by Lizzy Ford
“I don’t know what to say to that,” I reply. “Thanks? Okay?”
“Promise me you’ll remain open to the truth, no matter what form it takes, and you’ll trust your instincts.”
This is important to him. His expression is grave.
“I promise,” I reply.
“You have my number.” He releases me.
I study him a moment then stretch forward and kiss him.
As always, Ben’s reaction is instant and intense. His arms wrap around me, and he pulls me into his muscular frame. I may not be a werewolf, but I still melt at the first taste of his flavor. His kiss is commanding, passionate, deep. He seems to be trying to devour every last piece of me, and I’m working on branding every one of my senses with him one last time. Whatever happens, whatever I decide, I don’t want to forget what we have or how powerful it is.
This feels like goodbye, and a part of me weeps to know it.
Ben breaks off the kiss and holds me. I breathe in his scent, overly aware of his erection and how I’m already dripping for him.
This is more than magic. I’m not sure how to take the confirmation I’m as intoxicated and obsessed by him in my Kingmaker form as I was when I was a wolf.
“You should go, before I take you home with me,” he whispers.
I take in his features again. I can’t find the right words, so I say nothing. Giving him one last, chaste kiss on the forehead, I get out of the car and stand on the sidewalk. He waits for me to reach the door and unlock it before the driver pulls away. I watch him go, unable to decipher what I’m thinking or why I’m holding my breath, hoping he changes his mind and comes back.
He doesn’t.
Disappointed, I go inside. A pile of mail is at the door, but one envelope catches my attention. It has my name written on it and nothing else. I swipe it up and then turn to close and lock the door. Walking down the hall, I open the letter. Something drops into my palm.
“Oh, fuck!” I exclaim.
The amulet. I was supposed to wear it throughout the trials and never take it off. I didn’t even notice it was gone.
The letter with it is written in cursive.
Leslie,
This was found with Jenny’s body. I think she ripped it off you at some point during the altercation. I didn’t say anything in front of Ben, because I wanted to keep this between us.
Ben deserves to be the Community leader. If he saw the amulet, he might settle for a different outcome. But I know him. I know what he’s capable of and I know how good his heart is. The Community needs someone like him in charge, someone who can stop the illicit activities that are poisoning the Community at large. We all need someone like Ben, who is honest and honorable to the core, to watch over us. It’s what an alpha does best: he protects his own, and Ben has the rare ability to do so with compassion. When he is Community leader, every last supernatural will become his new pack. We need this kind of leadership.
He deserves this, and so do the wolves. If you care for him, don’t take this from him.
Warmest regards,
Jason
I stare at the words settle for a different outcome. Jason clearly tried to soften the slap in the face, but that’s exactly what this is. He seems to think marrying a Kingmaker beneath someone deserving of a role such as the Community leadership.
A little stung, I’m also impressed by what Jason writes. He’s right in many ways about Ben being a good candidate. Ben is rough around the edges but perhaps, with time, his compassion and patience would soften his rather barbaric approach to discipline and obedience.
I lower the letter and look at the metal amulet. It’s small, its corners worn from use and the passage of time. I thought it was supposed to keep me from remaining another creature permanently, but I transitioned back from a wolf into a Kingmaker without it.
What, then, does the damn thing do? Is this another fucking secret I don’t know?
I’m surprised Ben didn’t notice it gone, too, though he did claim not to expect the power of being mated to affect him as it did. Perhaps it slipped his notice.
I replace it around my neck and reread Jason’s letter. My cheeks are burning the third time through. Impressed by Jason’s plea on behalf of his brother, I’m also furious at him. I’m a Kingmaker – someone doesn’t settle for me! It’s as much an honor to be my mate as Ben claimed it was to be his!
Crumpling the letter, I throw it in the trash in the kitchen then go to the study.
For the first time in a while, I don’t feel like crying when I enter. I look around and then set my book bag next to the walled up hearth. I’m tired from my rough week and sit on a chair to read.
The Book of Secrets has expanded once more, and now includes a chapter entitled, Upon Navigating the First Trial.
I hunch over it in interest, irritated I can’t read in the dim lighting like I could as a wolf. As with the other writing, the original sixteenth century writing is underscored by modern English.
“’You likely learned by now there are many things to learn during your trials. The Kingmaker role, history and duty are lessons you’ll undertake gradually, along with obtaining a greater understanding of the supernatural clan with whom you spent your first trial. You may be experiencing empathy and generally beginning to doubt all your Kingmaker training. This is natural. To help you remain focused and loyal to your duty first, keep this in mind. The supernatural you met on your first trial lied to you.’”
I reread the last sentence, frowning.
“’Whatever that lie is, you must decide if it jeopardizes the candidate’s chance to become the Community leader. As part of the Kingmaker training and trials, the candidates were all told to lie to you. They choose what mistruth they wish to share, and it is part of your final test to determine what that lie is and if it’s severe enough to warrant the supernatural not being considered for leadership.
