”

“Of course.”

“And you—”

He stopped her silliness with his
mouth, tongue delving past her teeth, rolling around the sweetness of her moist
flesh in a culmination of yearning passion, blazing lust, and deep, aching
hunger.

****

Bell gaped at the picture of the
missing person on the TV screen, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume.
She recognized her.

“The tiara-topped birthday girl,”
she said under her breath.

“Dalia Stratford has been missing
since the night of the seventeenth,” said the news anchor. “She was last seen
in the company of this man.” A picture flashed across the screen of the big
linebacker. “Trent Maguire, a college senior at OU. If anyone knows the
whereabouts of either student, please contact the Oceanport police department.”

As the memory of the big
linebacker snapped front and center, Bell dropped the book, and hopped up from
the recliner where she’d been reading one of Tera’s romance novels—the guy
loved romance novels. Go figure.
 
She
made a beeline for the training room, passing Dash.

“Whoa,” he said. “Where’s the
fire?”

“I need to talk with Petúr,” she
said in a rush.

Dash, grabbed her arm, stopping
her. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

She frowned, staring up at him.
“Why not?”

“Petúr and Wyndi are… working
things out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they are establishing
their relationship.”

“Establishing their
relationship?”

There she went, sounding like a
parrot again.

Dash smiled, real amusement
dancing in his dark eyes. “You know. The who gets to be on top kind of thing.”

Bell snorted, none too
delicately. “This is more important than their issues.”

“What’s more important?”

“Round up the others and have
them go to the game room.” She worked her arm free of his hold. “I’ll explain
once we’re all there.”

****

“Atalos!” Grapple bellowed, and
Kros smirked. He recognized the ‘someone’s-going-to die’ tone in his father’s
voice.

Atalos stepped forward, breaking
free of the horde, sleeping where they stood. Even down here in the under-verse
of shadow the darklings slept during the daylight hours of man. This was the
one rule Kros was never forced to abide by.

“Sire?”

“Get rid of that body you are
possessing.”

“But—”

“Silence!”

Atalos bowed his head.

“The humans are looking for him.
It’s time to rid yourself of his vestige. Do I make myself clear?”

Atalos nodded.

“Good.” Grapple thrummed his
fingers in a staccato rhythm on the arm of his chair. “Make it look like he
took his own life when you shed him. And leave the body where the humans can
find it.” He turned his attention to Kros. “You are to go to the surface with
Atalos. I want you to find out where Petúr is keeping the human woman. Do you
think you can handle something as simple as a recon mission?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Oh, and Kros?”

Kros glanced up.

“Should I be disappointed yet
again upon your return, I will slowly slice the flesh from your back as
reparation. Understand?”

Kros gritted his teeth, but
nodded.

“Then go, and you shall feed in
order to stay strong, only do so with those found within the dregs of society of
which the humans care not.”

Chapter Twelve

Wyndi
was seated
sideways on Petúr’s lap, one of his strong arms banded around her waist,
overjoyed he was allowing everyone to see his claim on her.

“I see you two have kissed and
made up,” said Dash, strolling into the game room last,
then
leaning his hip against the arm of the sectional.

“Bite me, Dash,” said Petúr.

The big warrior just laughed,
tilting his head, glancing at Wyndi’s exposed neck. “Looks like somebody around
here already sunk their teeth into someone’s flesh.”

Dang
it.
She slapped her palm over the side of her neck as everyone stared in her
direction. She forgot about the fading love bite when she pulled all her hair
up into a messy ball on top her head in order to cool down from the training
and then the kissing.

“What’s this meeting about,
Bell?” Petúr inquired, obviously not taking the bait.

“The night you, Vibe, and Dash
walked Wyndi into Jolly Roger’s,” Bell said.

“What about it?”

“Tera and Byte told me you guys
don’t know where the darklings retreat to. Where they hole up.”

Petúr nodded, the small braid he
wore tickling Wyndi’s cheek. “We’ve always suspected they stay underground, but
we’ve never found where.”

Bell crossed her arms, the
gesture reminding Wyndi of Petúr. “If my suspicions are right, I may know of a
way to find them.”

“How?” Dash asked.

“That night,” she said. “The
night you guys came into the bar, I saw something.” She worked her bottom lip
over with her teeth. “At the time, I dismissed it, but there was something off
about one of the patrons.” Bells green gaze went to Petúr. “Can darklings do
things like control a human?”

“What do you mean by control?”

She glanced over to Vibe. “You
can change memories, feel emotions. Can you control someone’s actions? Make
them a puppet on your string?”

“I don’t know,” said Vibe. “I’ve
never tried.”

“Darklings can step into a
human,” said Petúr. “That’s how they take the souls and feed.”

“Oh my God!” Wyndi moved her hand
from her neck to her mouth.

Petúr rubbed soothing circles on
her back.

“If they can step into a human,
then maybe they can control them,” said Bell.

“Makes sense,” said Tera.

“Yeah,” said Byte.

“If they can do that,” Firefox
interjected, brushing some of his fiery red bangs from out of his eyes, “they could
use humans against us.”

“Not good,” said Vapor. “Not good
at all.”

Bell dropped her arms and started
pacing. “I saw something on the news this morning about a missing girl. She was
in the bar that night. And she left with the big guy who had something odd
going on with his eyes.”

“Odd how?” asked Vibe.

“I blew it off at the time,
thinking it was a trick of light, but for one quick instant, I could have sworn
his eyes reflected.”

“Reflected?”

“Yeah, like a mirror being turned
in the sun.” Bell stopped. “Human eyes don’t do that.”

“No,” said Petúr, his voice low
and menacing. “They don’t.”

“I say we track him down. I know
the group of guys he hangs out with.” Bell tweaked her chin with her thumb and
forefinger. “Tera. Byte.” She gazed at them. “The name they gave on the news
was Trent Maguire. He’s a college student at OU. Is that enough information to
find him?”

“No problem,” Byte said.

“We can hack into the student
data base,” Tera said.

Bell smiled. “Maybe if we follow
him, he’ll lead us to the other darklings.”

“If he even is a darkling,” said
Tera.

“I’m digging where Bell’s going
with this. A darkling wearing a human suit. What else could he be?” asked Dash.

“A demon. We’ve run into one or
two of them over the years.”

“Okay. So, let’s say he is. The
darklings and the demons go hand and hand.”

“Could he be another one of us?
After all, we never knew about Bell. Perhaps there’s more Fae here,” said Tera.

“He didn’t smell like any of us.”
Bell closed her eyes. “In fact…” She scrunched up her nose. “Now that I think
about it...” Her eyes flittered open. “He smelt of burnt wood.”

“Tera. Byte,” Petúr said. “You
two find Trent.” He stood, taking Wyndi with him, then placed her down where
he’d been seated. “Vibe, D-man, Vape, and Fox. Get ready to head out.”