Lincoln’s upper lip curls. “Have you ever seen me bow?”
Kamal steps to the Prince’s side. “No, my Prince. Never.”
“Nor will you.” Lincoln’s gaze shifts between the Earls. “We leave for Antrum tomorrow. There’s much work to do. If you’ll excuse me.” He motions to the exit.
The Earls pause, share a long look, and then nod. Lincoln opens the door. He’s only a few inches away from me now, but so are the Earls.
Yipes.
Kamal steps toward the exit; then he stops at the threshold. My heart thuds so loud, I’m sure they can hear it. “I’ll give you a month. I can risk no more with Acca.”
The desperate look in Kamal’s eyes sets my nerves on edge. The way everyone talks about Acca, you wouldn’t think this dumbass shot crossbow bolts at a Limus demon.
Next, Horus steps up to grip Lincoln’s arm, his features on edge. “You’re the last chance we have.”
The edges of Lincoln’s mouth round with a grin. He’s so not worried, it isn’t funny. “And have I ever failed you?”
Kamal scowls. “Not yet.” They finally leave; the door slams shut behind them. Lincoln exhales slowly.
That was close.
In one swift movement, Lincoln moves to face me, his mouth finding mine. The Prince’s tongue plays across my lips, quickly driving deeper with need. Heat flows through my veins, pooling in my core. Lincoln’s body shifts as presses me against the wall, the motion just rough enough to make me moan. Damn, that feels good. My legs tremble as I taste him over and over, his muscles flexing and releasing as me moves against me.
Lincoln sets his mouth by my ear. “You’re lucky those Earls can’t hunt worth a damn. I could hear you breathing from across the room.”
I lick my lips and smile. “Lucky me.”
The Prince stares at me for a long moment. “That was the part where I lose control because I didn’t expect to see you.” He shoots me a shy smile. “Next is the part where I say we take things slowly.”
“Thank you.” Although if I didn’t have such an awful reason for visiting him, I’d talk him into returning to the first part.
Lincoln links his fingers with mine, and then leans back. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Our arms swing in a happy motion. It feels insanely good to see him. I smile for the first time in what feels like years.
“Lincoln, what did my eyes look like yesterday?” I stay flush against the wall, careful to keep my head and hood in the shadows.
“Oh that.” He frowns, remembering. “They were changing colors. Brown, blue, red. You said it was from your lust demon awakening for the first time.” He leans in and nuzzles my neck. “Did I mention how much I liked red?”
I laugh. “That you did.” Last night during our walk, we’d take breaks and kiss for a while before one of us would say ‘taking it slowly.’ Over time, it turned into (what else) a competition to see how fast Lincoln could get my ‘eyes to spark.’ Hottie Prince pain-in-my-butt. “No less than six times, as I recall.”
He purses his lips. “As long as I’m consistent, that’s what matters.” He looks at me out of his right eye. “Is that why you came here, to ask me that?”
I fidget against the wall. “No, I came here to show you something.”
Lincoln’s face creases with concern. “Okay. What is it?”
My stomach ties into knots. “What if I were different from who you thought I was?”
His voice stays calm, his face unreadable. “Like how, different?”
“What if I became someone who was a risk, a target?” Nervous energy zings through my body. I have the perverse desire to kick a hole in the feasting hall table. “Someone who needs to disappear for a very long time.”
Lincoln moves closer, wrapping his long arms around me. “And you’re afraid of what exactly?”
I close my eyes and snuggle into his shoulder, inhaling his scent of forest pine and leather. My body relaxes. This is what I’ve needed all day long. Here, with him holding me, I feel like I can say anything. “We’ve already got a lot stacked against us, Lincoln. Maybe you’re better off with someone like Adair.”
“Really?” He kisses the top of my head, gently. “Did you know Adair thinks Simia demons are cute?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re lying.”
“I wish.” He slides one hand up my back. “You’re hiding your eyes again, Myla.”
Damn, he is a good hunter.
His fingers entwine with the back of my hood, slowly pulling it away from my face. “I already told you. I like it when your eyes turn red.”
