Bad Boy Prince: A British Royal Stepbrother Romance

by Vivian Wood

  “This is Gabriel,” Mere Marie said, indicating the dark-haired man. He was a couple years younger than Rhys, maybe thirty years. From this distance, Rhys couldn’t help but sense the magic that poured off him, unchecked. It was unusual, as witches were generally very secretive about their powers, just as Rhys was secretive about his ability to shift.

  “Aeric says you speak a little French,” Mere Marie said to Rhys.

  “Aye,” he said with a shrug.

  “Translate as best you can while I speak,” she said. An order, not a request.

  Narrowing his eyes, Rhys gave her a single nod.

  “You are in New Orleans, in America. The new world,” she said. “None of this will make sense to you now, Aeric and Rhys, but you’ll learn soon enough.”

  She paused to let Rhys translate before she continued.

  “You’re three very powerful men, all with the ability to shift forms. You all shift into bears,” she said. For some reason, she gave Aeric a particular glance, not satisfied until he nodded his assent. “You are here to protect my city, as part of your service to me. I own you until I release you. There is no argument to be had.”

  She hesitated, then said, “You are in the year 2015.”

  Rhys’s heart faltered. His mouth opened, but there were no words. She was clearly insane.

  “That,” Mere Marie said, pointing at one of the black boxes, “is a computer. This is a smart phone.”

  She held up a small silver square, waving it at them.

  “We have cars and trains and buses, not horses. The world you left behind is gone, and you can’t get back to it. You will need to adjust, and quickly.”

  She stopped and let them all soak in her words.

  “Why are we here?” Gabriel asked. His accent was English, and very polished. “You said we’re protecting the city.”

  “New Orleans, Nouvelle Orleans,” she supplied.

  “What are we protecting it from?” Gabriel asked with a frown.

  Mere Marie’s lips thinned as she seemed to consider how to answer.

  “The complex version is that a struggle has been brewing for many years, centering here in New Orleans and rippling out further and further,” she said. “I am on one side of the struggle, trying to protect the Kith, the shifters and vampires and witches. And the humans, as well.”

  “Do humans know of us, then?” Rhys asked.

  Mere Marie shook her head.

  “No, and part of your job will be making sure that they remain ignorant.”

  “Who’s on the other side?” Gabriel cut in. Rhys turned and relayed the information to Aeric, who grunted to indicate that he understood.

  “Dominic Malveaux. Pere Mal, as he’s called.”

  “Mere et Pere?” Aeric cut in, not fully understanding the conversation but picking up on a strange tidbit.

  Mere Marie merely arched a brow and pushed on.

  “He is a very powerful houngan, a voodoo priest,” she said. When she pronounced the foreign word, Rhys could hear a subtle and exotic accent hiding in her speech, and when she continued he was able to pick it out more and more. “Very, very bad man. If we don’t stop him, he will end our world.”

  Mere Marie drew a finger across her neck, her meaning plain.

  “What does he want?” Aeric asked Rhys translated. Mere Marie didn’t skip a beat in answering.

  “He wants to open the Veil that separates the living from the dead,” she said. “He needs his ancestral spirits to come to this plane to give him more power, and he doesn’t care what else comes along for the ride. He’s already summoning demons to do his bidding in small things, and now there’s no telling how far he’ll go to get the power he wants.”

  Rhys paused for a moment and then translated best he could in halting words. Mere Marie cut him off halfway and spoke to Aeric at length. He was certain that she finished by telling Aeric that his first task was to learn English. Aeric scowled and seemed about to fire back, so Rhys jumped in. There were too many unanswered questions to waste time with fighting at the moment.

  “So what now?” he asked. “Where do we begin?”

  “Like I said, you’ll all need to adjust. Learn about the world here, about our technology. This is your home now, the rooms you woke up in are yours to keep. There’s another building behind this one, with everything you’ll need for your work. Use the library to research your enemy. Practice with the firearms and weapons. Gabriel will need to learn swordsmanship. Aeric will learn English. Rhys, you will learn how to fight in close quarters without hurting bystanders. This isn’t the Highlands anymore.”

