Prince of Power (House of Terriot Book 2)

by Nancy Gideon

  “I’da been on a plane last night but Red told me you were holding your own. I should kick your ass for scaring me like that.” After giving his head a shake, Cale eased him down and perched on the edge of the bed to give him a thorough once over. “You look like hell. Who do I want to kill for that?”

  “I’m sorry, my king,” he began heavily.

  “For what? For some cowardly bastards jumping you? The ones who ran are gonna be sorry. I hear Rico already collected on one of them. And I’m the one who’s sorry for getting you into this mess. I’d understand if you want to step back.”

  “I don’t want to step back.”

  “Good.” A quick pat of his knee. “Things can wait until you’re up to going back to the table. Don’t you push yourself. I don’t need any more worries than I already have.”

  “You want me to stay on?”

  “Unless you got brain damage, too. Do you?”

  Colin shook his head, dazed and sure he was dreaming. Cale giving him another chance? He tried to express his thanks, but a crazy jag of emotion threatened to get the best of him. His eyes burned with it, his chest plugged tight.

  “Good,” Cale pronounced again, considering the matter at an end. “I sure as hell didn’t want to come back here to sit around a table all day arguing clan politics. But then maybe it would be safer for me these days, considering.”

  Colin’s attention sharpened. “Trouble at home, my king?”

  A crooked smile. “I thought pregnant females were supposed to be all nesting and maternal. Mine’s a praying mantis determined to take my head off every time I open my mouth. I love the hell outta her, but I’m wondering if I’m gonna survive long enough to see my heir.” His tone sharpened. “You did not hear me say that. If you ever mention it to her, I’ll tell her you were out of your head.” Cale regarded him for a moment, not realizing much of Colin’s discomfort was due to the topic rather than his pain, then increasing it by saying casually, “Let’s see what they did.”

  Colin tensed. “It’s nothing, my king.”

  “Then you won’t mind me taking a look.”

  Mind? He’d rather die than expose his weakness, his vulnerability. His . . . deformity. But Cale’s expectant stare never wavered, and finally Colin’s defensiveness gave way. Cradling his forearm with his other hand, he eased his swaddled injury onto his middle. He drew a sharp breath as Cale reached for the wrapping.

  His brother paused to say quietly, “I’ll try not to hurt you, but I need to know.”

  Colin gave a soft laugh. “Breathing hurts me. Do what you need to do.” Still, he wasn’t prepared.

  The gauze stuck. Cale’s cautious approach was like cutting off his damaged appendage with a butter knife, and he’d be damned if he’d start whimpering like a kid before it got to the really bad part. So he sucked a fierce inhale and pulled off the covering with a quick jerk. His head went light as sweat broke on his brow and next thing he knew, he was leaning into Cale’s expensive leather as the room spun in sickening circles.

  “I got you, brother. Breathe into it.”

  He started a jagged panting, blowing out rapidly until the tearing nausea eased enough for him to moan, “Lay me down before I puke on you.”

  After settling him back on the bank of pillows, Cale straightened, his features unreadable, his eyes unblinking. “Whatever you need, Colin, I’ll see to it.” His palm fit to the side of Colin’s feverish face. “You’re my brother. I would die for you. But I don’t want you to die for me. Not like this.”

  Of all the damned inconvenient times for his eyes to well up and traitorously spill over.

  Pretending not to notice, Cale turned his attention to the shocking ruin of his hand. Colin wondered what it cost him to betray no reaction, and was grateful to him for that strength.

  “Well, that’s nasty looking,” he said at last. “I hope that’s not your self-gratification hand.”

  The unexpected remark startled a snort. “I’m fairly ambidextrous in that area.”

  “Good. Then life’s still worth living.” His stare fixed on Colin’s, so intense it was almost a physical blow. “What do you need, Col? What can I do for you?”

  “Answers would be nice,” he replied.

