Prince of Shadows (6 page)

“Thanks.” One word. So terribly inadequate.

The shower was indescribable. She stood in the steamy downpour for the longest time before reaching for the shampoo that smelled like him, for the soap that smelled like him. As she brushed her teeth and towel-dried her hair, she kept waiting for the jittery panic to return, for the smothering sense of fear. But all she could feel as she slipped on the bulky borrowed clothing was the surrounding comfort of Cale’s essence and the numbing heaviness of her own fatigue.

The inviting aroma of seared meat coaxed her out of the bathroom. There were two places set at the table. One plate held a nice pan-fried steak and the other a barely browned slab of beef swimming in raw juices.

“I didn’t know if you’d be hungry or not.”

“Looks good. Thank you.”

He looked good, in a clean sleeveless sweatshirt that showed off his amazing arms and sweatpants that made room for the fresh binding about his thigh. His feet were bare. He seemed as awkward as the sight of those bare feet made her feel.

She sat down and picked up the cloth napkin wrapped about her silverware, bemused. Cale paused, knife and fork at the ready. “What?”

“All this. It’s . . . very civilized.”

He scowled at her. “What did you expect? Two spoons and an open can? Eat,” he concluded gruffly, slicing off a slab of steak tartar and chewing fiercely to speed his healing.

They ate in an oddly comfortable silence. By the time they finished, Cale was staring somberly into the pooling liquids on his plate, his features pinched and eyes shadowed. His gaze flew up when she stood, as if unsure what to do with her.

“Which side?” she asked. His brow furrowed, forcing her to explain. “Of the bed. Which side do you want?”

“Oh. Closest to the door. That way I won’t wake you when I . . .” He didn’t finish.

Come to bed.

The relaxed playing-house mood abruptly threaded with tension. He began to noisily gather the dishes without looking up, allowing her to slip out of sight under covers that smelled like him. And within three or four heartbeats, she was out.

A strange sound woke her to a darkened room. Her nervous gasp brought the surety of Cale’s scent to calm her. She was alone. The shock of the evening’s events seemed far removed, including the fact that she was in Cale Terriot’s bed.

A sliver of light underlined the bathroom door. She could hear the shower running. And again that low, raw sound that made her chest instinctively tighten as she approached. The door was partially ajar, the sign of a man used to living alone.

“Cale?” she called worriedly, then pushed in far enough to see him standing under the hard spray of the shower, leaning against the tiles, his eyes closed. She realized two things. His naked body was beyond breathtaking, and his spirit was crushed. His powerful shoulders jerked with the force of a soul-deep sorrow muffled by the thunder of running water.

Kendra took a step forward, intending to go to him, but stopped. She was responsible for his private pain, for the weight of his brother’s death at his own hands. What comfort could she possibly give that he’d want to receive from her?

She returned to the bed, huddling teary-eyed in the darkness, until she heard him open the door and switch off the light. She lay still, barely breathing as he gingerly lay down beside her. He drew a deep shaky breath and expelled it softly, then lay unmoving, so alone in his grief that her tender emotions couldn’t stand it. She could picture those tormented eyes staring blindly at the ceiling.

Kendra rolled toward him, her palm moving cautiously across his sweatshirt, coming to rest over his broken heart. He tensed for a long, wary moment, then his arm carefully opened to invite her against his side. She curled in to him so they could comfort each other, gratefully soaking up the heat and sense of security he offered to keep her fears at bay.

His muscles relaxed by gradual increments, and as she felt his fingertips graze her cheek, she heard him whisper, “G’night, baby,” before adding something that sounded like “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

six

She slept without dreams.

It was early when Kendra awoke. The room was dim and the space beside her cool and empty. The sound of Cale speaking low and earnestly on his phone gave her permission to drift a while longer, pushing reality away. She didn’t separate out the strands of his words but nestled into the comforting fabric of his voice. Finally, he fell silent, and she was forced to deal with the new day. And the dangerous vulnerability of her position, alone in his room. She’d have time to berate herself for getting into it later. Gathering the covers about her, she sat up with a quiet “Morning. How’s your leg?”

“Fine.” He was leaning against the windowsill with the sun over his shoulder. The glare made it difficult to see his face when he said, “We need to talk about some things.”

He didn’t need to say “unpleasant things.” That was implied.

“Wes and James brought Michael home. His funeral’s this morning, and then I’ll be meeting with my father.” He spoke without any particular inflection, so it was impossible to sense his mood. “There are some options, and you’re not going to like any of them.”

“Okay.” She tensed her gut and wished the bright light weren’t making her head pound.

“Because of what happened with Michael, your future will probably be decided today. Bram won’t want to risk something like this happening again.”