  Rhys narrowed his eyes, but didn’t protest.

  “I suppose we should tour the building, then,” he said, making to rise.

  “Not yet,” Mere Marie said. “Follow me.”

  She rose and led them to the far wall, opening a door made mostly of glass. They followed her outside to an open, grassy area surrounded by a high fence of wood.

  “First things first,” she said. She pointed to a piece of stone peeking up through the grass in the center of the area, perhaps three feet by two. Rhys recognized it as a power stone, something the Fae created and used as a source of physical and magical replenishment. They were usually ancient, not to mention well-hidden and protected. He’d never seen one such as this, which appeared new and smooth.

  Alpha Guardians was chiseled into the center of the stone. He’d also never seen a stone with English lettering, so this was altogether odd.

  “You must bond to each other through the stone, give it life,” Mere Marie said. She pulled out a tiny, wicked-looking blade, every inch of it etched with foreign words. “Through blood.”

  “Of course,” Gabriel muttered.

  Rhys reached out for the knife and Mere Marie handed it over. He sliced his palm, ignoring the bite of pain. Thrusting his hand out, he let his blood drip onto the letters carved in the stone. They flared with a soft burst of light, but only for a moment.

  Gabriel took the knife next, mimicking Rhys’s actions. This time, the stone flared a little brighter, a little longer.

  Aeric was last, and when his blood hit the stone, the burst of light was nearly blinding. Mere Marie didn’t share her blood, but she did close her eyes and recite an incantation. Rhys felt the cut on his palm throb, and for a moment he was transported.

  He was outside himself. He was the stone. He felt three presences, felt the warmth of their blood. He considered their offering, testing their strength. Yes, they would do. They could withstand his power.

  Rhys snapped back into himself just in time for a brilliant wave of light to pulse from the stone, pulling at some part deep inside him. In the moments before he fainted, his only thought was this:

  How well could an adventure possibly end if it began with losing all consciousness and control of himself?

  He could only wait and see, for at the present everything went dark, and Rhys Macaulay knew no more.

  See No Evil: Bear Rebel

  1

  Chapter One

  Pere Mal

  Dominic “Pere Mal” Malveaux leaned his elbows on the flimsy rooftop railing on the Hotel Monteleone. He squinted against the glare of the mid-morning spring sun as he scanned the New Orleans skyline. Anytime he needed to think, he left his lavish set of rooms on the Monteleone’s topmost floor and came up to the pool deck. It afforded him peace and quiet, away from his many underlings and their ceaseless ineptitude. It also afforded a stunning view of the rest of the city and the Mississippi river.

  Today the view was spectacular as ever, but his enjoyment was dampened by an unfamiliar sensation. Uncertainty, perhaps. He was so close to unraveling the age-old secret that voodoo priest Baron Samedi left behind. A riddle, of a sort, meant to reveal the secret of the Seven Gates. The quickest way to peel away the Veil, that thin barrier between this world and the next. The shortest route to the realm of the spirits, and a place that Pere Mal very much needed to access.

  Combining his
own illustrious power with that of the spirits of his fearsome ancestors would be a coup. Pere Mal was strong now, but once he destroyed the Veil and brought the two worlds together, he would be unstoppable. Le Medcin, that nosy, menacing bastard, would crumble at Pere Mal’s feet. People were naive, thinking Le Medcin’s lies about representing some greater force were true. Pere Mal had believed that too, once.

  Now, though… Pere Mal knew that Le Medcin was a lying snake. Pere Mal would bring him down, hard. Right after he brought that would-be priestess to her knees.

  Pere Mal’s fists clenched at the very thought of Mere Marie, as she styled herself these days. That uppity bitch. She was nothing when Pere Mal first found her, blindly following the principles of voodoo with no true understanding, no appreciation for the art of balancing light and dark magic. Without “Uncle Dominic” showing her the way, where would little Marie be now?

  “Boss.”

