Wild Heir (Fated Royals Book 4)

by Nikolai Andrew

  They might be powerful, but they weren’t nobility or royalty. Not yet.

  That was the very reason the daughter of an impoverished family like mine would be of any interest to them. A royal title was something money alone couldn’t buy. But a strategic marriage to pay off a debt could.

  My heart began beating quicker as we approached a darkened, enormous manor house. There were no signs of life anywhere—no servants, no carriages, no low-burning candles in bedroom windows.

  Nothing.

  I would have thought it was abandoned completely, except that it was meticulously well kept. The driveway had been cleared of snow recently enough that there was only a thin sprinkling, and the house looked to be in excellent condition.

  The moonlight glinted off of rows of undamaged panes of glass in the windows, and the ivy had been carefully trimmed away from each opening.

  Vasile drew his horse to a stop in front of the grand entry door. His broad chest rose and fell against my back, once and then again.

  Then he said, “Are you going to keep pretending you’re unconscious or are you going to admit you’re awake?”

  Damn him.

  I shot a glance back at him. He had his eyebrow raised, looking sexy and cocksure.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  He gave no answer. Dismounting first, he was about to lift me out of the saddle but I beat him to it pushing myself up and sliding down the side of the horse to stand in the snow.

  “Fine,” he huffed, turning away to pet his horse’s flank, drawing the reins down in front of the mount’s bit. “Stand here for two minutes. I need to take Vela to the stable.” Vasile disappeared around the side of the house, trotting alongside his horse.

  I stared into the night sky, pin dots of stars looking down as I considered my situation again. I rubbed my arms and felt the chill of the night, knowing I was shivering not only from the cold.

  A minute later, he was back, jogging toward me and I wondered if he thought I may not be here when he returned. But where would I go? It was freezing, the middle of the night and I had no idea where we were.

  He looked down at my feet. “Couldn’t find your boots. Which is why I was going to carry you to the door.”

  “I’ve been carried quite enough for one day,” I spat back, knowing I was acting like a petulant child but I didn’t want to give him any satisfaction. Instead I marched right up to the front door, grabbed the lion’s head knocker, and gave it a few good whacks.

  Behind me, Vasile blew out an exasperated breath.

  “Anybody ever tell you that you’re stubborn?”

  “Anybody ever tell you it’s impolite to kidnap someone?” Still with my hand on the knocker, I turned to face him, giving him a stern glare. “If you’re not going to tell me where we are or what we’re doing, you can be damned sure I’m going to figure out for myself.” And I added a few more knocks for dramatic effect.

  Vasile cleared his throat, then approached me where I stood at the front entrance way. Through the small, beveled glass sidelights, I saw no candles or signs of life.

  As I knocked again, I imagined the sound echoing through the enormous stone structure. But Vasile stilled my hand mid-knock and reached past me. He turned the knob and the door swung open.

  “You didn’t think I lived with that dickhead brother of mine, did you?” he asked. He held the door open for me. Now that I was in my slippers and he was still in his boots, he was even taller than I remembered. I passed easily under his outstretched arm and into the front foyer.

  “You live here?” I asked remembering the purple banner knowing Vasile did not have noble nor royal title.

  Now I saw that there were indeed low burning embers in the two massive fireplaces I could see from where I stood. Though the house was sparsely furnished, it was quite beautiful in every way.

  “Yes,” he said, locking the door behind us. “Among other places.”

  I found him both frustrating and mysterious. So much so, in fact, that I had to remind myself that he was a villain, and the only reason to spend time with him was to seduce him, ruin myself and run off in disgrace, never to set foot anywhere near the Greengallows again.

  Every time he spoke, it was like there was a whole world of information he was keeping to himself. And yet, I didn’t feel like he was lying to me. Just… telling me what he wanted me to know.

  Lies by omission possibly, yet somehow I felt he was doing it for my benefit.

  And something about that was intensely erotic to me.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I stepped away to explore, but before I could get away he’d grabbed my upper arm.

