Extraordinarily Yours: Collection 1 (An Extraordinarily Yours Romance Book 8)

by J. Kenner

  “What do I want? Well, my dear, I think it’s obvious. I want the belt.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Come, come. Hale and Zoe have been putting nasty thoughts into your head. There’s a bit of a family feud, I’ll admit, but I’m really not such a bad guy.” He turned to Clyde. “The tray, please.”

  Clyde passed a silver tray, covered with a silver dome lid. Hieronymous pulled the lid off, revealing a sumptuous turkey dinner, complete with gravy, dressing, and cranberry sauce.

  Tracy’s eyebrows went up, but she didn’t say anything.

  He put the tray in her hands. “It’s Thanksgiving, my dear. Do what I ask, and you won’t believe the blessings that will be heaped upon you.”

  “In other words, give you the belt, and I’ll be treated differently than all the other mortals you’re planning to enslave.”

  “But of course. Concessions can always be made.”

  She licked her lips, her eyes darting down to the food. “I see. And you want . . .”

  “Simply the belt, of course. Such a small thing, really.”

  “Right.” She licked her lips, then nodded at the food. “May I?”

  “Certainly, my dear. I didn’t bring it in just to torture you.” There wasn’t a fork or a knife on the tray, but Tracy didn’t hesitate. She reached for the stuffing, got a few fingersful, then lifted it to her mouth. Mordi held his breath, wondering if she was truly going to accept food from his father.

  He should have known better, of course. Tracy apparently had the backbone he’d lacked his entire life. In one quick movement, she flipped her hand around, flinging the stuffing onto Hieronymous’s face.

  “Oops,” she said. “Looks like it got away from me.” Mordi’s father leapt to his feet, his cloak swirling about him. “That was a stupid thing to do.” His words were measured, harsh, and Mordi cringed. He knew that tone.

  Tracy managed to hold her own. “What was stupid was kidnapping me. Hale will save me, you know.”

  “Will he? He’ll have to find you first, and don’t think that will be an easy chore.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re not getting the belt.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He turned to Clyde. “Confine her again.”

  Tracy struggled, but in the end, she was no match for Clyde. In no time, he had her pinned to the wall.

  Hieronymous turned to Mordi. “Open the trapdoor and let Harry in.”

  Mordi nodded, not wanting to, but helpless to resist his father’s command. Bending over, he tugged at the thick metal ring on the floor until the heavy wooden door opened and Harry—Hieronymous’s favorite Henchman—popped into the room.

  “The belt,” Hieronymous said, pointing to Tracy. “Separate the young lady from the belt.”

  Harry slithered over, his slimy body leaving a wet imprint on the floor. When he reached Tracy, he grasped her around the waist, his tentacles fondling the belt as Tracy struggled uselessly against her bonds. Tears streamed down her face, and Mordi had to force himself to stay put, to not lunge forward and grab the belt the second it fell from Tracy’s waist. Except it wasn’t falling. It wasn’t budging at all.

  “Get . . . the . . . belt.” Tight fury laced Hieronymous’s voice.

  “Can’t get. Itsa not coming.”

  “Fool!” Mordi’s father’s arm shot out, striking Harry’s head with a resounding squish and propelling the Henchman out the window. Silence. Then ker-plop as his doughy, squid-like body hit the ocean below. Mordi had no idea why Harry hadn’t been able to take the belt, but at the moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the belt was still tight around Tracy’s waist . . . and Hieronymous was pissed.

  Tracy cringed, her eyes darting between Clyde and Hieronymous as she gnawed on her lower lip.

  Hieronymous just stood there, staring at Tracy, his face expressionless. Then he smiled, and Mordi went cold. “Apparently I won’t be acquiring the belt through one of my Henchmen. Too bad, too. It would have been so much more pleasant for you.”

  Tracy liked her lips. “What do you mean?”

  “It looks like I have only one choice,” he said, picking the tray up from the floor. Hieronymous leaned closer, his nose almost touching Tracy’s. She managed to hold his gaze, but her deathly pale skin revealed just how scared she was. “What?” Her question, barely voiced, drifted to Mordi.

