by T. M. Smith
Settling at the large table and grabbing a glass, filling it from the pitcher of water sitting in the middle of the table, Hector emptied it before responding. “It’s late, and I might have to watch an execution later.” He turned to glare at August. “So, something light—maybe a sandwich with a salad?”
Cook nodded, walking over to the fridge and gathering meat, cheese, and vegetables and setting to work making two sandwiches before filling a couple of bowls with lettuce, carrots, and tomatoes from the garden. She angrily chopped up a red onion, tossing the bits into the two bowls.
“Oh, I don’t like…”
She turned and snarled at August. “Don’t much care what you like; eat it or starve.” She all but threw the salad at him, gently setting Hector’s bowl down in front of him, handing them each a fork.
“What’s your name?” August asked.
“Cook,” she said curtly.
“No, everyone calls you Cook. But what is your name?” he asked again.
Cook paused, staring at him for a minute, eyes narrowed. “Nanny.”
Exasperated, August sighed. “Okay, you’re a cook and a grandmother, but what…”
Cook cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Name’s Nannette, but everyone calls me Nanny.” But she didn’t stop there. “And your name is August, but everyone calls you Augie. Your twin called you Augie when you were little because she couldn’t pronounce August, and it stuck. Damn shame ’bout that girl, Autumn, she was a gentle soul. But she done gone and got mixed up with the devil man and got herself killed. I ’spose that’s why you here, ain’t it, Augie?”
August was shell-shocked. He knew Cook was from his encampment—hell, it was her own grandson that had gotten Cillian and their group key pieces of information that would help them break into the palace. “I…you…how…” Apparently, comprehensive thought had flown out the window along with August’s common sense.
“Hmmph.” Cook shook her head. The look she offered him took August back many years to being a rambunctious child who, with the help of his twin sister, received the exact same look Cook was giving him on multiple occasions after the two of them got caught raising hell or destroying something—at times both. “You two are very much alike. I do hope you’ve pulled your head out of your ass now though, seein’s how that bastard left you here holding the bag.”
The elderly woman turned and threw a handful of potatoes and carrots into the pot of boiling stock as she continued to berate August.
She turned back to him, pinning August in place with a pointed stare, her eyes going from the bowl then slowly up to meet his eyes again, one eyebrow raised. Frustrated, he grabbed the fork and shoveled a mouthful of lettuce, tomato, and onion in before he was tempted to say something he might regret. Cook harrumphed again, turning back to stir the large pot on the stove. Unable to stomach more than a few bites, he pushed the bowl aside and picked up the sandwich, devouring it in no time.
When he looked up again, he caught Hector staring at him. August took note of how striking the man was. He eyed Hector, allowing himself ample time to imprint each and every aspect of Hector’s appearance in his mind. He was tall and lean, but the arms that extended from the cream-colored shirt he wore were toned, defined. Long brown wavy hair with slight streaks of gold framed an angular face. His eyes though, wow, those eyes, watching August with rapt fascination were amazing. Brown, opaque and alive, they sparkled as he continued to watch August. They gave way to a long, pointed nose that hovered above pert, proud, kissable lips that were surrounded by a smattering of dark facial hair. One corner of Hector’s delectable mouth lifted to form a cocky, self-assured grin, effectively breaking the haze of lust that overcame August at just the thought of exactly what Hector could do with his pretty mouth.
“Can I ask you a question?” Not bothering to form a spoken response to Hector’s question, he nodded. “What did you mean back there when you said this was your fault?”
“You caught that, huh?” August managed a self-deprecating laugh. How the hell could he answer the question without being killed? After all, he had been the one to tell Cillian that if he truly wanted to hurt his brother, he needed to go after Rian. Before he could answer the man with the odd brown eyes, his sister barreled into the room followed by the woman Autumn had loved and another man with wheat-colored hair and eyes the same color as August’s. Ah, so this was the Outkast the young Princess of House Gaeland had fallen in love with—Sawyer. He carried the child born of their forbidden relationship in his broad arms.
God almighty, damn.…Are all the men around here big, built, and positively gorgeous? Or is it just me? Fuck, I need to get laid in the worst way. August chuckled at his wayward thoughts, swinging all the attention in the room in his direction.
“You.” Aiya snarled at him. Her face morphed from happy to angry within a few seconds. She stepped toward him only to be stopped when both Sawyer and Maeve flung an arm out in front of her. “Why, exactly, is the man that tried to kill my wife having dinner at my kitchen table?” Aiya asked no one in particular, continuing to glare at August. Before her question could be answered, the pissed off man that wanted to drop August off the highest rooftop stormed into the kitchen.
“Time’s up, Hector.” He pointed at August. “Hoist yer arse up out of that chair, and let’s go find my husband.”
“What?” the twins shouted in unison, causing the aforementioned quiet bundle in Sawyer’s arms to shriek.
“Shit, sorry, Sawyer. Come here, baby.” Aiya cooed, taking the now-fussy infant and holding him over her shoulder, patting his back to soothe him.
“What do you mean, find your husband?” Aiyan shouted at his father, continuing to stare daggers at August.