  I let out a wild-animal roar that echoed through the mostly empty rooms. I maneuvered my way around to wrap my arms around him again in another hold that came from my grappling classes. This time, though, I didn’t have the element of surprise and in a few long strides he made his way to the end of a huge leather sofa dragging me with him.

  With a forceful heave, he flipped me over and I landed with a cushy thump on the tufted leather. I glared at him upside down, with my chest heaving. He planted his hands on the sofa arm and glared back.

  “Can we knock that shit off, please?”

  With a growl, I thrust myself off the sofa and set about exploring again. I was fuming at first, annoyed at myself for missing my chance, but with every step I took I forced myself to calm down. If I wanted to keep control of this situation, I had to keep my wits about me. Anger was the most blinding emotion of all and I had to let go of it as fast as possible.

  I realized, I was not doing very well at the seduction part of my plan and resolved to change my approach.

  As I made my way from room to room, Vasile followed, re-igniting fires in most of the rooms as we went, intense but not threatening.

  With my body and movements, I tried to convey as much confidence as I could, but it was just an act—I was nervous, in an unfamiliar place, and with a man who looked at me and treated me in a way that had me feeling things I’d never felt before.

  His heavy footfalls followed me, big authoritative thumps on the stone floors. It was a reminder that he was just that—a man. A real man. Not some boy I was dancing with at the New Years’ dance, not some suitor barely into adulthood.

  Vasile Greengallow was a man. I was as intimidated by him as I was turned on.

  I trailed my finger along a polished length of wainscoting and then let myself through a pair of French doors. The air that met me was warm and sweet. The distinctive scent of oranges filled the air, and the heavy warmth of summer air enveloped me in the most wonderful way.

  The sound of a click made me turn back to look at Vasile; in one hand he held a mechanical flint, and with a flick of his finger the gas sconce on the wall lit up, followed by sconce after sconce down the row.

  I gasped and smiled as the room lit up with light. We had no such luxuries at my house; gas lamps were for the truly wealthy. The pleasant warm light filled the orangery, and revealed a swimming pool surrounded by the waxy-leafed orange trees.

  For the first time since I’d left his brother’s house, I got a really good look at Vasile, not by moonlight but by the warm light of the glass gassier. His eyes were locked right on me, and he worked his jaw back and forth making the muscles of his jaw flutter.

  “It’s like summer in here,” I said, saying the first thing that came to mind. “I barely remember the last one.”

  “A needless indulgence, my father would say. He’s used to this cold. But I’ve spent so long away from here, living in warmth, that I missed it when I returned.”

  Taking a step toward him, I mustered up my courage. “What is it, exactly, you plan to do with me?”

  He shook his head, then looked me up and down, once and again. An ever-so-brief flare of his nostrils reminded me of some big animal in the rut. “You don’t want to know.”

  But oh, how I did want to know. So much. And yet, I was so nervous that I could hardly summon up a thought, let
alone a word.

  Don’t just stand there, you silly girl, I told myself. Do something.

  I bit my lip and blinked up at him.

  Driven by desire and instinct alone, I threw off the blankets he’d wrapped me in. As I took hold of the hem of my nightdress, he gave me a warning glare to say watch it. But I felt no fear from him, no danger.

  I felt nothing but heat and want.

  Emboldened by that look in his eye, I slowly dragged the hem of the nightdress up, from my knees, over my thighs, until it barely hid my secret lips.

  Do I dare?

  I felt almost childlike there, dressed like that, with him so brawny and burly in his heavy, rugged clothes. All felted wool and leather.

  I felt one last flicker of doubt, that is, until on a single deep breath, I dragged the nightdress up over my head and dropped it to the floor then reached down and removed my wet slippers.

  I then stood, tall and proud, naked before him.

  “Fuck,” he growled, sounding irritated with me, frustrated by me.

  A rush of warmth invaded my muscles, my bones, my very being. I felt so powerful.

  Rarely in my life had I felt like a princess at all. But, standing before him, he made me feel every inch the princess at last. What irony—finding such power in vulnerability.

