KING OF ME (THE KING TRILOGY Book 3) Read online

“You’re really not afraid to die?” I said in a quiet voice.

  “Of course not. What is there to fear?”

  “Everything.” Like being cursed to walk the earth forever or staying dead and not coming back at all. Christ, King. Where are you? I need you.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Are you sure the things in Draco’s chamber are safe?” I asked, growing nervous about leaving the Artifact for such a long time.

  Callias had procured a few “bottles” (ceramic jars, really) of wine and ordered the servants to build a fire on the private beach below the palace where we now sat.

  “The guards may secretly wish to take my head,” he said, “but they dare not defile my brother’s belongings.”

  “Good, because I bound your brother’s curse to a rock and hid it in his room.”

  He jerked his head in shock.

  “Without it,” I said, “the curse can’t be undone. And if you ask me why, I couldn’t explain it. I only know that it’s the most valuable thing I own.”

  “Do you wish me to retrieve it?” he asked.

  Considering that Callias intended on getting smashed tonight, not such a good idea. Also, there was a shocking lack of personal, portable storage in this age, i.e., no pockets. It was too easy to lose it.

  “No. Just as long as you are absolutely sure no one will touch it.” Damn. What I wouldn’t give for a fanny sack right now.

  “I assure you.” He smiled, and I almost swooned. I couldn’t help but look at Callias and fantasize he was King with those dark features, olive skin, and light eyes.

  His happy expression melted away. He noticed me staring at his face, longing for his brother. “If only I were so lucky,” he said.

  I frowned with a smile, feeling awkward. I think he sensed it because he quickly offered a comfort-branch: “But of course, I only view women as objects of pleasure—nothing more. I sense this would not sit well with you.”

  I laughed. “No.”

  “Then let us be friends. Even if for only one night.”

  My smile disappeared. It was hard thinking about an exact replica of the man I loved being murdered tomorrow.

  But that’s not your choice, is it?

  No. It’s not.

  Callias cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I did not wish to sour the evening.”

  “Not ruined.” I looked into his eyes. “I lost my brother recently, and now Draco and—I just wish everything was different. Even for you.”

  He jerked his head and offered a sad little smile, but didn’t say anything.

  Changing subjects and not wanting to be a downer, I asked Callias more about his brother, about him, his parents, and his people. We drank wine—yes, full strength—oh my—and gazed at the stars. There were several moments when I had to admit that the wine made my head foggy and my body yearn to reach over and kiss Callias, to hold him and smell him. Not because I wanted him, but because I wanted King so badly it hurt. It would be easy to lie to myself for a few moments and pretend. Especially because I had no clue how long it would take for King to build the strength to show up. If he showed up.

  Instead, I settled for lying on the beach, gazing up at the dark sky filled with millions of twinkling stars, imagining King there with us, watching and laughing along. I imagined him being grateful that I’d stayed at Callias’s side during his last night on earth.

  After a while, the fire died down, and Callias and I were too drunk to move. I closed my eyes and sighed, grateful for the chance to get to know this person who was a part of King’s life.

  Callias reached out and grabbed my hand. “If I ever get the chance to love in my next life, I hope it is a woman like you, Mia.”

  I didn’t know what to say other than, “Thank you. I hope you do get the chance.” But with someone more extraverted, I thought. He was a man who needed a fun-loving, vibrant woman without any baggage.

  I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift off, thinking of King, of my future, and of Callias finding his own peace.

  “Cut the bitch’s throat!” were the words that jolted me from an alcohol-induced sleep in the middle of the night.

  “No!” I heard Callias cry out. “You tempt the fury of the gods if you touch her! She is a Seer.”

  Whoever had me by the throat dropped me in the sand like a cockroach-infested sack of shit.

  “You want me, not her,” Callias grunted, the men shoving him face down in the sand.

  “Don’t!” I yelled, getting to my knees. “He’s the king!”