Yammering so fast August could barely make out what was said, Cirian filled his kids in on the situation with Rian. Hector stood, handing the bowls to cook before turning back to August. “Let’s go, then.”
Before August could move over to where Hector was, Aiyan blocked his path, and August watched as his oddly colored brown eyes slowly ebbed away, eaten up by a vibrant, violent gold. Nostrils flared; the young Prince looked seconds away from strangling August and calling it a day. “If so much as one hair on my father’s head is out of place, I’m going to cut off your head with a dull butter knife, you get me, Outkast?”
Funny, they’d just met, but Hector seemed to sense what August was considering. A subtle shake of his head calmed August, though he wasn’t sure why. Aiyan stood still, focused only on August, so he responded with a quick dip of his head. Turning to leave, Aiyan stopped short. In the doorway to the kitchen, Sawyer stood, glaring at the Prince, arms crossed over his chest. The two seemed to be communicating with each other without speaking, and August couldn’t decide if they were fixing to go to blows or hug it out.
An unavoidable shiver wracked his body when Hector whispered in his ear, “No sudden moves, and please don’t feed the bears.” August’s body shook as he silently laughed. He could feel the heat from Hector’s body in such close proximity seeping through every pore.
“Tell me?” Hector asked softly. Nothing more needed to be said; August knew he was speaking of Rian.
The tension in the small room dissipated with the departure of Aiyan and Sawyer, and August was able to breathe again. Answering that question; putting the blame of Rian being kidnapped on his own shoulders would surely be a death sentence. But August felt safe with Hector, knew he could share the secret with this man and he’d keep it safe, between them. “When all this first started, I was the one who told Cillian what he needed to do if he really wanted to hurt his brother.”
Again, a look of disappointment flashed in those brown eyes and August felt…ashamed. “Well, let’s go right this wrong, shall we?”
Chapter 16 | Way Down We Go
“Da, please, sit down for a minute and humor me?” Aiya begged. After storming into the kitchen and barking orders, Cirian had dragged August outside to the greenhouse. Broken pots and trampled plants made them all f
airly certain Rian had been taken from there. But taken where? Everything that happened, aside from August going after Maeve, had happened inside the palace. None of the guards on the wall or outside the gates had seen or heard anything. Cillian and Rian had to be somewhere within the palace walls; there was no other explanation for how Gorilla Man could evade them still.
With Cirian’s dagger at his throat, August told them of the guard, Elliot, and Cillian’s plan to use him to gain entry to the palace, as well as the assistance they’d been given by Cook’s grandson. Leading the way to Elliot’s room, Aiyan stopped short at the door, a pained expression on his face. “What is it?” Hector asked.
“He’s dead, throat slit. That seems to be the theme for the evening’s events.” Aiyan turned to glare at August.
“What? I didn’t do it!” he protested.
Aiyan advanced toward August, eyes murderous once again, stopping short when Hector blocked his path. “You’re really starting to piss me off, Hector. Wh…” Aiyan didn’t finish the sentence, his eyes glazing over momentarily before he shook off whatever it was that had distracted him. Moving past Hector and August, he called out over his shoulder. “Come with me; Aiya wants us.”
Cocking his head to the side, August watched Aiyan round the corner. “How, precisely, does he know Aiya wants us?”
Hector snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t ask, long story. Let’s go.”
Aiya was arguing with her father when they followed Aiyan into the library a few minutes later. “My angel, I love you, but I don’t have the time or energy to play games right now. That son of a bitch has my husband and I mean to find him and then kill my brother, slowly, painfully.” The gleam in Cirian’s crystal blue eyes worried August. The ruler of House Gaeland took two steps toward the door before Aiya grabbed him by the arm.
“Da, I’m serious. Now shut up and sit down!” August was concerned for the petite blonde. Judging by the look on her father’s face, his concern wasn’t unwarranted.
“I think you should listen to the wee lass, son.” An older man with an accent thicker than Cirian’s stepped up beside him.
August took a moment to take in everyone in the room. Three people stood beside the raging fire, two men and a woman, quite possibly the most stunning threesome August had ever seen. Statuesque with dark skin and long black curly hair, the female watched him with morbid curiosity. Her two companions had dark curly hair as well, the older gentleman graying around the temples, and bronzed skin. The tall one though, God almighty damn! He was absolutely edible with his deep brown sparkling eyes that were both intense and inviting, chiseled features and a pair of lips that had August entertaining positively filthy thoughts.
The Ambassadors to House Orion, brother and sister if August remembered correctly, sat at a table on the other side of the room pointing things out on a large map they had set out before them. The Outkast stood behind Aiya, but Maeve and the baby weren’t in the room. The big guy with all the ink, Tanis, looked briefly his way, and August could tell by the look of utter contempt that Tanis didn’t care much for him. Beside him was a man with black and purple hair and amazing blue eyes. A squirming toddler was precariously perched on his hip.