  I raised up on my tiptoes and spun around for him, watching him watch me over my lifted shoulder. Then I raised my hands up above my head in a V, overlaying my fingertips, before sucking in a deep breath… and diving into the pool.

  The water was warm, heated perhaps by the gas furnaces of the house deep below, and I was enveloped in a silky safety that let me shake off the chill of our long ride in the night. I reemerged just in time to see him kick off his boots, throw his coat on the floor and yank his shirt over his head.

  It was all I could do to stop myself from moaning out loud. His torso every inch that of a Greek god's; his broad shoulders led down into a narrow, sculpted waist.

  My eyes were immediately drawn to the line of hair that went down from his belly button and into his pants. But he didn’t give me the satisfaction of seeing everything, and he dove into the pool with his pants on.

  He was a powerful swimmer and he vanished into the warm, dark water. I turned this way and that to see where he might reemerge, but I’d lost sight of him.

  Suddenly a strong, bare arm looped around my waist and he pushed me up against the wall, reemerging in front of me, pressing his groin up against my hips.

  I felt him there, hard against me, and my heart leapt into my chest. Pressing me up against the pool edge, the cool marble against the back of my neck. Rivulets of water trickled from his thick dark hair down his muscular throat.

  Almost automatically, I spread my legs for him and hooked my ankles together around his waist. He slid his hand down my back far enough to dig his huge fingers into my ass and shifted me slightly, gently moving me through the water toward the underwater steps.

  Once there, he caged me in with one hand on the railing above me, and pinned me tightly up against the wall of the pool. My plan was working, I just needed to be seductive yet coy an draw him in deeper.

  I studied him, every detail of his beautiful face, willing him to lean in and kiss me again.

  But instead, he pulled back. The look in his eyes hardened, and with a powerful thrust he pulled me into him and lifted me right up out of the pool. I dropped my legs and went stiff, trying to make it as difficult as possible for him to carry me, but it was no use.

  He scooped up my clothes in his other arm and then dragged me along down the wooden hallways, with my wet feet squeaking, drenched hair dripping down my face and back.

  “I wasn’t done swimming.” I squirmed and felt my naked flesh against him.

  “Looks like you are.”

  I huffed and decided to let it go. So sure and yet unsure of what I was doing, the thoughts tangling in my mind, making me doubt myself.

  Before I knew it, he’d opened the door to a bedroom and shoved both me and my things inside. For one instant, he eyed me up and down as if trying to make some important decision.

  “You’re a royal pain in the ass, Princess,” he said, and then closed the door, locking it from the outside as he went.

  I stood there, naked and dripping, flabbergasted and fuming. Glancing around, I saw that I was in a comfortable enough prison. The bed was large and freshly made, there was a dressing table, a fireplace, heavy curtains over the windows, even a thick rug on the floor. But it was a prison, nonetheless.

  I pounded hard on the door. “Well, you’re a kidnapping bastard!” I shouted, knowing I didn’t mean it as I felt a loss listening to his footfalls moving farther and farther away.

  A cold hug of rejection tightened around me. Why had Vasile not taken me? I was there, naked, my legs around him and yet, here I was. Alone. What had I done wrong?

  Clearly, the fine art of seduction was something that needed further study.

  Chapter 9

  Valeria

  One thing they didn’t teach us at Saint Theodora’s, was lock picking but that didn’t stop me from trying.

  Vasile’s sudden arrival at my dorm room had one upside—I hadn’t had a chance to unbraid my hair from that godforsaken dinner, and so while my hair had fared poorly from my careless decision to take a naked swim, I still had a few hairpins at my disposal, clinging to my now-damp, unkempt locks.

  After Vasile closed and locked me inside, I’d paced for a good bit, muttering every curse word I knew. As my anger ebbed, I realized I was still naked and slipped my nightdress on and came up with my lock picking plan.

  The lock was an old iron pocket lock. And my hairpins are just what you’d expect for a down-on-her-luck princess.