  “I’ll take care of it.” Cale bent to touch his brow to his brother’s. His voice grew rough. “Stay strong. What don’t kill you, brother.” At Colin’s nod, he stood, all relaxed and easy again. “I gotta make a couple of calls. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Cale smiled and stepped out into the hall where his façade collapsed. He leaned against the wall as sorrow and horror wrestled for control of his emotions.

  He’d never seen anything like it. He couldn’t imagine the suffering, the shock, the agony of living with what some soon-to-be-dead bastards had done to his brother. He gave a slight start as a gentle hand touched his shoulder. Blinking quickly to clear his eyes, he met Susanna’s compassionate gaze.

  “Is there anything you can do?” He knew it was hopeless even as he asked.

  Her honesty was soul-stripping. “There’s not much left to work with. Most of the tissue, tendons, joints are destroyed. He’ll never have any use of it again. The chance of infection, further degradation, sepsis are all life threatening, even if he has the will to fight against them.”

  “He’s going to die?” How weak and inevitable that sounded.

  “Not if we act quickly.”

  “To do what?” Did he really want to know?

  “Take it off just above the elbow, just to make sure there’s no threat to healthy muscle and tissue.”

  Cale swallowed hard. “Have you told him?”

  “Not yet, but I’m sure he knows. I wanted to wait until he was thinking a little more clearly. It’ll be easier for him now that you’re here. He wouldn’t let me call his family.”

  “I’m his family,” Cale growled protectively. “And I’m not letting him go.”

  She stroked his arm in sympathy. “I wish I could offer more hope.” She looked uncomfortable then added, “Pearl is away for the weekend with Jacques. They went to Raine for some silly festival. I could call them back.” Susanna’s daughter had inherited special abilities from her Chosen mother, differences she wisely tried to keep quiet. Abilities Pearl had used to resurrect the new Terriot king. Hers wasn’t the only secret Cale had vowed to protect.

  “Thanks, but not yet.” He gestured behind him. “Could you give him something for the pain? But don’t put him out or redress his hand yet.”

  Her brow lowered in concern, but she nodded and went back down the hall, leaving Cale alone. He drew a cleansing breath, swiped at his face then reached for his phone, making his message brief. “Hey, mama, I need a big favor really bad.”

  He’d just finished when Rico returned with Mia Guedry in tow. His attention was on his brother, his mood darker than a moonless sky. “How did this happen? Where were you?”

  Putting the two questions together and coming up with blame, Rico stiffened, his words clipped as he explained, doing creative editing where Mia was involved.

  Cale was no fool. His furious glare cut between him and the sultry-eyed Mia. “And what were the two of you doing? Sucking face while he was being attacked and left as good as dead?”

  They exchanged awkward glances, but Rico answered stoically. “I got there about a step after they did. By then, the damage was done. Dammit, Cale, if there was anything I coulda done different—” His voice broke.

  Cale fisted his shirt collar to yank him down close, so their eyes were inches apart. “I want you to find the two that got away from you. I want them to live long enough to tell you who sent them after Colin and why. I want to know why! And then I want the head of whoever ruined our brother’s life hanging on our wall. Do you understand me? I want it right fucking now!”

  “Yes, my king. You’ll have it.”

  He took a breath and gave curt nod. “And if we find out Rueben Guedry or Max Savoie
was behind it, I want you to get our people ready for war.” He glanced at Mia to say, “You tell him that.”

  Low and gritty, Rico vowed, “Yes, my king.” He swallowed and added, “I’m sorry, Cale. If I could take his place—”

  Cale gripped him by the back of the neck and gave him a shake. “Don’t be an ass. Then I’d be without you, and I’d be telling him the same thing. Go on, Red. Do what I told you.”

  “Yes, my king.”

  Left alone in the hallway after Cale went to make another call, Mia slipped inside Colin’s room. His head was turned away. Her step was too soft for him to hear, but he took a sudden deep inhalation, and his attention turned to focus on her. His bruises and freckles stood out against pale skin. Ripped earlobes were bandaged. He seemed younger and painfully vulnerable.

  The sight of him so reduced hit low and hard, leaving her gasping for composure. She offered a false smile and a peppy, “You’re looking better.”

  “Than what?”