  “I should think it’s obvious. Clearly, I’m going to have to persuade you to give it to me.” The leader of the Outcasts’s smile turned ice cold, and Mordi shuddered. “I wonder if three or four days without food won’t make you more cognizant of the joys of sharing.”

  Mordi shuddered.

  “A castle? Off the coast from Santa Monica?” Hale stared at the computer screen, unable to believe what he was seeing. “What in the name of Hades is Clyde doing with a castle?”

  They were sitting in Tracy’s kitchen working from Hale’s laptop, and now Zoe slid her chair over to look around his shoulder and read the e-mail from Zephron aloud. “Council intelligence has determined that Clyde, a known Hieronymous associate and Outcast, recently inspected for the purpose of purchasing an abandoned movie set, including functional castle. Intended use is as yet undetermined.” She turned to face Hale. “What intelligence? Who’s this from?”

  “Does it matter? It’s the best lead we have.” He stood up, pulling his Council pack off the table. They’d been trying to find Tracy all night, had called Zephron, and this was the first break they’d gotten.

  “I’m going with you,” Zoe said.

  “No. It might be a trap. I want you to wait here. Call Zephron. Let him know I may need backup. And if I don’t report back in an hour, you know the drill.” He kissed his sister’s cheek, then caught her eye. “If something happens to me, you may have to rescue her on your own.” He couldn’t even bring himself to voice the possibility that something might happen to Tracy.

  Zoe put her hand on his arm. “She’ll be all right.”

  “What if she’s not? I never even told her I love her.” He shook his head. “Well, I did. And then I told her it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t enough.” Closing his eyes, he drew in a strangled breath. “Not enough? Hell, it’s everything.”

  “Don’t tell me. Tell her.”

  “That’s my plan.”

  Within seconds, he’d put on his cloak and was racing down the Pacific Coast Highway. On any normal day, it would be a pleasant flight. Invigorating, even. But today—this morning—all he could think about was Tracy. He’d been a fool. And now his foolishness was coming back to haunt him in the most horrible of ways.

  He’d been afraid to care, afraid she’d leave. But deep in his heart, he knew she wouldn’t. She loved him as much as he loved her. He wouldn’t go anywhere, so why assume she would?

  Because he’d been looking for an excuse, that’s why. Any excuse to insulate himself from the very terror he was feeling right now—that the mortal he loved might be taken or harmed or used as bait. But he’d been stupid. Shortsighted. He’d turned Tracy away, and still she wasn’t safe. She could never be perfectly safe. Because as long as he loved her, she’d always be vulnerable. And so would his heart.

  Together, they could lean on each other.

  He wanted many, many years of leaning.

  He could only hope that, after being kidnapped by Hieronymous and held prisoner in a castle, she wouldn’t want to wash her hands of him altogether. After all, she might blame him, blame him for this terrible world he’d brought into her life. Somehow, though, deep in his heart, he knew she wouldn’t. No matter what she went through, she loved him. And she’d stay with him, forever. She’d been trying to explain that to him.

  He had no idea who the Council’s spy on Hieronymous’s turf was, but he said a silent thank-you. Without him, Hale might have found Tracy too late.

  Of course he hadn’t found her yet, but something told him he was on the right track. Especially when the castle came into view. Elegant but dilapidated, it s
eemed perfectly suited to his uncle Hieronymous.

  This had to be it. Tracy was in there somewhere. He didn’t know where to look, but he’d find her. Considering how many times he’d dressed up as the castle laird for a romance novel, it seemed somehow appropriate that this should be the site of his rescue of Tracy. For, even if he had to comb every square inch from the dungeon to the tower, Hale intended to find her.

  The sun was high in the sky, but Tracy couldn’t control her shivering. Hunger, terror, and exhaustion were all taking their toll, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. But sleep was an impossibility and lying down was even less feasible. She was pinioned upright to a cold, stone wall.

