No Prince Charming

by J. C. Daniels

  Still, I knew I could trust him not to draw them unless he had to.

  I just hoped nobody forced his hand…or mine. I might not have weapons, but I’m pretty far from helpless.

  The air closer to the building felt hot and heavy, a warning of what lay inside.

  I’d known from the get-go this wouldn’t be a quick, easy job. I might have been harboring hopes, but they were dying, fading, withering away with every second I remained close to this abyss of darkness.

  “Should be a piece of cake,” he had told me. Those had been my boss’s exact words.

  “Will, one of these days, I’m going to kick your ass,” I said to myself.

  “Hmmm?”

  I shook my head. “Just grumbling about Will. The bastard had the nerve to say this should be an easy job.”

  “Well, so far all I’ve done is make out with you in view of others and watch other people making out as well,” Ren shot me his trademark devilish smile and in a low voice added, “Seems remarkably easy.”

  “Your luck is about to break.”

  This wasn’t going to be easy. It wasn’t going to be quick. We would have to kill while we were here. Not tonight, but sometime before the job was over. I knew it as sure as I was standing there. Possession by succubi or incubi was subtle…a seduction. It started out as just a minor need. Sex—something pleasant…maybe even harmless.

  But the more the victim fed that need—through sex, naturally—the stronger the hold. It was like an addiction.

  In the early days it was possible to rid the victim of the demon’s presence. Possible, but not easy, and the longer it went on the harder it would become.

  Sooner or later, without intervention, the demon would be in control and the need for sex would dominate over anything else. Everything else.

  Either the victim literally fucked themselves to death—forgoing food, water, anything and everything that wasn’t sex. The other scenario—the need for sex became so overwhelming they lost all inhibitions and all sense of right and wrong.

  I’d saved people in the past before one of the possessed could rape them.

  Somebody in there was already too far gone. Either they were killing themselves without realizing it, or I’d have to kill them when they went too far. Personally, I’d rather find whoever it was and just end it now.

  A waste. Such a waste. Somebody had given up everything, just for the fun of a few quick fucks.

  Do I sound slightly bitter? Sorry. Can’t help it. I’d lost my rose-colored glasses a few hundred years ago. Right about the time I lost my virginity and, shortly thereafter, my Prince Charming.

  “Elle.”

  Speak of the devil.

  I knew that voice. It was the last voice I wanted to hear right now. Unless he was saying something along the lines of, “Ow, that hurts!” as I beat him across the head with a heavy, blunt object.

  I stood there, frozen. Although I didn’t want to turn and face the music, my partner had no reservations.

  I dug my fingers into Ren’s arm.

  Why?

  Will. Damn it. He’d done this—orchestrated this. The bastard.

  Schooling my features, I turned around and I’m proud to say, I didn’t feel the urge to swoon. Not even for a second.

  That angel face of his hadn’t changed at all in the past three hundred years.

  He looked as perfect now as he had the day he kissed me for the first time.

  Heat flashed through his grass-green eyes as he studied my clothes and despite myself, my belly clenched in response. Why is it that I can barely remember the name of my father, my stepmother, my friends growing up, but I can still remember the way it felt when he made love to me the first time? It had hurt…but then, after he’d cleaned me up, he’d lain between my legs and done things to me that had left me scandalized.

  I can still remember the shock. I can still remember the pleasure.

  And I can still remember the pain when I discovered the following night that he was engaged to be wed.

  To my sister.

  “Why…if it isn’t my Prince Charming.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Michael had been born a prince, the youngest son to the King of Geran, a small kingdom tucked between France and Italy.

  Geran no longer existed, but Michael had not forgotten the lessons of his youth. He’d been born a prince, and he’d had all the arrogance one would expect.

  In all his years there had only been one woman who could ever make him feel like a foolish young boy. All he’d ever wanted to do was please her, love her, protect her.

  He had failed.

  She was the only woman he’d ever met who could render him utterly silent. The only woman who made him want to forget duty, honor, pride.

  The only woman who could push him so far past jealousy, well into murderous rage. He was there now, there, and fighting not to let it show as she stroked a hand down her companion’s arm.

  There was an intimacy between them, one that couldn’t be mistaken.

  The nights they’d been here, he’d watched them. Now, with her standing so close, and that bastard watching him with an insolent, arrogant smile, the rage inside him bubbled and burned, threatening to tear free.

  But the rage wasn’t the worst.

  The worst was the pain.

  Seeing her with another man, it hurt in ways Michael couldn’t even begin to describe.

  Elle turned to face him and for the first time, he got a good look at her clothes. A real good look. The air froze inside his chest. Need burned through him. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have swallowed his tongue.

  It was a cool night, but he was sweating under the black silk shirt he wore. His palms itched…itched to reach out, cup her hips and draw her close. At the same time, he wanted to pick her up and haul her close, carry her away so nobody else could see her.

  Where that bastard standing next to her couldn’t see her, couldn’t touch her, couldn’t kiss her.

  She looked like a wet dream come to life.