August jerked when he felt a hand on his arm. Looking down, he stared into violet eyes that smiled up at him. If ever he had to describe what an angel looked like, this would be it. The woman was small with a head full of black waves circling her round, cherubic face, for lack of a better term. She spoke to him with an accent he couldn’t place, using words he didn’t understand. He gasped, taking a step back when her eyes went white, the violet circles turning blood-red. “He no longer means us any harm,” she told Hector as her eyes faded back to violet. Turning, she walked over to the couch to sit down beside Cirian.
Aiya was sitting on the coffee table facing her father, his hands in hers. “Okay, close your eyes and concentrate on Dad. I need you to use the connection you two share; I need you to feel him, Da. Then reach out to him through that connection.”
What in the hell was going on? “What...”
Invisible fingers reached out and caressed his spine as Hector leaned into him and whispered softly, “Just watch.”
The feel of Hector’s lips on his skin, against his ear, caused a visceral reaction inside August. In spite of his current predicament, his most base instinct was to grab Hector and kiss the ever-living shit out of him right then. Focus, August! he mentally berated himself. How in the hell was he supposed to concentrate on anything when Hector was standing so close? Rolling his shoulders, August attempted to pay attention to what Aiya was doing and saying instead of the man beside him that smelled like sand on a warm summer day.
Wait—the smell of water and sand…Hector. It was the scent that had hit him hard in the garden, God, mere hours ago. It felt like days had passed since he first laid eyes on the infuriating, imposing, stubborn man standing beside him, looking like sex on a stick, and August definitely wanted a taste. Focus now, fuck later if you’re lucky, his inner voice shouted.
“Think about Dad. Picture his face in your mind. Do you feel him? Feel the thread connecting the two of you?” Aiya held her father’s face in her hands now. Cirian’s brow was furrowed, but then his face softened, a small smile played out on his lips as he nodded. “Good, now pull on that thread and follow it; tell me where it leads.”
“I don’t know…wait…he…he’s close.” Cirian’s eyes opened. “I can feel him everywhere, Aiya. What does that mean?” There was so much pain in his voice.
“It means Rian is here, at House Gaeland. We just have to find him.” The big man from Greece called out, never looking up, eyes still focused on the map in front of him.
“All right, here’s what we’ve found.” His sister motioned everyone over to the table and started pointing things out, telling people where to look. But August stood rooted in place, watching Cirian.
He stared at the platinum band on his ring finger, speaking softly. “I’m coming, My Love. I’m coming. I will find you; stay strong.”
A little piece of August’s heart broke at the sight of someone as imposing and overbearing as the ruler of House Gaeland in so much pain. He’d caused this, the pain that man was feeling. But Hector was correct when he said August could fix the wrong, and that’s exactly what he intended to do.
***
Cillian paced the length of the small room they were holed up in, eyes darting around in the darkness every time there was a sound or the slightest noise. The underground shelter that had been used to protect the citizens of America at the time of GWI was old but not lifeless. Rian hadn’t been inside the bunker since he was a boy, and he could have gone the rest of his life having never returned. The air surrounding them smelled stale, and the chill made Rian’s bones ache, he was so cold. There was little light, save for the few torches Cillian had lit when they first came down—how long ago was it?
All concept of time was lost on him and his head was throbbing. Rian could remember being in the greenhouse, cultivating the latest batch of allive plants, but things got hazy from there. Had he left, or was he still inside the greenhouse when something slammed into his head? The world went black, and then he’d woken up in the bunker, a trickle of water trailing down the metal wall from a jagged tear in the roof dripping on his cheek. Forcing his limbs to cooperate, he pushed and pulled his aching body until he was leaning somewhat upright, the cold from the metal at his back making him shiver.
“What do…” Rian licked his lips, swallowing down the bile that had risen while he righted himself against the wall. “…what do you want, Cillian?”
The big, burly man turned and stared down at him with dull, lifeless blue eyes, his face marred by age, anger, and hatred. Cillian was only a couple of months older than Cirian, but looking at him, one would think years separated the two brothers. Time had not been kind to Cillian. “I want what should have been mine, what was taken from me at birth when I was tossed aside like trash without so much as a s
econd thought.”
Rian pulled a deep, calming breath into his lungs, the wave of nausea starting anew with the inhalation of whatever the fuck the horrible stench surrounding them was. Sulfuric and stale, the smell in the air coupled with the blow to his head had Rian doubling over as he dry-heaved until his stomach hurt. Cillian cackled, reaching down and grabbing a handful of Rian’s hair, jerking him upright so fast it made him dizzy. Trying to pull away from the larger man’s strong grip, Rian swung out, catching nothing but air. He would have fallen flat on his face were it not for the elbow to his gut that had him dry heaving again.
Bent over, hands on his knees, Rian pretended to catch his breath while he ran through every scenario in his mind. He was confident Cillian had taken him as a pawn to use against Cirian. For what, he didn’t know. He had to do something, but what? There was no way Rian could match Cillian’s size and strength; brains over brawn was his only alternative. Collapsing to the frozen floor, Rian continued to pretend he was sick while weighing his options and taking in his surroundings. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could see they were in what was probably a common room in the bunker. A row of metal chairs and benches lined one wall, and at the end, several loose, thick strands of wire protruded from the ceiling. If he could get to the wires he could use them to choke Cillian if he braced himself against the wall for balance.