I grit my teeth and steel my shoulders. It takes everything I have just to keep my gaze level with his. Once he understands what I really am, this could be over, big time.
Lincoln’s forehead furrows. “Your eyes are blue.” His mouth thins to an angry line. “Did someone from the House of Striga cast a spell on you? So help me, I’ll—”
“No, it’s not that.”
He cups my face in his hands, his features drawn with worry. “Are you sick?”
“No, nothing like that either.” I open my mouth, ready to tell him I’m the Scala Heir. What comes out is a fragment of the truth. “My father is an angel named Xavier.”
Lincoln’s mismatched eyes stretch wide. “The archangel Xavier? I studied him at the citadel. Greatest warrior in history. Legend says he never loved anything but battle.”
I let out a high-pitched humph. “Until he met my mother.”
“I can see that. If she’s anything like you.” The Prince eyes me carefully for a minute, his face creasing with confusion. “I don’t understand. That would make you—” He swallows. “That’s impossible.”
“I thought so too.” I bite my lips together. How do you convince your kind-of boyfriend that you’re a one-of-a-kind soul-swapping super being?
Only one way, really.
Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and call the igni to return. At first, their music is tinkling and distant in my mind, then quickly growing rich and loud. Child-like laughter rings in my ears; my mouth quirks with a smile. Having them return is like welcoming an old friend home.
I raise my right palm to shoulder-height and open my eyes. In my mind I know Lincoln is near, but he seems blocked behind a white haze. The skin on my face cools; my irises glow bright blue. Igni materialize around my hand, appearing even faster this time than when I called them in my house. The tiny lightning bolts swirl about my palm before arcing to the ceiling in one great geyser. Once they hit the wooden rafters, the igni bounce and tumble to the floor like so many snowflakes, disappearing before they touch the ground.
I focus on Lincoln. When the haze around him clears, I find he’s standing a few yards away, his face still as stone. I meet his gaze. “Possible or not, I am the next Scala.”
“Myla, I—”
I raise both hands at him, palms forward. “No, I need to say something first. Now that my Scala powers are active, I have to go into hiding. I don’t know when I’ll resurface, if ever. Walker told me about all the things stacked up against us…How the Earl wants you to marry Adair. And I heard what you said to Kamal and Horus before. Unifying the lesser Houses? You’ve got enough to worry about without adding me to the list.” I hug my elbows. Here comes the yucky part. “What I’m saying is, if you want to see someone else, that’s okay with me.” I roll my eyes. What am I saying? “Not that we’re really dating in the first place.”
I’d face-palm myself if it didn’t make me look dumber. That was about the worst speech in the history of ever.
Lincoln’s face is unreadable. “May I ask a question?”
I pretend that it’s very important to check for dust on my ghoul robes. Anything not to look in his eyes at this point. “Sure.”
“Do you love me?”
Holy cow! I did not see that coming, at all. “Um, well, I…”
Fuuuuuuuuuck. I have no idea what to say right now.
“Alright, I’ll ask a different question.” His face st
ays still as stone. I have no idea what he’s thinking and damn, that’s annoying. “When did this happen?”
Okay, that question I know how to answer.
“It’s been happening for a while, but I didn’t know it. The ceremony at the Arena actually awakened me, not Adair. Then, I was angelbound last night when we—” I bite my lower lip.
Lincoln watches me for a long minute, then his mouth does something impossible: erupt into the biggest grin I’ve ever seen. He rushes toward me, wraps his arms around my waist, and pulls me against him. “That’s wonderful, Myla.”
Wait a minute.
I look at Lincoln out of my right eye. This is unbelievable. “So, you’re not worried about what I just said?”
“No. Should I be?”
Although it’s not in my best interest, I’m not dropping this point for some reason. “But I have to go into hiding. Who knows when I’ll resurface? Don’t you want to, you know, move on?”
He grips my waist tighter, spinning me around in a circle. I can’t help but laugh. He kisses me once, gently. “Of course, not. You’ve made me very happy.”
At those words, the light bulb in my brain clicks to ‘on.’
“You just heard blah-blah-blah ‘getting angelbound means Myla loves me like crazy’ blah-blah-blah. Am I right?”