  Pere Mal turned to see his right-hand man Landry striding across the pristine patio, looking annoyed. Landry was Pere Mal’s physical opposite, making them an interesting pair. Landry was short, under five and a half feet. His skin had a unique pallor, so that despite his obvious African American heritage, he was nearly pale as a sheet. He also wore ill-fitting, boxy suits; if Pere Mal didn’t demand his work attire be appropriate, no doubt Landry would only ever wear basketball shorts and sneakers with a ratty Saints jersey. Next to tall, caramel skinned, tuxedoed Pere Mal’s old-world grace, Landry looked like exactly what he was: a weaselly subordinate who handled the dirty work, jumping to meet Pere Mal’s commands.

  “Landry,” Pere Mal said, giving his employee a scathing glance that slowed Landry’s steps from rushed to hesitant. “I thought we had an understanding about what happens when I’m up here on the roof.”

  Landry’s lips tugged downward, but he advanced anyway.

  “Yes, Monsieur,” Landry said, his French butchered by his low-class American accent. Of course, Pere Mal supposed that not everyone could speak in Haitian-Creole accents such as Pere Mal and his once-protégée Mere Marie did.

  “And yet,” Pere Mal said, glancing down at Landry over the broad bridge of his nose, “here you are.”

  “We found the witch. Maybe. I think,” Landry said, stopping a few feet away from where Pere Mal leaned against the railing. Landry shifted in place a few times, fidgeting under Pere Mal’s gaze. “I figured you’d want to know right away.”

  “Let’s go inside,” Pere Mal said, pushing off the railing and striding inside. “I don’t want to start a precedent, have you thinking you can intrude on my thoughts whenever you like.”

  “Sir,” Landry said with a relieved nod.

  They traced Landry’s path back inside, Pere Mal leading the way to set of plush sofas tucked away in a tiny bar area. On weekends, the wood-paneled, high-end bar was bustling and loud; just now, it was silent and empty. Perfect for the conversation to come.

  “Alright. Tell me what you’ve found,” Pere Mal said, settling himself on the largest couch. Landry took the love seat next to it, nervously fiddling with the hideous green tie he wore.

  “Hang on a second,” Landry said. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he bellowed, “Amos! Amos, bring the girl!”

  Landry had a bit of a smirk on his lips as one of his lookalike underlings dragged a scrawny teenaged girl in the room. The girl’s skin was caramel cream, a perfect Creole mix, and she wore a skintight electric blue dress that made her honey-colored eyes stand out. Currently those eyes were filled with tears, her long hair mussed, her face showing fear and fury in equal measure.

  Pere Mal found her beauty compelling, but her tears repulsed him. If he wanted humanity, he would never have become a voodoo priest of such stature, never have learned all the ancient secrets, never recited the words that left his human self behind and immortalized his soul. The farther he got from his mortal beginnings, the more humans and their petty emotions disgusted him. The girl’s tears, the self-satisfied gleam in Landry’s eyes… Pere Mal repressed a bored sigh.

  “Found her dancing at at a club on Bourbon street. She’s got a big mouth, telling me how she can read energies, how her mother runs a booth at Le Marché,” Amos grunted. He turned his gaze to the girl, giving her a sharp shake. “Tell him about the lady your mom sees at Le Marché.”

  “I ain’t helping you,” the girl sneered. “You been dragging me all over the city. I don’t think you’re even gonna pay for all them private dances.”

  Landry cleared his throat.

  “Right this second, my guys are putting your ma in the back of a van,” he told the young woman. “You and your ma are gonna help us find this witch, or I’ll kill you both.”

  The young woman’s mouth opened and closed several times, gawping like a fish out of water.

  “Andrea,” Amos said, jerking her arm again. “Start talking.”

  “S-she… My momma said this white girl comes into her shop all the time, looking for stuff to, like… make her magic less strong or whatever. The lady sees ghosts, I guess. My momma said the lady passed on a message from my uncle, once.”

  “Can she do anything else?” Pere Mal asked, curious.

  “I dunno,” Andrea said, her lip curling. “I wasn’t even there. Momma just said that the lady is a fool to be walking around unprotected like that. She’s real powerful and shit.”

  “What’s the woman’s name?” Pere Mal asked, ignoring the girl’s attitude.

  “Echo something. Echo…” Andrea screwed up her face, thinking. “Cabba-something. I can’t remember, exactly. Caballero?”