  Even now, she couldn’t believe she was trapped in some European castle, but that sure seemed to be the situation. Mordi had blindfolded her for the journey, and she could no longer see out the window, so she didn’t know where exactly she was, but she’d bet Scotland. Not that it mattered. Wherever she was, she was in trouble.

  She’d read more than her share of romance novels set in Scottish castles. Surely one had a scene where the heroine broke free of manacles. But darned if she could think of one.

  Not that she’d had any opportunity to try to escape. She’d been kept under constant surveillance by Hieronymous and his minions since she got here.

  She still couldn’t believe she’d misjudged Mordi. He’d seemed to sincerely want to help her and Hale. Finding out that he was nothing more than a Hieronymous flunkie had certainly been a major letdown.

  “Master. Our little problem has arrived.”

  Little problem? That had to be Hale. Tracy tried hard to keep the smile from her face.

  “Don’t count your chickens yet, my dear,” Hieronymous snapped. “I assure you Clyde is more than capable of ridding the castle of my silly nephew.”

  Apparently, she hadn’t managed to keep that smile under wraps after all.

  “I, however, must be running along.” Hieronymous reached out and took her hand, then raised it to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. Tracy bit back a wave of revulsion as he leaned close and whispered, “You see, I must maintain no connection to this place. If anyone asks, I will simply have been in my Manhattan hideaway, unaware of what my son and Clyde were doing to you poor, defenseless little mortal.”

  “I’ll be more than happy to clue them in.”

  He laughed, then patted her cheek. “You do that, my dear. And while they might believe you, they won’t be able to raise a hand against me. You see, even though your beloved Hale’s Council seems to have such love of you mortals, you can’t testify against a Protector. Not even against an Outcast. I’m afraid, my dear, that their laws protect me. I’ll be back once this situation is . . . handled.” He smiled then, and, ridiculously, Mack the Knife started running through her head: And he keeps them, pearly white.

  Dear Lord, she must be hysterical.

  She tried to think of something else to say, something to stop him, to keep him there until Hale found her. But there were no words, and soon he disappeared, flying out the window, his cloak flapping behind him until he was little more than a pinpoint in the sky.

  Clyde glowered at her from the corner, and Tracy shivered again. She turned to Mordi, who was closer.

  “Why did your father say that Hale was no match for Clyde?”

  “Every Protector has powers. Clyde has all the innate Protector skills—speed, strength, agility—but they’re enhanced.”

  “Oh.”

  Mordi looked unhappy. “In other words, Clyde could probably cream us all.”

  “Oh,” she repeated. She glanced at Clyde and smiled weakly. He didn’t smile back. “Great.”

  “Tracy!” someone called.

  Hale! His voice far away, but clearly in the castle.

  “I’m up here,” she shouted. “Somewhere in the tower. But be careful.”

  “Is Mordi with you?”

  “Yes,” she yelled back, glaring at Mordi. He didn’t try to stop her. “And someone named Clyde.” She glanced over. The Outcast appeared amused by Hale’s plan of attack.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was getting closer.

  “I’m fine. For now. Please. Be careful.” She’d never chewed on her fingernails, but at the moment, she wished she could rip a hand free from the manacles and have a nibble.

  Hurried footsteps. Closer, then closer still.

  “Did they get the belt?”

  “No. They tried using a Henchman. It won’t come off. I might as well be wearing ruby slippers.” She laughed. Not that anything was funny, but considering she’d been yanked from her house, flown to Scotland, and tortured by a demented ex-superhero, a few hysterics were probably in order. “It’s still firmly around my waist.”

  “I’ll have you and your waist out of here in no time.” His voice was just beyond the threshold.

  Clyde moved toward the door.

  “No,” Mordi said. He turned to look up, facing the cameras in the corners. “Hale and I have a history. I get the first shot at him.”

  A thin grin spread across Clyde’s face. “You think that you—a mere halfling—can best Hale?”

  “I think I can, yes.”

  “As you wish.” Disdain dripped from his voice, and Tracy made a mental note to ask Hale what was going on between those two. Assuming he got her out of here, of course.

  The door burst open. Tracy held her breath, expecting Hale to burst through, too. Instead . . . nothing.