  The man who had him by the neck grinned proudly. “Why do you think we are here?”

  Callias didn’t struggle, but instead asked them to take his head swiftly.

  Kneeling on the other side of the fire, I stared in utter horror. How many people did I have to watch die?

  “Please,” I begged, my head still saturated with wine. “Don’t kill him. Draco wouldn’t have wanted you to do this!”

  The man who’d been holding me reached down and slapped me hard. I felt the blunt pain in my nose and warm blood trickle from my nostril.

  “You piece of shit.” I glared up and felt the breath leave my lungs. “Sama?”

  Motherfucking Spiros. The people who had sworn to protect the king.

  I looked at Sama and felt the earth move beneath me, remembering what the old Seer woman had told me. All I had to do was use my anger and wish it. Nothing more.

  I need an anchor.

  I reached down and grabbed a handful of sand. “If you won’t honor your oath to the king, then I will make you.”

  Sama’s face, illuminated by the waning fire, turned ghostly white. “No. You cannot do this.”

  “Oh, but I can,” I panted. And it felt so, so good. “You, your children, and every human being who holds a drop of your Spiro blood will loyally serve the king until he finds peace. You will protect him with your own flesh and place his life and happiness above your own.” The power inside felt intense, like a heat raging through my veins.

  “Mia, no! I want to die!” roared Callias while being held by two extremely confused-looking men, one with a knife to his throat.

  “Shut up, Callias!” I barked.

  The men stood still, and I waited for a moment, wondering if it had really worked. Then Sama looked at the men. “Let him up.”

  Callias sprang to his feet. “What have you done, woman?”

  “I saved your life. And now Sama, here, and his men are going to put you on a boat and get you far, far from this island. You’ll see the world, you’ll live, and you’ll die when nature or the gods or whatever are goddamned good and ready to take you.”

  “This is my home, my people,” he argued.

  “Not anymore.” I looked at Sama. “Gather up anything you need, and then get the hell out of here before sunrise.”

  Sama dipped his head.

  “You can’t take me away from here!” Callias roared. “I must bury my brother.”

  “Where your brother is, he won’t mind your missing the funeral.” And I hoped that someday, Callias would thank me.

  I watched the six men haul Callias down the beach, toward the palace. “And find a good woman to fall in love with! No more whoring around!”

  They faded off into the darkness, and for a split second, I felt good. At peace. I had changed, I hoped, at least one person’s fate. Then I began to wonder if anything had changed in my old life, especially that evil bastard version of King.

  Not likely.

  If only I could understand what had triggered the change in King to begin with.

  Everything fell silent for several soul-chilling moments. No crashing waves. No small crackle of embers from the dying fire. No wind. Everything just…turned black and cold.

  The air filled with the scent of mold and a stench of rotting…rotting something. I didn’t know.

  I held my breath, wondering what had just happened.

  Suddenly, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps, like a man running.

  �
�Who’s there?” I screamed.

  A clanking of metal keys followed by a scraping sound ricocheted all around me.

  Suddenly, a door flew open and light poured in. A tall, dark shadow with broad shoulders stood in the doorway.

  I squinted and held my hand up to block the light. I could barely see.

  “What the fuck are you doing down here?” said that deep, disapproving, male voice that accelerated my pulse and lit up every nerve ending.

  “King?”

  “Yes. It is I. Your king.” A burst of red light flooded my vision, radiating directly from his body.

  Oh shit. This was not my King. This was not the good King.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Kicking and screaming, King pulled me from the dark room and dragged me up a flight of rough stone stairs into a dimly lit, cavernous hall. He threw me to the hard cold stone floor. “What. Are. You?” he seethed.

  Afraid for my life, I slowly lifted my eyes and took in the wickedly powerful, menacing form standing over me. He wore black, odd-looking sandals with leather straps that wound up his insanely muscular calves and thick light gray fabric around his waist, the excess thrown back over one shoulder. His muscular chest and biceps were wrought with the menacing strength of a fierce gladiator.