Her pulse leaped in panic. “And I don’t have any choice in that.” It wasn’t a question.

“Maybe. If you decide right now. If you accept my protection. Consider it the evil you know.” A very faint smile, then he was all serious business again. “You have my word that no one will harm you. I can keep you safe. If you don’t accept me, I can’t help you. I can’t interfere once my father gives you to another. Choose now or have that choice made for you. I can’t—”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll accept your protection.”

“And everything that comes with it,” he added forcefully, to make sure she understood the fine print.

“Yes.” What choice did she have?

“Okay.” He nodded to himself. “Okay. Go to your room and wait. If I’m still alive, I’ll come for you and—”

“What do you mean, ‘still alive’?”

“I’ve killed my brother,” he emphasized. “What do you think it means?”

She hadn’t thought. Not when she’d had that extra drink. Not when she’d tempted that spark of unwise attraction. Not when she’d allowed circumstances to spin out of control, forcing him into the role of rescuer.

“Anyway,” he continued in that same unsettling offhand manner, as if discussing his life or death were of no more importance than picking between a blue or gray T-shirt, “if I die today, I want you to go to my father. Tell him we had sex and you might be carrying my child. I’m sure that’s what everyone will think anyway. Beg, crawl, whatever you need to do, so that he’ll keep the rest of them away from you.”

Kendra shivered. He didn’t need to draw a clearer picture. “You’re his favorite. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“I killed my brother. There will be consequences.”

“I could go to him. This is my fault. I could tell him what happened. I could beg to take those consequences for you.”

“You will
not
! I’d rather be dead than live with that. It’s hard enough— ” He broke off and took a calming breath. “If you’re not safe, all this was for nothing. Understand?”

“Yes.” She understood perfectly. “I should go now.”

He nodded. “Lock your door and stay put. I’ll come for you as soon as I can . . . if I can.”

The enormity of it hit hard. Her future, her very life, was in the hands of this man she barely knew, who had no reasons beyond the obvious for taking the risks he was about to.

He was after the crown.

Why else would he have come back for her after she’d so unforgivably insulted him? If feelings for her were the cause for his sudden heroism, would he let her walk away, perhaps for the last time, without a quiet word or a tender touch? But this was Cale Terriot. Quiet and tender weren’t his go-to responses.

She hesitated, wishing she could see him clearly through the dazzle of daybreak. Maybe that last look would reveal the answer to the mystery he’d become. More likely not.

She turned without speaking only to have him put himself in front of her before she reached the door. He whisked his jacket about her shoulders and extended her shoes. Then his strong hands rubbed up and down her arms with a rough agitation. “When you’re mine, no one will dare hurt you.”

A tremor raced through her at what this bargain would mean. Even without the bolster of alcohol to make her bold, she couldn’t convince herself that anticipation didn’t twine about apprehension as she dodged around him and was out the door.

Carrying her shoes, Kendra dashed across the grounds, sticking to cold shadows where she couldn’t be seen. Her heart pounded, but not from the fear of discovery. Cale was her one safe avenue. He wouldn’t allow her honor to be damaged. He’d want that privilege for himself.

Her room was dark. She could hear Rosie breathing quietly from beneath the huddle of blankets, obviously not as concerned about her welfare as Brigit would have been. Her cousin wouldn’t have closed her eyes until she’d laid in to her about her behavior at the club. Behavior that had led to far worse consequences than her splitting headache.

Kendra grabbed up a change of clothes and slipped into the bathroom. A glimpse of her reflection shocked her. The feverish spots of color upon ghostly pallor, the misshapen hair, the puffy lips . . . She looked as though she’d enjoyed every perverse thing all would soon be imagining.

Cale Terriot wasn’t going to be satisfied with a few lusty kisses when he came to claim her, not once he’d paid the price to have her. That disturbing certainty hurried her into the shower to scrub every trace of his scent from her overly sensitive skin. Fixing her thoughts on him distracted from the underlying horror of what had happened, allowing her to push those terrifying moments into a far corner reserved for other nightmares in her past.

She would think only of Cale. Trepidation defied the heat of the water, leaving her cold and trembling. Missing the heat of his body against her.

“Did you hear what happened?” Rosie whispered with scandalized excitement as she scooted into the seat opposite Kendra with her bird-sized breakfast and green tea.

Kendra fixed her gaze on her own untouched plate of cold eggs. “What?”

“Michael Terriot was killed last night, right behind the club, while we were inside dancing. It’s all very hush-hush. We’re all expected at the funeral. You’ll want to do something with your makeup. You look positively ghastly.” A pause. “What time did you get in?”

“Late. I went out for a meal.”

Rosie perked up. “A meal? With who?” One look at Kendra’s expression had her gasping. “Oh my God! You left with Cale?”