  The absence of his usual dry humor only added to her uneasiness. He watched her approach, his stare empty. Sallow cheeks still bore the tracks of recent tears, of pain, of grief. She couldn’t help reaching out to rub them away. He pushed his nose against her wrist, breathing in. Once she sampled the warmth of his skin she couldn’t lift her hand away, her touch lingering over the strong line of his jaw.

  “You were here all night.” A statement, not a question.

  “I was.” She watched him take in her stained and crumpled clothing, a puzzled vee shaping his brow. “To make sure you were all right.”

  A tick jumped in his cheek. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just peachy.”

  “You’re alive.”

  “That’s not saying a helluva lot.” Colin blinked rapidly, averting his gaze. He forced a choking swallow and asked, “What am I going to do, Mia? What good am I to anyone once they start chopping off pieces of me? What am I going to do?” The words broke off abruptly. “I’m sorry. The drugs make me a whiny baby.”

  Her heart was gone. “Don’t apologize.”Mia’s hand fit to his damp cheek, turning his face toward her. His eyes met hers as her thumb traced the shape his lips. She read confusion, hope, expectation in that lost gaze, and though she wasn’t the answer to any of those things, she bent and kissed him. A gentle, soothing pressure, finally stroking with just the tip of her tongue until he was trembling all over.

  “Don’t,” he whispered, but he didn’t try to discourage her. “Don’t hurt me, Mia.”

  “I won’t.” She wished it wasn’t a lie. But she couldn’t stay away. She couldn’t resist the need to ease his pain, to quiet his troubled soul. And she didn’t know how else to show tenderness except through touch.

  Touching him was no hardship. He was everything she desired in handsome face and masculine form. Wanting him went far beyond those surface delights, to places she’d never imaged finding peace and potential happiness. His heart was strong and courageous, his will unbendingly decent, his spirit beautiful and intriguing with all its shades of complexity. She’d never tire of looking at him, learning about him, from him.

  She’d never wanted anything so much in her entire life as what she saw when he gazed up at her in question.

  Caution ebbed away. And she saw trust. Absolute, soul-twisting trust. Breaking her heart because Mia knew she wasn’t worthy. She would hurt him. She had hurt him. She wouldn’t mean to, but eventually who and what they were would crush what they wanted and what they might have meant to one another.

  “You’re alive,” she told him simply. “That’s everything.”

  He continued to study her with fierce concentration then asked, “What do you want from me? From what’s left of me?”

  She smiled, a slight, humorless twist, then told him honestly, “I don’t know. But I want it bad.”

  When she straightened to leave, he reached out for her, catching her hand, noting in some surprise that she wore his ring on her thumb. Complex emotions passed across his face as he asked gruffly, “Keep that for me, would you?”

  “Sure thing, dreamboat.” She slipped her hand from his and forced herself to exit with a swagger while panic raced inside.

  Colin lay back, trying to make sense of the encounter, trying not to place too much meaning into her words and actions. I want it bad. Not, he noted, I want you bad. He wanted to wallow in her scent and taste, but the sedative kicked in, sending him back to that twilight state where he drifted along the edge of awareness until another feminine fragrance teased him, this one, bold and vaguely familiar. He blinked his eyes open to stare at a fireball that slowly became a blaze of red hair. Why was Brigit MacCreedy in his room?

  She smiled at his uncertainty, quick to say, “Cale asked me to stop by.”

  “I’m not very good company.”

  “You don’t have to entertain me. Though I still remember how entertaining you once were. Why don’t you close your eyes and pretend I’m not here.”

  A ridiculous suggestion. She was impossible to ignore. Then the coral-painted tips of her fingers brushed over his eyelids, and they sank down heavily in response.

  He could hear the rustle of her expensive clothing as she moved around his bed and her sharp intake in response to his mangled hand. He braced when she lifted it between her own but amazingly felt no pain. Her touch was coolly soothing then warm. Heat poured through her to what was left of his fingertips, along his fleshless palm, past the skeletal remains of his wrist, penetrating, prickling but not in an unpleasant way. What was she doing? He wondered but didn’t investigate, the sense of lethargy too great to resist.