“’Further, the first trial will have exposed you to a set of rules you were not told beforehand but which the candidates all know. This is another of the several fail safes involved in each trial to ensure you know not to trust any of them too much before you ultimately decide their fates. The supernaturals are obligated to lie, hide information and to wring a final promise from you meant to hamper your ability to grow as a Kingmaker. They are obligated to deceive you. You must not, at any point, completely trust one of their kind. This is crucial to the Kingmaker ability to make impartial decisions,’” I read aloud.
This has to be the most fucked up process ever. Maybe that’s why I knew nothing about it before I started. My mind goes to Ben’s last request, that I promise not to become like all the other Kingmaker’s. The book would have me believe the promise is to keep me from becoming a Kingmaker at all.
I don’t want to think that’s what Ben meant. He has some real issues with Kingmaker’s, and I can almost understand why, if we’re keeping some great secret from the Community.
“If,” I repeat and frown. A secret is a neat excuse to lead me off the trail of suspecting he had an ulterior motive for killing my great-great grandfather or for wanting to become the Community leader.
I can’t believe he’d lie about something like that. My intuition tells me the sense of hurt I’m experiencing is the intention behind the book revealing this information now. I’d bet anything Ben doesn’t know the damn book would betray him.
If he did, it wouldn’t matter. He claimed he wouldn’t lie to me, and I’m left wondering what else he might’ve said that wasn’t truthful.
The book goes on to discuss the awakening of the Kingmaker magic, the role a strong intuition plays in determining the next leader, and ends with a caution about not removing the amulet at any point during the trials or showing the Book of Secrets to any other supernatural.
“Well, I fucked up there.”
An hour after leaving Ben, I’m in another funk and beginning to realize how much bigger than myself these trials are. The candidates have rules purposely hidden from the Kingmaker going thr
ough the trials as part of a test. My job is to read through all the bullshit to determine the best leader for the Community. The role of the candidate seems to be to confuse the fuck out of me, perhaps so I miss whatever it is I’m supposed to be wary of.
I don’t want to think about Ben lying to me, though. It could’ve been anything, or a whole bunch of lies. Maybe being a wolf numbed me to suspecting him of lying. I’d ignore this, if the book didn’t claim he was required to lie to me as part of the trial. I recall what Ben said about meeting my father for the first time and wonder if that’s when he was given these stupid rules and why he didn’t like my father to start out with.
My gut tells me it’s not in Ben’s nature to lie.
The Kingmaker book says otherwise.
The familiar ache is back, the one I experience whenever I think of my father. Except this time, I’m thinking of Ben.
This chapter says little else of value, and I slam the book closed in anger and rise, going to the bookshelves.
Somewhere here there has to be a book about the Kingmaker’s. About what makes us special, aside from an ancient pact made by the supernaturals, and why we go through such a laborious process to choose the next leader of the Community.
Or maybe, a key to learning about the secrets we keep. Or might keep, if Ben told the truth.
My phone pings. I glare at it from across the room. The last thing I want is to pretend to be interested in another discussion about favorite colors or whatever Ben wants.
I scour my father’s bookcases. The only books I can identify as being encoded are those pertaining to werewolves. I haven’t gotten that far yet in the Book of Secrets and apparently, this process is going to take a while.
I find myself pulling down every last book about Ben’s clan I can find. I don’t know why or what exactly I’m seeking between the thick covers of each tome. Maybe I want to find a reason to hate him or maybe I want the opposite – a reason not to view my week with him as a waste, a hard lesson in how someone so close to you can lie while fucking you into oblivion.
I sit and skim the books for most of the day about the history of the werewolves.
At long last, I go to my phone to see what he’s texted.
I lied to you, he’s messaged. No further explanation, nothing else. For once, I wish Ben would make more of an effort to use his words.
I debate what to say. He knows I’ll figure it out by the end of the trials, so it’s not like he’s doing the honorable thing. This is probably more of a ploy, an attempt to seem like a good guy while covering his ass.
Already, I’m expecting the worst.
This bothers me but not as much as not knowing who or what to believe.
Sitting down on the floor, I realize just how much the book and my first week are messing with my head.
I know. Can you tell me about what? I text back.
His response is almost instant. No.
Is it about something important? I ask, wanting to gauge just how bad it is.
Very.
My disappointment runs deeper than I expect it to. I will him to say more. As usual, he doesn’t. Important could be anything: the genetic defect, the alleged secret my family keeps, even him claiming to have been affected by the trial like I was.
The truth is, I don’t know him. I spent a week as his mate and can’t decipher his true character if my life depends on it.
Which it does.
In the silence of my father’s study, I’m forced to admit another truth.
I like Ben. A lot. I don’t think he’s any of the things my father or the book wants me to believe about him. Maybe the problem isn’t that he remains a stranger to me, but that what I know of him makes me doubt everything I’ve been taught by my father and everything I’m supposed to think or feel about a candidate.
Whatever I choose to believe, I either betray the memory of my father or a man I’ve known for a week. It shouldn’t be open for debate.
But it is.
In this kind of mood, I can think of one thing that’ll help me avoid coping at all. I never did throw out the pills Ben told me to.