  “And how does she dampen her power?” Pere Mal pressed.

  “Witch’s Cloak,” Amos cut in, seeming confident. “You make a tea, it’s real nasty. But it works. Kills your power, makes you invisible to other Kith.”

  Pere Mal narrowed his gaze, wondering how this flunky knew about herbalism. He let it go, not interested enough to ask.

  “Alright. Go on,” he said, waving a hand at the girl.

  “What about my momma?” she asked, her voice rising.

  “You’ll have her back in a few hours, unharmed. She’s going to help us find the witch,” Pere Mal sighed.

  “Medium,” Amos corrected. Pere Mal gave him a startled glance that quickly turned to an angry glare, and Amos beat feet, dragging the girl with him.

  Pere Mal paced to a large window and studied the skyline as he pieced together his plan.

  “Have the mother scry for the witch,” Pere Mal ordered. “Get her name, too. Track her down and follow her until she’s somewhere quiet. I want her by sundown tomorrow.”

  “Where should I take her?” Landry asked.

  None of Pere Mal’s business was conducted here at the Hotel Monteleone. He considered the Hotel his home away from home, and wouldn’t risk the comfort of his personal suite, even over something as important as finding the girl. Just thinking of being face-to-face with the first of the Three Lights made Pere Mal’s lips curl up in the semblance of a smile.

  After a moment of consideration, Pere Mal replied, “The Prytania House. Make sure one of the witches wards the room to dampen the girl’s presence and keep her from escaping.”

  “Yes, Monsieur,” Landry agreed. He started to turn away.

  “Landry,” Pere Mal said, making Landry pause.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Pere Mal rooted Landry with a heavy gaze.

  “This is important. Do it personally. There can be no mistakes,” Pere Mal told him.

  Landry visibly swallowed, then gave a jerky nod.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pere Mal turned away, dismissing Landry. His heart filled with something strangely close to joy. In only a handful of hours, he’d have the witch in his possession. She was the first key to discovering Baron Samedi’s secrets, to tearing the Veil asunder.

  Pere Mal couldn’t help rubbing his hands together with gleeful anticipation.

  Soon.

  2

  Chapter Two

>   Echo

  Wednesday, 10am

  “It's not that I don’t understand,” Echo said with a sigh, rolling her eyes to the right to look at the hazy apparition of a teenaged Creole boy that floated alongside her with an anxious expression.

  “But Mistress,” the ghost said, wringing his hands, “Don’t you think people should know? The whole city is in danger!”

  Echo hesitated, unsure how to respond. The problem with talking to young Aldous was that, like most ghosts, they had no context. Once a spirit passed beyond the Veil and into the next world, they no longer felt the passage of time. Nor were they aware that the world had moved on without them. Spirits appeared in the human realm because something anchored them there, keeping them from moving on to whatever lay ahead for them.

  Thus anchored, spirits existed as a fragment of memory, a tiny piece of a human soul suspended in time, acting on the only information and understanding that they had: the exact circumstances from the moment of their death.

  It didn’t make them great company, in Echo’s opinion. Especially when, like Aldous, the ghost happened to be a one-time New Orleans civil engineer whose entire attention was focused on the flood that would, and did, greatly reduce the population… in 1908.

  “Aldous, if I promise to go to City Hall today and talk to the mayor himself, will you let me go about my business?” Echo asked.

  Aldous gave her a grave and ghostly nod before flickering out of existence. Echo blew out a breath as she entered the Faubourg Marigny, looking for the right spot to enter The Gray Market. Sometimes known as Le Bon Marche or the Voodoo Market, The Gray Market was a broad network of businesses catering to the practitioners of various kinds of magic and any other Kith that needed… well, anything, really.

  The trick to entering the gray market was that at any given time there were between a dozen and a hundred entrances and exits, each one corresponding to a unique and often random location in the gray market. The market was something like a pie pan filled with pearls, each connected to its neighbors by a labyrinthine series of connected strands. The pearls consisted of spell book shops, herbalist dispensaries, exotic brothels, and every other manner of dark, dusty, unnerving house of acquisition.