  “Damn it,” I hissed as yet another one snapped in half in my fingers.

  This one had broken right at the edge of the lock. As I peered out of the keyhole, I saw it was stuck inside. I jabbed my finger at it to try to get it to wriggle free, but all that did was nick the tip of my finger.

  Wonderful. I stuck my finger in my mouth to stop the little bit of bleeding and reassessed my opponent. The problem was, I had no idea how locks really worked.

  Steeling myself with a deep breath, I got comfortable in a new position on the floor, adjusting my feet so that they didn’t fall completely asleep beneath me. I pawed at my birds-nest of hair with a quickly sinking stomach.

  “Don’t tell me I used them all…” I muttered to myself.

  But no, I hadn’t. I found one, the last one, tucked in the back of my braid.

  As I pulled it out, a lock of hair came with it, making my grown-out bangs fall into my eyes. I swiped the still wet hair from my forehead with the back of my hand, then set to work trying, one final time, to free myself.

  If I couldn’t get out this time, I was stuck there while Vasile was elsewhere, all sexy and handsome, alone in some big luxurious bed with Turkish sheets, probably wearing just his…

  I was losing my focus. Shaking off the thoughts of his body, I narrowed my gaze on the lock, trying hard to envision its internal workings.

  But they were as mystifying to me as Vasile himself. I wriggled it and turned it, jiggled it and jabbed it. No luck.

  I stabbed it one final time, with no success.

  “God damn it.” I fumed rarely using such a phrase as my upbringing taught me it was unbecoming and beneath me to swear.

  Defeated, I let my forehead thunk softly against the wood. And with a quiet click, the door sprang open, the abandoned hairpin falling to the floor.

  “Oh my god,” I chirped, a bit louder than I should, and peeked out into the darkened hallway. There was no sign of Vasile.

  Whether it was a good idea or not to go find him, I didn’t know. He’d not wanted me as I thought, so my head spun trying to figure out another angle of attack that would free me from my upcoming enslavement to Petre.

  Padding through the rooms, I moved silently while I worked through a new plan.
In what I assumed was the drawing room, I found a crystal case that contained a row of silver-plated pistols and below that a row of equally ornate and imposing knives. I hesitated there, looking down at their dangerous edges in the moonlight.

  The voice of my fencing coach drifted into my head. “Nyet, girl! Nyet! Never go into a fight unarmed!” she barked, her thick Petrograd accent making her sound doubly formidable.

  I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but a knife seemed like a good idea in the moment. Certainly, having a weapon at hand right now would be an asset rather than a liability. And I had no idea how to handle a pistol.

  Carefully, I lifted the lid of the crystal case and chose the smallest of the knives, which had the thickest blade. Its serrated edges glinted in the moonlight, and I was surprised by how comfortable and well balanced it felt in my hand.

  I resumed my hunt for him. I almost suspected he wasn’t there at all, but at the end of the last hallway I saw a closed door. Trying the knob, I found—to my delight—that it wasn’t locked.

  Gritting my teeth as I turned the knob all the way, I carefully made my way inside. And there he was, lying on his back in bed, sound asleep. Bare chested and beautiful.

  Keeping the knob tight in my hand, I gently rotated it to the left, careful not to let go until I knew that the catch was not going to click and give me away.

  His breathing was regular, almost mesmerizing. The drapes were open, and the barest hint of dawn light was beginning to break in the room. He was beautiful when he stared me down, but even more beautiful now, so peaceful as he slept.

  Standing by his bedside now, knife in hand, I gazed down at him. If I’d felt powerful by the pool, that was nothing compared to how I felt here, with this beast of a man at his most vulnerable, and me armed to the teeth.

  I could do anything to him. Anything. I could scar that perfect face. I could stab him just enough to wing him.

  I could kill him. Right here, right now.

  Climbing carefully up onto the bed, slowly, silently, I straddled his wide chest, gaining leverage as I studied the glint of the blade in my hand. It wouldn’t be difficult. I could raise the knife above my head and plunge it downward.