by T. M. Smith
Voices coming their way caught August’s attention as he darted through the doorway. “Go, I’ll see who it is and make sure we haven’t been found out,” he whispered to Cillian. The big man eyed him warily for a few moments, the voices growing louder, coming closer. Finally, he nodded and turned, walking at a fast clip down the darkened hallway where the rest of their group had already gone.
Pushing the heavy door almost shut, leaving a small crack to see and hear through, August pulled a dagger from his belt. He’d come too far, sacrificed too much to be discovered and have his plan thwarted before he could complete his task. If someone came through the door, he’d slit their throat first and ask questions never.
Two people came to a stop about forty yards away, the oil lamp hanging from a large post that sat at the entrance to the garden shining light on their features and clothing. They both wore cloaks gathered at the neck with the seals of House Orion.
He’d listened to his sister gush about the woman she loved enough to know that the woman he saw through the crack in the door was Maeve, daughter of the Ambassadors, wife of Aiya. It sparked a thought in August’s mind. What if I grab the wife? Use her to flush out Aiya?
“There’s a bench just over there.” Maeve pointed down a path that disappeared behind a large rosebush. “We can sit and talk for a while.” She turned, the man moving to follow.
“You’re certain Aiya and Sawyer don’t need you to help with Ian?” the man asked, his voice causing a guttural reaction, the likes of which August had never felt. It was exotic, almost melodic and crept down August’s spine like honey from the vine. The man stole a glance over his shoulder, and it gave August a brief but clear glimpse of his features.
Holy fuck, it’s the guy from earlier…
Glancing back down the hall that led farther into the palace, August saw it was empty. Fuck it, they can start without me. So he left the safety of darkness behind the door and followed the man that had snared his attention.
Chapter 11 | Sharing
“How are things at home? Is everyone adjusting to all the changes?” Maeve tucked her legs underneath her, getting comfortable. Despite the chill in the air, she felt warm, flushed, and the cold seeping from the stone of the bench she now sat on was oddly calming.
Hector snorted. “Yeah, best as can be expected I suppose; not everyone was very…welcoming to my new status and title. Let’s just leave it at that. Besides, I want to talk about you. How are you doing, Maeve?”
“I’m fine.” She shrugged, looking everywhere but at Hector.
“Why do I not believe you?” He chuckled, and it made Maeve smile. “Is it the whole Aiya-Sawyer thing or the new baby? Perhaps both?” Hector continued to prod.
Inhaling, she stared up at the moon before glancing at Hector, her smile going from bright and beautiful to sad in an instant. “I miss her sometimes—Autumn. She sent a monster after us, me and Aiya. Her decisions caused so much pain and misery, and I really want to beat my own ass when I catch myself thinking about her. How fucked up is that, Hector?” The last sentence was spoken barely louder than a whisper, polished off with a sniffle.
Attempting to comfort her, Hector wrapped an arm around Maeve, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. “I’m certain it’s perfectly normal. Even my father mourned Marcus’s death, though they’d not spoken to each other in decades.”
“Really?” She sat up straight, turning to look at Hector as he nodded his sincerity. “Wow. And I thought I was fucked up, missing Autumn. And you know what really tears at my sanity?” Ending the question with a self-deprecating snort, she added, “If Aiyan hadn’t killed her, I would have. How messed up is that, Hector?”
Standing, fists clenched at her sides, she paced back and forth as she allowed herself a few intense moments to let loose all the doubt and self-loathing she’d been keeping locked away. “With everything that happened that day including but not limited to my death, how is it I still think about her, still care for her?”
“Maeve…”
“I’m a mom now, Hector. I have a wife and a family here at House Gaeland.” Maeve paced back and forth, wearing out the grass beneath her feet as she wrung her hands and rattled on. “Ainee told me she likes me—she wants us to get to know each other better, and I like her too.” Maeve stopped abruptly, facing Hector. “But when I think about it, about…being with someone else, Autumn is still there in the back of my mind.”
“Maeve, really, you—” Before Hector could finish his sentence, a dark shadow moved closer to Maeve. The shadowed figure grabbed one of her arms, twisting it behind her back. The other arm wrapped around her neck, the very sharp, jagged blade of a dagger held against Maeve’s throat.
The person moved back a few feet, stepping into a halo of light stemming from one of the hanging oil lamps that were scattered throughout the garden. A shock of long hair as red as fire fell around a tall, broad man’s shoulders when his hood fell away while he struggled to keep Maeve in a tight hold. Hector stood slowly, not wanting to spook the man holding a knife to the neck of this woman he considered family. She was relentless though, as she’d been for as long as Hector could remember. A thin line of blood trickled down her neck, and the warm wetness finally penetrated her protective instinct, and she stilled.
“Who are you and why do you hold a knife to the neck of the daughter of House Orion?” Hector stood calmly, demanding the man’s attention.
“The man that’s going to kill this bitch before I go find the fucking Princess and end her too.” The red-haired shadow glared at Hector. “And I have no qualms about ending you if you get in my way.”