  Her shoulders and arms were bare, as were the mounds of her breasts. Red lace edged the top of the corset, drawing the eye to smooth white flesh. Her waist looked impossibly narrow and her hips flared out, round and perfect. She had a woman’s curves and she’d cradle his body to perfection.

  He knew that from experience.

  Of course, those experiences were several centuries old. But some things a man never forgot. Some memories never fade.

  Like those breasts. Those hips. Those long, leather-encased legs. The silken blonde hair that tumbled down from a tight ponytail, and the big blue eyes that had once looked at him as though he’d hung the moon. The way she’d teased him and made him laugh.

  Another memory that didn’t fade? The memory of the pain in her eyes the day she realized who he was. Her stepsister’s fiancé.

  Watching her walk away had been the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. To that point.

  Since then, his life had been a study of hard lessons. Watching as another man touched this woman was just the latest lesson.

  Living a long, empty life without her. Watching her turn away from him. Running after her only to find her too late. By the time he’d caught up with her she was forever out of his reach—unless he made a choice.

  “The day will come when she will need you. The day will come when she will die without you. But it will not be easy. You will spend a great many years alone…you may die saving her and even if you don’t, she may never forgive you. What do you choose…live for her? Or would you rather die?”

  That was the choice he’d been given all those years ago by a strange white-haired man who went by the name of Will.

  “How can she ever need me again? She is dead. I have failed her.”

  “Things are rarely as they seem. The woman you love is not dead.”

  Michael closed his eyes, banishing the memories. He couldn’t think of that now, not here. Couldn’t think of losing her, couldn’t think
of the night he’d come face-to-face with Will. Couldn’t think about how he had plunged a knife into his own chest either. Through death’s door…and back again. That was how one became a Grimm, and if he wanted to be there for Elle he needed to die.

  So he’d died. And Will had brought him back.

  All in the hope that one day she would need him. Love him. Forgive him.

  Forcing his eyes to open, he gazed at her lovely face. This woman did not need him. This woman did not love him. This woman would never forgive him.

  If he had known then what he knew now, he wondered if he would’ve made that same choice.

  Will had warned him—you will spend a great many years alone.

  Yes. Will had warned him. A great many years. More than three hundred to be exact. He hadn’t expected to wait this long.

  All these years, he had been waiting for a second chance. All these years, he had waited for her.

  Waited—because he’d been told that she would need him. He’d held onto that, because he loved her, because he wanted to believe she would one day forgive him, one day love him again, one day need him.

  And now, here she was…so lovely, so beautiful and strong. So out of reach.

  He’d been a delusional fool.

  She leaned against her lover and smiled at him. A golden brow arched and she said, “What’s the matter, prince? Cat got your tongue?”

  He skimmed his gaze over her once more, wishing he could move in and touch. Wishing he could take and taste. Instead, he tucked his hands into his pockets and inclined his head. “Just trying to understand your choice of clothing.”

  “Oh, well, now. I can help there.” Elle gave him a devilish smile and leaned in, her voice a low, silken purr. “It’s a sex club. I’m trying to blend.”

  Michael didn’t think Elle could ever blend. No matter what she did.

  She was close…so close. Closing his eyes, he took a slow, careful breath, flooding his senses with her scent, reveling in the warmth he felt radiating from her.

  But then she pulled back. Gone. Her eyes stared at his and she had a blank, bored expression on her face. “So now that you know why I’m pretending to be S&M Barbie, why don’t you get out of here?”

  “I can’t.” Inclining his head, he said, “I was sent here. Told to find you, help you.”

  “Help me?” She shrugged. “Sorry, Michael, I’ve already got help.” She inclined her head towards her companion and asked, “Ren, have you met Michael?”

  “No.” A cold smile curled Ren’s lips and he stroked his jaw. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Although I’ve heard of you. Quite a bit, actually. But, as you can see, help is already taken care of. Run along now…go crawl back under a rock or something.”

  Michael bared his teeth in a grim smile. “I’ll go on along when I’m damn good and ready…what was the name again…Ren?”

  The other man opened his mouth to respond and Michael looked away, dismissing him. “He sent me, Elle. You’re stuck with me.”

  Elle’s lashes lowered, shielding her blue eyes from him.

  But he didn’t need to see her eyes to feel her anger, feel her confusion.

  She hid it behind a cool smile just a few seconds later. “I suspected as much. Damn, apparently I went and pissed somebody off but bad, if I got stuck with you.”

  Michael managed to hide his wince, but just barely. “I’ll be sure to let him know you didn’t appreciate my presence.”

  She didn’t need to ask which him he was talking about—it could only be Will. He was the only one who ever sent them anyway. All orders came through him. For the most part, those who served under Will’s lead didn’t have to follow orders—they knew their responsibilities and they did their jobs.

  But every once in a while there came a special case.

  Michael didn’t know what was special about this particular job, but if there was a chance in hell that Elle might actually need him, then he’d walk through fire to help her.