“Yes.” We’re so close, I can feel his heart beat against my chest. “And I love you too, Myla. Like crazy.” His mouth brushes along my jawline. Desire churns through me. “Now you say it back to me.”
I stifle a grin. He can be such a hot bastard sometimes. “I love you, Lincoln.”
“There now. The rest of it doesn’t matter.” His hand cups the back of my head, gently guiding my lips onto his. Our mouths meet in a slow kiss. My knees go all wobbly again.
“Ahem.” A voice sounds from across the room.
Lincoln frowns. “That would be Mother.”
Did he just say ‘mother?’ My face burns about a thousand shades of red. “I didn’t hear anyone come in.” I pull my hood low and take a huge step away from Lincoln. “Does she always sneak around like that?”
“Pretty much.”
I pat my cheeks; my killer blush isn’t going away any time soon. This wasn’t how I pictured the Queen finding out about me and Lincoln. I was hoping for more of a ‘let’s meet up after battle practice’ scenario versus her catching us snogging in the dark. Ugh. Not to mention my new powers. Lincoln may not mind that I’m the Scala Heir, but who knows what his parents will say?
Octavia stands by the closed door, her body stiff and tall in a black velvet gown, her brown hair pulled back into a twist. “It seems we’ve much to discuss. This way.”
I stand in the center of the feasting hall, my body perfectly still. A knot of emotion forms in my throat. I keep telling myself to walk and my stubborn self keeps ignoring me. An official audience with the King and Queen? Right this very second? I’ve already had a ‘very special’ twenty-four hours as it is.
Lincoln steps up behind me, setting his firm hands on my shoulders. His mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “We can do this.”
I wrap my fingers with Lincoln’s, feeling the warmth of his skin. Yes, we can do this. Together, we open the door and cross the threshold, following Octavia to a massive tent made of black tapestry woven with silver eagles. Tall wooden poles hold the structure upright, each topped with a line of thin golden banners. A guard in black armor stands by the entrance flap.
Octavia wags a finger at him. “No one gets within twenty yards of this place, no matter what.”
“Yes, your Highness.”
The Queen turns to me. “We use this for official audiences.” Flipping about, she disappears into the folds of the tent.
Once Octavia’s gone, Lincoln grips my hand. “Just a minute, Myla.” He pulls me out of earshot of the guard, stopping a few yards from the tent entrance.
I stare into Lincoln’s mismatched eyes, my head tilting to one side. “What’s wrong?”
He gently sets his hand on my shoulder, his thumb rubbing my skin in a soothing motion. “I don’t want you to be surprised. My father may be a little gruff with you.”
I suck in a fast breath. That little factoid was a shocker. Suddenly I’m very happy about the mini-shoulder massage I’m getting. “Why? He doesn’t know me.”
Lincoln smirks. “You’re the greatest warrior in Antrum, everyone knows you.”
I mock-frown. “That’s not what I mean.”
He glances about, searching for the right words to say. “My father’s looking for a reason to give in to Acca.”
Meaning he wants Lincoln to marry Adair…And me out of the way. Oh, he’ll be a little gruff, alright. My upper lip curls. “Do we have to do this?” My voice came out a little whiny there.
Lincoln winds his arm around my back, the other wraps about my shoulder. Drawing me to him, he sets his mouth on mine. Oh, yes. His lips are everything soft, warm, and delicious. We kiss slowly, deeply. The rest of the universe disappears. Lincoln’s hand pushes into the small of my back, then slowly slides around my waist to my belly. My mind goes blank. What was he was asking again? Why wasn’t I saying yes?
Hey now, Myla. Way to think with your hormones.
I break the kiss and do my best to frown. “Is that your way of talking me into this?”
He eyes me with that sly grin. “Yes.” His palm slides up the side of my torso, almost-just-maybe touching the swell of my breast.
Damn, damn, damn. He just talked me into this.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
He kisses the tip of my nose. “You won’t regret it.”