Chapter 12 | Fate In Motion
He would not cry! Eyes shut tight, fists clenched at his sides, August bit down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood. Hearing Maeve talk about missing Autumn, the obvious pain he heard in her voice gutted him. And what monster had Autumn sent? What in the hell was this woman talking about? Enough. He couldn’t listen anymore. August was about to turn and go back the way he came to catch up with Cillian and the others when the woman sitting on the bench across from where he sat, covered in darkness, spoke of his sister’s death. Struck mute, frozen in time, he could do nothing but remain kneeling behind the bush and listen.
Oh my God, Autumn, this is the woman you were in love with? A single tear trailed down his cheek as August’s mind flashed back to the last time he and his twin had talked. She spoke of someone she’d met at the palace with such fondness, telling her brother she was in love and was going to ask the woman to marry her. When she said yes, and Autumn was positive she would, they’d be on the next boat to carry them far away from the palace and “prying eyes” according to Autumn.
No! This can’t be right. This is insane. His momentary confusion and sorrow that always followed remembering his sister was washed away, replaced with anger and hatred when the woman, Maeve, spoke of killing Autumn if the murdering, spineless, bastard that was Gaeland’s perfect Prince hadn’t done the job already. His body moved of its own volition, fueled by grief and misery, pulling August from his hiding place in the bushes, moving him closer to the woman. He could only describe it as an out-of-body experience, his conscious mind running a few seconds slower than his actual movements.
Neither of them saw him until he had her much smaller body at his mercy, the dagger, a gift from his twin, pressed to the soft flesh of her neck. She was wild and determined to break free, squirming and attempting to overpower him to no avail. And then August was face-to-face with the man he’d followed up to the palace earlier in the day. He was tall and slender with shoulder-length brown hair. August zeroed in on his perfectly pink, pert lips, watching them move.
Shaking away his wandering thoughts, August tried to focus on what the man was saying. His words could only be heard as an echo, August’s brain stuck on consuming every square inch of him. Shaking his head and blinking a few times, the man’s words finally began to make sense.
“Who are you, and why
do you hold a knife to the neck of the daughter of House Orion?” He was obviously someone used to getting what he wanted, judging by the way he stared August down, unperturbed at the sight of the crazy person holding a very sharp object and threatening life and limb. No, quite the opposite—the man exuded confidence.
August glared right back, ignoring the almost magnetic pull to the stranger, drawing on every ounce of strength he possessed to portray as much confidence as the man across from him before telling him he was fixing to kill Maeve, then go find Aiya and relieve her of the ability to breathe as well. “And I have no qualms about ending you too, if you get in my way,” he added for good measure. The words sounded hollow and unwarranted, his conscious mind finding it quite difficult to separate all the pieces of what was happening. His emotions were tangled with the knowledge of what he’d come here to do—fear caused by his immediate and all-encompassing attraction to the stranger, anger over the conversation he’d heard between Maeve and the stranger.
The man watched him for a moment without speaking, taking August in without breaking eye contact. August swore he could see the man’s mind working out all possible scenarios, seeing not fear, but intent in his brown eyes. Finally, the man cleared his throat. “What do I call you?” August was confused by the question. When he didn’t respond, the man asked again. “My name is Hector; I am the Captain of the Army of House Orion and that”—the man, Hector, pointed at Maeve—“is the daughter of my House. So, I’ll ask you again; what is your name?”
It infuriated August that this motherfucker, Hector, could stand there perfectly calm and question him like he was the one in control of things. “My name is not important.”
Hector cocked his head to one side and watched August for another moment. “Either tell me your name or tell me why you are here—what it is you hope to accomplish by this show of force on palace grounds.”
“My name is not important,” August repeated with a bit more venom in his tone, determined to ignore the tiny voice in his mind telling him to answer Hector, to move closer.
“Oh, but it is.” Hector took one step forward, cocking his head to the other side, not one ounce of apprehension in his eyes. “You can tell much about a person by their name.”
How the fuck is this asshole so calm? August inhaled, allowing the scents of the trees to ground him. The wind changed course, a gentle breeze caressing August’s skin, bringing with it the smell of water and sand. No, stop it, focus! August’s mind cursed at him. Glaring at Hector, he conceded, though he wasn’t sure why. Something about the man that was slowly but surely moving closer to him and Maeve unnerved him. “August, if you must know.”
Hector smiled then, literally fucking smiled. “August, yes, it suits you. Your personality is as fiery as your hair, Outkast. Now, tell me, what can I do for you that will get you to release Maeve?”
August snarled, tightening his grip on Maeve. “Stop. Talking.” He enunciated each word carefully, forcefully.
“Oh, God,” Maeve whimpered. Holding her body the way he was, August couldn’t see her face nor could she see him. “Red hair. He has red hair, Hector?” The gorgeous man nodded once.
Wait, what? Gorgeous? Get a fucking grip, August! You’re here to kill; you’re a fighter, not a lover. Stay focused!