  “Speak, bitch. Or I will rip out your heart.” His dark eyes filled with deadly rage, and the sharp angles of his unshaven masculine face glowed with an otherworldly vibe.

  Shit. I need to get out of here. But where are we? Small windows, high up where the walls met the domed ceilings, were the only source of light aside from the low-burning fire in a pit toward the center of the room.

  I resisted allowing my mouth to flap. “I don’t know what you mean. It’s me. Mia.”

  He dipped his head and stared with dark—Fuck. So, so dark—eyes. Not blue or steely gray, but black. “You…” he growled, “have a death wish, witch.”

  Witch? “I-I’m not a witch.”

  “You,” he pointed, “cursed me.”

  I drew back my head several inches and began scanning for an exit. Right behind him. Crap.

  I held up my palms. “King, please calm down.”

  He stepped toward me, the red light from within practically drowning out his form. “You, you vile witch, fucking tell me to calm down? Do you have any understanding of the hell I have endured because of your evil magic?” His head shook and his thick black unkempt hair fell in front of his eyes. He looked like a savage beast. Not a man.

  “No,” I whispered. “I don’t.”

  He leapt forward and slammed me into the cold, hard floor. “I am going to kill you.” His large hand tightened around my neck.

  I clawed at his face, fighting for my life. His dark eyes bored into mine, pure hatred raining down. Die, they said. Die…

  “Please,” I croaked, my vision blinking out, “I love you…”

  He paused for a fraction of a second, perhaps stunned that I would say something like that while he choked the life from me. But whatever, whoever he was, fighting and suffering were what he wanted.

  I seized the moment. “I would do anything to save you.”

  He snapped back his hand. Horror displaced the rage on his face. “You’re real. You’re really here?”

  I don’t know. I don’t know…Regardless, I nodded slowly and tried to hold his hands away in case he decided that strangulation was still a good choice. “It’s me. I’m real.” Tears filled my eyes.

  His broad chest pumped with several quick breaths. “I thought you were another ghost come to torment me.” He stood and stepped back.

  Trying not to alarm him, I slowly rose to my elbows. “I’m not a dream. And to me, it’s only been a few days since you died. Look at my clothes.” It was the same dress he’d given me. “And would you dream this up?” I pointed to my nose. I knew it was covered with fresh blood from when Sama hit me.

  He clenched his fists. “Who hurt you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. They paid. It’s over.”

  He blew out a long breath and ran his shaking hands through his hair.

  Dear God, the man screamed, “Crazy!”

  “Can you tell me where I am?” I asked.

  He shook his head at his feet. “Too long. It has been too long. I thought I had dreamed you. I thought you never happened. She does not exist. She is not real.” He scratched his head so hard that I thought he might draw blood. “She told me she loved me. Why do this?” he mumbled, flicking his fingertips over his chest. “Why would she hurt me like this? Curse me. A witch. A witch…she is a witch.”

  “King,” I said quietly, “I’m not a witch. I’m Mia. I love you. I cursed you because it was the only way to see you again.”

  His head snapped up. “I am not mad?”

  “No, you’re not mad. You’re…” just lost. And a ghost again, I presumed. He now had the infamous sundial tattoo on his left arm. And the tattoo on his collarbone, the one that looked like an elaborate Egyptian collar in the shape of a semicircle, was partially filled in.

  “How long has it been since you…” I swallowed, “died?”

  “A thousand years. A thousand years of hell, waiting for you.” He rushed toward me and dropped to the floor, grabbing the nape of my neck to pull my lips to his. His tongue plunged inside my mouth with desperation, like a man dying of thirst and running from death.