I try to swallow past the knot of emotion that just formed in my throat. “Can I get that in writing?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I stand inside a large square space filled with sturdy wooden chairs and tables. Iron chests and oriental rugs cover the floor. King Connor sits on a high-back chair in a black tunic, a sheet of parchment in his hand. His white hair hangs neatly to his shoulders. Octavia stands beside him.
The King rises to his feet, his face creasing into a smile as he greets his son. Connor’s basso voice rings out: “Hello, hello!” He lumbers over to Lincoln, wrapping him in a bear hug. It feels like a million years eke by as the King slowly turns to me. I grit my teeth and try to plaster on a smile.
“What’s this?” The King sets his meaty fists on his hips. “I wasn’t informed of any strangers coming to visit.” His voice drips with irritation.
Here it comes. The gruffness.
Lincoln grips my hand. “This is Myla, father. She’s the girl I’ve been telling you about.”
Telling you about? My heart kicks in my chest. Lincoln’s been chatting me up with his parents. My fake grin turns into a real one.
Connor leans back on one heel. “Yes, I remember.” His eyes narrow as he takes me in from head to toe. “You’re the quasi-demon.”
I open my mouth to correct him, but Lincoln gets there first. “Her name is Myla.” His tone has a protective edge. My grin grows wider. His protective side is hot.
The King lumbers back to his table, and then plunks his burly frame into a high-back chair. Octavia slides into the empty seat beside him. Lincoln and I stand a few yards away, hand in hand.
Connor lets out a long breath. “If you’re here, I assume the two of you are in trouble.” The way he says ‘trouble,’ I know he’s thinking one thing: I’m carrying Lincoln’s child.
Anger shoots through my body. Whoa there, asshole! I’m a lot of things. Pregnant isn’t one of them.
Octavia gasps. “Connor!”
He slaps the tabletop with him palms. “Well, they are in trouble, aren’t they?” He turns to me. “Aren’t you?”
That does it. What a nasty, arrogant, and insulting dickweed! My eyes flare red with rage. “That would be no, your Disgustingness.” My tone drips with venom. “Keep your dirty mind to yourself.”
Lincoln turns to me, his face twisted with worry. “Myla, what
are you doing?” He leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “No one speaks to my father that way.”
My teeth grind. So we’re back to requiring ‘special words of reverence’ when speaking with thrax royalty, eh? I did not fight about this with Lincoln for three months solid just to cave in with his dear old dad. He’ll show me some respect, too.
I nod to Lincoln. “Don’t worry. I got this.” Closing my eyes, I pull back my hood, raise my hand, and call out to the igni. They appear faster than ever before, their music and laughter quickly drowning out anything else in my head. Their tiny bodies whirl about my hand, almost blocking my view of the tent’s interior.
I watch their light swirl about my fingertips, then I order them to break free. Let’s show this King what trouble really is. With a burst of laughter, they obey.
Moving in a small knot of bodies, the igni zoom about the tent, knocking over candlesticks and upending chairs. Like a great pinwheel, they spin about in the center of the room, faster and faster. A high-pitched hum fills the air and then—POOF—they all disappear.
I grin. How’s that for trouble?
An icy chill freezes my skin; my eyes glow bright blue. Opening them slowly, I glare directly at the King, speaking in the nastiest voice I can muster. “I’m the Scala Heir, Connor. I’m not in trouble.” My eyes blaze with blue fire. “I am trouble.”
The tent’s interior comes back into focus. Lincoln stands beside me, his body rigid and his expression unreadable. Octavia sits beside Connor’s chair, her face a stony mask. The King stares at me for a long minute, his features blank. I have to consciously stop myself from sticking my tongue out at him. Nyah.
The King breaks the silence by slamming his fist onto the wooden table. My body snaps into battle stance, my tail arched over my shoulder. Want a piece of me? I’d like to see you try, big guy.
“Well, well.” Connor’s great head wags from side to side. “I’ll be damned.” He breaks into peals of loud, deep, and rolling laughter.
He’s laughing? Really?!
I squint at the King. The igni must have short-circuited my senses; that can’t be actual guffaws. I turn to Lincoln, my face wrinkled with confusion. “Are we good here?”
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