“You, you’re…August…Autumn…you’re her brother, aren’t you?” Maeve finally put the pieces together.
August leaned down, growling in her ear. “Yes. I think I’ve said enough; it’s time to do what I came here for.” Looking up to meet Hector’s gaze, August saw the briefest flash of fear and hesitated. Trapped in those eyes across from him that held so much emotion, uncertain if they were green or brown—perhaps hazel, Hector’s eyes were wary but kind.
Maeve’s tiny, broken voice penetrated the fog that had settled in his brain and he noticed Hector had moved even closer, so he took a couple of steps back to put some distance between them once again. “I…I’m so sorry August; truly I am.”
“Don’t!” he barked. “Don’t you fucking dare try to justify her murder.”
“Wait, you think…” Hector snapped his mouth shut mid-sentence when August pointed the dagger at him.
“Shut up! Just…stop talking. And back up; stop trying to get closer!” August drew the dagger up to Maeve’s neck again, taking several steps back to stretch the space between them out more, since the stubborn bastard didn’t take orders very well and kept creeping closer to them.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stay right here.” Hector held his hands up, placating him. “Do you know what happened that day, August? Why your sister was killed?”
Anger washed over him, making his skin prickle. The adrenaline kicked in, and the need to slit Maeve’s throat was so great, so strong. It felt like something or someone was holding him back though, figuratively speaking. The little bitch wasn’t even putting up a fight anymore; she all but fell into him, her body slack, shaking slightly as she cried.
“August?” The sound of his name gave August a brief moment of reprieve from his traitorous thoughts, and eyes focusing on Hector again, he shook off the intense urge to drop the dagger and go to the man.
“I said—” Hector cut him off before August could utter more than two words.
“No, you need to hear me out before you do something you might regret.” Hector briefly looked over August’s shoulder, an almost imperceptible shake of his head mere seconds before August heard rustling. Apparently, they weren’t alone anymore. Wait, why would anyone else be outside when Cillian, Robert, and the other rebels that came with them were already inside the palace? They’d either failed and been captured or killed or figured out something was amiss and fled. August didn’t know which scenario appealed to him more.
“August, what do you know about your sister’s death? What were you told?” Hector was slowly moving closer to them once again. The man was infuriating. Sexy…but infuriating.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, could you get a grip and focus with the right head for a moment, August?
“Stop, no, wait…you’re just trying to confuse me!” he shouted at Hector again. For the first time since he’d learned of his sister’s death over a year ago, he felt some of the anger and rage seeping away.
“My husband almost died because of her.” A voice behind him caught August completely off guard and he jumped sideways, the dagger penetrating Maeve’s skin, blood dripping down his wrist.
“Aiyan.” A big man with blond hair and a hell of a lot of ink growled at the man who’d startled August. “He has a very big knife at my sister’s throat. I suggest you back the fuck off and let Hector handle this.”
So, the man with brown hair and weird brown eyes that looked almost gold in the moonlight was Aiyan. Coming face-to-face with the man who’d ended his sister’s life renewed August’s need to obtain vengeance, allowing him to push the rush of feelings for the virtual stranger aside. He quickly ran through his options. He could kill the woman that betrayed his sister and possibly throw himself at the Prince, perhaps bury the dagger deep enough that Aiyan wouldn’t survive. There was no doubt he could kill Maeve; his dagger already tasting her flesh, all he needed to do was dig deeper. But his sister had loved this woman, had died loving her as far as he knew. Knowing that now, who Maeve was, changed everything.
You know this is wrong, brother; you’ve let him use your grief against you, twist it into something hateful and contemptuous. Think about it for a moment, and do the right thing.
Impossible. Autumn was nothing more than bones and dust in a shallow hole in his parents’ backyard. A whimper fell from his lips before he could hide it, and damned if the insufferable bastard, Hector, didn’t catch it. August couldn’t decide if he wanted to choke him, fuck him, or choke him while he fucked him.
Holy hell, I’m losing my fucking mind. No, this is not about me or him, this is about Autumn and making things right again.
August heard the words as they left his mouth and cursed himself. They sounded more like a
plea—desperation spilling forth from a wounded animal—than that of the angry, vengeful man he’d been as of late. “You…you killed my sister.”
“Yes, I did, but she caused Maeve’s death and almost got both my sister and my husband killed. And don’t even get me started on the torture my husband endured while in captivity at the hands of the bastard you so blindly follow, Cillian.” Aiyan was on a roll and getting madder by the minute.
“What are you talking about?” August shouted. Maeve’s death? Does he think me stupid? I have my knife to her throat; she’s obviously alive and kicking.
Aiyan opened his mouth to speak, shutting it quickly when Hector glared at him. He tried to push Tanis off him but couldn’t release the iron grip the larger man had on his arm, so he allowed Tanis to pull him away from Hector, Maeve, and the crazy son of a bitch with the knife. Far enough away to set the crazy man at ease but still close enough to listen and pounce when the time was right.