Leaving the study, I jog up the stairs to my room and grab the N-Thrall off my nightstand. Without Ben to take the edge of my world off, I need a fix of some kind. Returning to the kitchen, I chase two pills down with vodka and then shake my head at the burn of alcohol going down my throat. I drink half a bottle until certain I’ll soon be unconscious.
Setting down the bottle, my eyes drift toward the garbage can, where I tossed Jason’s letter. I’m starting to feel the effects of the drugs and alcohol already and cross to it.
I don’t know what possesses me to remove his letter. I definitely don’t plan on reading it again soon. The sting of his claim that Ben would be settling for me is hotter than it was before.
I tuck the letter into the Book of Secrets before finding my way to my bed.
Chapter Fourteen
I’m a train wreck the next morning and spend most of it cleaning the house, in between nursing my pulsing headache and trying to find any family records or photo albums.
Kingmaker’s aren’t really normal in any regard. We have no photos on the walls or hidden in drawers or posted online. In fact, I can only find one picture of my mother, taken by my father shortly after they first met and kept in his wallet until his death. She was a beautiful woman, with a zombie’s haunting, pale skin and dark eyes. She died when I was young. All I can remember is braiding her white-blonde hair and how she used to sing me to sleep every night. I have her eyes and my father’s more human complexion.
It’s the only photo in the entire house. I don’t know why this of all things is bugging me today. I have so many other things to be worried about, like the drug dealing fae prince I’m waiting to show up and claim me as his mate for the week, or the fact I can’t read more of the Book of Secrets. Or the fact I want to text Ben.
Maybe Ben is the real reason why I’m cleaning where I would usually ignore the dust until my allergies drive me to clean. I didn’t sleep well despite the drugs and alcohol, and I woke up sniffing the air, trying to smell him.
With a sigh, I take a break around eleven and wander through my father’s study. The Kingmaker’s appear to have recorded the history of every other clan – except ours. Why is that?
Why is it everyone hates us? The question Ben posed isn’t one I can answer. I imagine, if it’s true my predecessors had some great secret the Community wanted to know, it’s a reason to hate us. But it seems like there’s always more to the story than I can understand at this point in the process of following in the footsteps of my predecessors.
And I’m wondering … do I really have to follow in their footsteps? Traditions such as this are considered near-sacred to the Community. But why the hell hasn’t someone changed a process that seems so counter productive to what the Kingmaker’s need to do? Why can’t the Community vote for a new leader? Why can’t I choose my own mate whenever the fuck I feel like it?
Those answers aren’t anywhere in the study but they should be. I’m staring at the bookshelf in front of me, furious at it for hiding its secrets.
“I apologize if I’m intruding.”
I whirl to face the door. Tall, lean and handsome, the fae drug lord is standing in the doorway of my father’s study. At once, I sense the magic, the feeling of being drawn to him, despite knowing how unnatural of a compulsion it is. His eyes are emerald, and dirty blond hair hangs over one eye. He’s dressed fashionably in chocolate suede pants that cling to his muscular thighs in just the right places and a blue cashmere sweater thin enough for the warm hangover of summer not to affect him.
I had him pegged as a runner, but up close, I’m going with soccer player. Lean upper body and powerful lower body. I had a thing for soccer players for a few years. Something about those thighs …
Blinking out of what I know to be magic, I realize I’ve been openly checking him out and clear my throat to speak. He doesn’t seem to notice, or
maybe, he’s being polite. His air is cool where Ben’s was hot, and he’s relaxed, far more laid back than I ever saw the wolf leader.
“I knocked first,” the fae says.
Since when does a drug lord worry about breaking and entering? I almost ask him the question but don’t. “It’s okay,” I reply. “I’m Leslie Kingmaker. Welcome to my second trial.”
He smiles. Warmth is in his gaze. “I’m Tristan. I’ll be your guide through this insanity the next week.”
I’ve met a few drug dealers in my time, and he’s got none of the creepiness, sneakiness or general shady vibes the others gave off. So far, I’m getting nice-guy feeling from the fae drug lord. Whatever I expected, it isn’t this.
“I need to ask you something first,” I say, not about to wait until I’m sucked in to ask the most important question on my mind.
“Sure. Anything.”
“Did you kill my father?”
“No.” There’s no hesitancy in his response, and he continues to hold my gaze.
I believe him, as I did Ben. Which leaves the vampire as my father’s murderer. What will I do if the vampire lies about it?
“I brought you something to break the ice,” Tristan says and flashes a smile.
Pushing aside my frustration, I approach him curiously. He smells of spearmint, and I wait as he pulls something out of his pocket. He opens his hand to display two small flowers in his palm.
“Take one,” he says.
I do so carefully not about to bruise the delicate petals.
“Fae magic comes from nature. From hills, actually,” he explains. “These flowers come from the hill in Ireland where the first fae is said to have been born. They’re incredibly rare and bloom only once a generation.”
“Wow.” I gaze at the flower. It doesn’t look special. It’s tiny with purple petals.
“The clan leader plucks them when they bloom and presents them to his or her mate.”
“You went to Ireland this week to get me a flower?” I joke.
“I did.”
I meet his gaze.