  His warmth and hardness, his sweet smell and chilling coldness, the sinful burn of his madness, exploded in that one kiss. I didn’t know where I was or why, but good God, I needed him as much as he seemed to need me. When he’d died, I’d missed him so much that every cell in my body cried out. So maybe, just maybe, that was why I didn’t care if the man before me was shattered, dark, and utterly mad. In that moment, the wounds of his death were so raw and fresh, I would take anything I could get.

  He pulled up my dress and ripped himself free of his clothes. His cock was large, hard, and veined with that pulsing tension I’d longed for from the second he’d left me in the tub. Only a moment of acknowledgement flickered between us as we stared into each other’s eyes. Then he lowered his hips and thrust sharply. I closed my eyes and cried out. It didn’t matter that it hurt; he was there. In me. He felt real, and that was all I could ask for. The wait for my drug was over.

  He moved hard and fast, nuzzling his warm stubbled face into the nape of my neck while he groaned and fucked away his anguish like an angry beast. I gripped a handful of his dark hair and held him to me. I would never be able to come like this, but I didn’t care. I just wanted his suffering to end. I just wanted him close. That would be enough.

  “Mia, Mia, Mia…” he repeated underneath his breath, over and over again.

  I willed myself not to fight against the ravenous pace of his animalistic-like pounding, hoping to God that whatever I could give would bring some semblance of sanity.

  His one arm reached under my body and lifted my hips. He pushed his thick cock in a deep, brutal stroke that stole my breath, then came hard, shuddering against me.

  His chest contracted with each rapid breath while he lay on top of me, and my mind rolled with conflict. Even in his broken state, it was euphoric to feel this man in my arms again, tangled against my body.

  I gently petted the back of his head. “I missed you. I really missed you.”

  He lifted his head, looked into my eyes, and withdrew. Before I knew it, he stood over me, redressing. “Get up.”

  I blinked, sat up, and straightened myself out, nervous as hell that he was going to flip out on me. This was not the cool, calm, collected King I knew from the past or the future.

  No. I didn’t fucking care. I’d missed him so much it nearly killed me.

  “You will leave immediately. You can’t stay here,” he said.

  “What’s the matter?” Not that I knew where “here” was, or if “here” was safe, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to leave him. Not for anything.

  “It is far too dangerous for you to stay.”


  I stood up. “Where are we?”

  “Athens.”

  “Are you at war?” Dammit, dammit, dammit. Why didn’t I pay attention in World History?

  “No. However…” His voice faded away. “You cannot stay. I am not—you are not safe.”

  He was afraid he’d hurt me. That had to be it. “I am not leaving.”

  He started mumbling to himself as if slipping away inside his head again.

  “King?”

  He looked at me with angry, dark eyes, and my heart jolted inside my chest.

  “What happened to you?” I whispered.

  Just then, two men entered: one blond and the other with red hair, both wearing similar garb—gray wool cloaks embroidered around the edges and belted tunics. They held an unconscious man who’d been beaten.

  I stilled.

  King looked at the men, unfazed. “Throw him down in the room.”

  “The room”?

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  King’s eyes warned me not to speak. He then instructed the two men to take me away, to make sure it was somewhere safe and where he could never find me.

  The men had a coldness in their eyes, like they were the sort a woman should never be left alone with.

  “I’m not leaving with them,” I said. “I am not leaving you.”

  King was on me faster than I could blink, his trembling hands gripped tightly on my shoulders and his face filled with rage. “You will do as you are told, woman.”

  “Or what?” I growled.

  “Or you will die.” He released me with a sharp push, and I stumbled back. “Take her. Now.”

  The two men rushed over and grabbed my arms so tightly, I felt their dirty nails digging into my skin.

  I twisted away. “I’ll go. Just don’t touch me.”

  The blond man didn’t speak, but I had the distinct impression he was about to slap me. I glowered, daring him to do it.

  He looked away.

  Good choice.

  As we headed toward the large, arched doorway leading outside, I heard King repeat to himself, “Somewhere I cannot find her. Ever.”

  Had he forgotten about his “K” tattoo? He could find me anywhere.