  She frowned.

  Then Mordi keeled over, clutching his stomach in pain.

  “Hale!” She wanted to clap, but her manacled hands prevented it. Instead, she wriggled with pleasure. Hale would get her out of here. He’d save her. She had no doubt at all.

  His disembodied voice drifted toward her. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing?”

  Mordi tried to straighten up, then collapsed as something knocked out his knees from behind. Clyde watched, amused, from the side.

  “A lot better now that you’re here,” she answered.

  “When this is over, we need to talk.”

  “Yeah?” She liked the sound of that.

  “Yeah.”

  “About what?”

  Mordi was standing back up again, and once more, down he went.

  Tracy stifled a giggle, suddenly in a remarkably chipper mood.

  “About the fact that I love you.” Hale’s words zinged straight to her heart. “And I’ve been an idiot.”

  “Yes, you have,” Mordi said. This time when he stood up, he focused on Hale’s voice. “You haven’t been playing fair,” he said, launching himself at the other Protector.

  “Hale!” Tracy cried.

  “I’m okay, babe. Mordi and I have been down this road before. I always win.”

  “Not this time,” Mordi grunted.

  Tracy struggled, a little whine growing in her throat, but her manacles held fast. She wasn’t going anywhere. Damn.

  Clyde had kicked back in the chair and seemed to be enjoying the show. All he seemed to need was a bucket of popcorn.

  Somehow, Mordi managed to get Hale around the . . . neck? He tumbled to the ground, holding on, and over and over he rolled until he actually reached the threshold and tumbled out of the room. Tracy could hear him and Hale struggling, but, try as she might, she couldn’t see a thing. Which meant that she could only hold her breath and hope that the man who eventually came back into the room was the one she loved. Hale. She looked over at Clyde. It looked like he was thinking the same thing.

  “You conniving little twit,” Hale yelled, slamming his fist again into Mordi’s gut. They’d grown up together, and Hale was certain of winning. Beating Mordi on the field of battle wasn’t any trick at all.

  Clyde, though . . . Clyde was a completely different story.

  Mordi rolled, trying to avoid Hale’s kicks and punches while he held on. His efforts rolled them into the far corners of the hallway outside Tracy’s cell.

  “I had no
choice,” Mordi gasped out.

  Hale broke free and turned visible. “Sweet Hera, you’re a cool liar. I was actually beginning to believe you’d changed. I even thought you liked Tracy.”

  “I do,” Mordi hissed. “Will you listen to me?”

  Hale wasn’t having any of it. Once again, he threw himself forward. The two Protectors both struck the wall, the force of their impact knocking several stones loose.

  “Dammit, Hale, I need to tell you something.” Hale ignored his cousin, gripping Mordi by his neck until the little viper’s next words were little more than a squeak. “Why do you think I got us out here?”

  “You’ve put me and the woman I love in danger. Why in Hades should I let you say anything?”

  “Because there aren’t any cameras out here in the alcove,” Mordi gasped, his voice little more than a whisper. “My father can’t see a thing.”

  It wasn’t at all the response Hale was expecting. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Mordi opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a wheeze.

  Hale pinned him down, using both arms to press Mordi’s shoulders to the wall, and his knee to keep firm pressure on his gut. “Talk.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Mordi said, “I don’t know how sensitive the mikes are in Tracy’s room.”

  “If you don’t start talking now, you’re never going to know anything about anything,” Hale said, increasing the pressure with his knee. But even so, he spoke in a whisper. This might be a trap, but the crafty little bastard had caught his attention.

  “Who the hell do you think sent Zephron the location of this castle? Who do you think is spying on Hieronymous from the inside?”

  “You?” Hale shook his head. “I’m not buying it, Mordi. I know what you’ve done, remember? I watched you help your father try to take over the world and battle Zoe. You stole Tracy. I think I know you well enough to know what to believe.”

  “I had hoped that you did.” This time, Mordi sounded cool and collected, and for an instant, Hale’s resolve cracked. “Throw us against the next wall,” he said.