  Finally, she sighed, a weary sound. The sensation of touch stroking faintly over the back of his hand startled him into a vague attention. Between slitted eyes, he saw her slump as if exhausted before slowly leaning back to examine his hand. He couldn’t see it, could vaguely feel the press between her palms.

  “Not pretty, I’m afraid. Not like the rest of you,” she was saying, the sound remote, as strangely removed as his foggy state. “I can’t replace, only restore. I’m sorry about that.” She smiled at him somewhat sadly, so beautiful he grew confused. Was she an angel? Had he died? He tried to speak, to ask, but she bent over him in that delicious cloud of perfume. There was nothing angelic about her brief kiss or the lingering stroke of her hand along his face.

  “Sleep.” A suggestion that felt like a command. “Forget I was here.”

  Then nothing.

  The two females regarded one another over the threshold of Colin Terriot's room.

  Mia's eyes narrowed. She’d only been gone for a minute or two to use the restroom. Who was this drop-dead gorgeous redhead? Something was familiar in the very proper posture, the way her stare exuded a distancing chill. Some shirttail Terriot? Another of Colin's conquests? If so, the significance of her obviously-rounded belly took on a monumental importance.

  "Who are you?" she demanded.

  "Someone above answering to rude girls in hospital hallways."

  "What were you doing in that room?"

  "Visiting a very old friend. And you?"

  "Visiting a very new friend. An intimate friend."

  Mia's possessive snarl drew a small chuckle and a knowing, "Ahhh. That explains the daggers. Old friend as in ten plus years ago.” She patted her baby bump. "So there's no chance that we share anything other than fond memories." Her cool stare lowered then fixed with a furious intensity. "You’re wearing Colin's ring?" An accusation that she had no right to be.

  "He gave it to me."

  "No, he didn't. He hasn’t taken it off since it made that scar on his palm when he was fourteen. It was his step-father’s. He wouldn't give it to some skirt. Not in a million years."

  "Maybe I'm more to him than just a skirt."

  "That's what they all think, but I can assure you, it's not true. Sorry. Give me the ring, and I won't mention this to him."

  That chilly, condescending manner reminded Mia of . . . Silas MacCreedy? Then she was . . . Mia took a wa
ry, objecting step back. Was this the female her brother had died for?

  "What's your name?"

  As if weary of the conversation, the redhead sighed. "Brigit. Yours?"

  "Mia."

  Understanding dawned like a cold morning. "Mia Guedry. Daniel's sister?" When her question wasn't confirmed nor denied, Brigit demanded, "What are you to Colin?"

  "I'm working with him and your brother. What else I might be is none of your business."

  A reluctant smile. "I can see why he'd like you." She gestured behind her. "He's sleeping. He needs his rest to recover his strength."

  "I'm not going to wake him. I just want to . . . to sit with him so he’s not alone."

  The frigid facade thawed another degree. "I won't get in your way."

  As they passed one another, Mia acted on sudden impulse, gripping the other female's arm. "Whose child are you carrying?"

  Those narrowed green eyes never blinked. "Mine." She nodded toward the intrusive hand. "Do you mind?"

  Reluctantly, Mia released her without her answer.

  Could it be Daniel's baby? The rightful Guedry heir, who'd put her another step back from ruling.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The quiet blip of the monitor and soft, easy breaths were the only sound in the darkened room. Mia approached the bed gingerly, not as afraid of waking him from sleep as she was of stirring her emotions back to life. There was no use pretending she didn't have them for him, not when just the sight of his relaxed features had her own pulse jumping.

  She sat down in the bedside chair. Brigit MacCreedy's perfume still lingered. Why had she come to see him, if, like she said, their history was old news?

  Mia rubbed the ring on her thumb, taking solace from its solidity and weight. As a symbol, it held the same heft and strength as its former wearer. He'd asked her to take care of it for him and she had, not knowing its importance to him. Would he be resting easy if he knew who was wearing it?