  And if that meant he’d have to stand by at the side while another man pawed her, so fucking be it. He’d be insane when the job was done, but if she might need him, he didn’t give a damn.

  If he was honest, he’d have to admit he’d walk through fire just to see her smile. Burns healed. Doing something that would actually put a real smile on her face? It would be worth a little pain.

  He looked at her, itching to press his face against the warm mounds of her breasts. Itching to pull her close and feel her cuddle up against him and stroke his neck the way she used to do.

  She was staring at him. Unable to stop himself, he lowered his gaze, rested it on her mouth. That pretty mouth, slicked with wine-red lipstick and curled in a sneer. He looked up and met her eyes.

  “Let’s get this done,” she muttered.

  Then she turned on her heel and stalked towards the club.

  Michael fell in step next to her, ignoring the man on her other side and trying not to stare at her, trying not to growl as he noticed other men doing the same.

  This was too much.

  Under my shields, I was far too aware of him. Far too aware of the longing I sensed within him. It bore a close resemblance to my own need.

  It reminded me of a time best forgotten. Seeing him brought back too many memories. Memories I couldn’t afford to dwell on right now.

  We needed to learn more about the succubi, the incubi, and we needed to see if the queen or king was here.

  There was a king or queen. There had to be. I could feel the presence of ten demons, easy. If there were that many drones there would be one in control. There might even be more than that inside the club, but I couldn’t tell from out here.

  I slowed as we drew closer to the line of people, eying it with disgust. “I really don’t want to wait through that line again, Ren.”

  “Nor do I, Princess,” he murmured, toying with the ends of my hair.

  Michael stood at my other side, watching the people in line with the same level of interest he’d show to bland watercolor. “We won’t, then.”

  “You’ve a better idea, mate?” Ren asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Michael looked at me as he spoke, not Ren. He offered me his arm, a courtly gesture I recognized. The look on his face was the look only the truly royal could manage. It said, I’m a fucking prince, you peasant. Yield and worship.

  Might sound arrogant as hell, but that’s how things are with certain individuals. We’d both been born in a time when royalty was worshipped—hell, people still go all ga-ga over royal families. But when we’d been born, not showing a prince the respect he expected could get a man thrown in prison.

  I eyed his arm and then looked up at him with a smirk. “You really think the Prince-Charming routine is going to work here?”

  “I never was a Prince Charming…Cinderella. But I was a prince. It will work, and you know it as well as I.” He gave me a regal nod, the kind only a prince could do.

  I sighed. Hell. He was right.

  “Come on, Ren,” I said quietly. I held my arm out and he took it. On the other side, Michael did the same.

  “This isn’t going to work,” Ren muttered. “Just walk right on up there like we own the sodding joint—not going to work. Mark my words.”

  “Does he ever shut up, Elle?” Michael asked.

  “Not often.” I straightened my shoulders and let him lead the three of us right up to the doorway.

  If my body went slightly haywire at that light, near-impersonal contact, so what? Once upon a time I’d loved this man, dreamed of marrying him, spending my life with him…back when I still had the naiveté of the young and in love.

  As expected, it worked. We were still five feet away from the velvet rope when one of the bouncers lifted it for us. A few people grumbled—I could hear it even over the throb and pulse of the music.

  Ren was one of them.

  “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. As we stepped into the darkness, he continued in a similar vein.<
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  A faint smile curled Michael’s lips. If his touch did bad things to me, that smile did even worse things.

  I went to jerk away from him, but then I realized we had people watching us.

  Michael had always drawn attention.

  The last thing I wanted right now was to make a scene, so I followed, pulling Ren along as well, when Michael led the three of us to the dance floor.

  Hey, I mean, it was as good a place as any to start casing the joint.

  Not that I was actually thinking of work.

  I had good intentions. Seriously. But then Michael’s arms came around my waist, drawing me close. Ren was at my back and I wanted to press closer to him—lean against him and let him handle it. I’d relied on his strength before and the temptation to do so now was strong.

  Keeping one hand on my hip as Michael moved closer, Ren dipped his head and whispered, “How come I never get the undercover work that involves being sandwiched between two lovely ladies who’d love to have their wicked way with me?”

  Trying to relax, I smiled at him over my shoulder. “Well, if you start doing that in your free time, you’d start to have a hard time telling the difference between the job and your reality, sugar.”

  In front of me, Michael dipped his head and pressed his mouth to my shoulder.

  So close. He was so damned close. I could feel his heat, his strength, his chest pressing against mine. All so painfully familiar. I tensed against him and he lowered his head, murmuring, “We’re supposed to blend, Elle.”

  Blend, not fuck, I almost snarled at him. But then I caught sight of the people around us. I’d yet to pay them much attention—too distracted by Michael.

  I knew what kind of club this was. I did.

  I mean, Ren and I had spent a couple hours going just past third base, and with an audience.

  But still, it was a fucking shock to see some of the people going at it on the dance floor. Yes. Going at it. Hell, we would’ve blended better if we had been fucking, and we wouldn’t have even been the only threesome going at it either.