Kendra shushed her. She could read front-page news all over her friend’s face.

Rosie leaned forward on her elbows. “So you’ve chosen?”

“Not officially. It’s not the right time, considering.”

Rosie nodded, for once showing a little astuteness. “You and Cale,” she mused. “I never would have guessed that.”

Kendra frowned. “Why not Cale?”

Rosie made an “it’s obvious” gesture of widespread hands. “He’s so intense and forceful and . . . scary, and you’re, well, you.”

A fragile, easily wilted flower. Afraid of her own shadow. She got it. Not exactly the type of female to catch the interest of a man like Cale.

Since . . . always.

What had he meant by that? She wished she had the clarity of mind to go over the nuances of what they’d said to each other before everything had gone to hell.

“When is he going to declare for you?”

“Soon.” Sooner than Rosie could ever imagine.

. . . if I’m alive.

Kendra pushed her plate away, unable to face the thought of food when her stomach was tight and trembling. Her future would be decided today. Cale was right. She didn’t like her options.

Michael Terriot was honored in the old way, from a time of superstition and fierce rivalry when the dead were burned instead of buried so their remains wouldn’t be disturbed and their rest interrupted. His wrapped body was elevated on a platform overlooking the water, and once the clan had gathered in silence, each of the Terriot princes approached individually and wedged a bundle of sticks beneath their fallen brother before taking their place at their father’s side.

From where she huddled against the cold whip of the wind with the other single females, Kendra’s attention focused upon her soon-to-be fallen prince. He betrayed nothing, his features firmly set behind the wrap of his dark glasses. Like the others, he was all in black, his head unbowed and bare and beginning to collect a faint dotting of snow. She couldn’t tell where he was looking and wondered if it was at her as he stood not beside Bram, as was his habit, but at the far end of the row of brothers. From the brief frown creasing Bram’s face, she guessed the isolating gesture was not at his command.

Wes’s mother, Martine, took her place behind Bram as his consort, and the mates of the four bonded princes curtsied deeply in front of their males before positioning themselves proudly at their backs. Prestigious pomp, but more than that: a signal to the clan that they’d been chosen and were defended by the crown. Michael’s sobbing mother stood off to the side, isolated in her grieving as if shunned now that she had no protector.

It was as though Brigit had given Kendra a push.

Before she could think better of it, Kendra acted quickly, striding across the open courtyard before any of the chaperones could catch her. She could hear gasps at her boldness but kept her gaze fixed upon the impenetrable lenses hiding Cale’s eyes as she approached without hesitation. He stood unmoving as she sank to the stones, waiting for him to either accept or disgrace her. There was no going back. She almost didn’t hear his soft words over the anxious shivering of her breaths. “Take my hand and my heart.”

Her gaze flashed up, but she could read nothing from his stoic facade. He’d reached out, palm up, and she slid hers across it. His grip was warm and strong as he lifted her up and guided her to that sheltered place at his back while the others openly stared in surprise. Especially Bram.

“I told you to wait,” he murmured.

“I didn’t want you to die.”

She could feel the intensity of his stare even though she couldn’t see it. His voice was carefully bland. “Before you could make this dramatic show of devotion or before I could give you the protection of my name?”

When her schooled expression gave him nothing, he carried her hand to his lips, brushing them lightly over her knuckles, the gesture and the touch warm, his words, not so much. “Well played.” Then he released her and turned forward.

Had her intentions been that calculating?

Speculative whispers died down when Bram strode forward, torch in hand, to speak for the soul of his lost son.

“This is Michael, a prince of the Terriot clan. Make him welcome among you.” He touched off the kindling, standing motionless until the pyre burned hot and bright, forcing his retreat. He paused only a moment as he passed in front of Cale, his gaze filled with questions.

Kendra stood still and straight as the first sickening scent of scorched flesh reached her. She focused on the solid set of Cale’s shoulders as the snap and crackle of the flames went on and on. She didn’t know whether he’d loved his brother, but she knew he mourned him, and that teethed upon her heart. Was he afraid of the repercussions to come? Of facing his family with what he’d done because of her? If there was one man who could successfully champion her cause, she was allied with him, for better or worse. He wouldn’t let anyone harm her.

Nor would he ever let her go.

She trembled at that truth, with its cold comfort.

When there was nothing left but cinders, Bram bent to scoop up a handful of hot ash, pressing it into a tight fist and releasing it to scatter on the air. Then he strode toward the main lodge. One by one, his sons did the same, Cale lingering a few seconds longer before letting his brother’s spirit fly. He never once looked to Kendra or signaled what he’d have her do. So she remained alone and uncertain as he followed his family up the steep stairs.