The Golden Key Legacy

by AJ Nuest

  The only thing that really mattered anymore was making her happy. How fucking ironic his presence was bound to bring her nothing but pain.

  She slipped the helmet past her ears and an unexpected chuckle cinched the muscles of his stomach. With the ends of his sleeping pants rolled around her ankles, those sparkly red stilettos and his dress shirt and suit jacket hanging off her shoulders, the striped headgear completed her look as the most adorable—and hands down, the sexiest—circus clown he’d ever seen.

  A frown creased the smooth skin between her brows and she left off fiddling with the chin strap to prop her hands on her hips. “Care to impart what you find so amusing?”

  Uh oh… If history was any indicator, that flash of anger in her eyes proceeded a sharp crack on the back of the skull…or maybe a hard jab to the eye. But if there was any good news to come out of her story, at least now he understood why.

  She’d spent years trying to prove herself an able contender, fighting for respect. Where she was from, being the strongest, the smartest, the quickest on the draw counted for everything, and mockery was the worst kind of offense.

  That was cool. He got it, but he also wasn’t about to stand here and let her group her in with those men who’d ridden her ass for no good reason except to tease her through training. Or those wheeling-dealing nobles she’d described from the court. By the same count, he wasn’t one of her subjects to grovel for forgiveness at the first slip of the tongue, either. In this world they were equal. That was a done deal. And, for fuck’s sake, they had enough on their plate without retreading ground they’d already covered.

  She had his respect. Shit, she’d had it the second she showed up in the gallery. The sooner she got that through her stubborn blonde head, the better.

  He snaked an arm around her waist and jerked her against his hips, and satisfaction heated to a low burn as she blinked in surprise. Her spitfire attitude hadn’t butted heads with arousal before. Good.

  “I’m laughing at you. Is that so bad?” He slid a hand over her perky round ass and shoved her hips forward, grinding his cock into her belly. Her tough-as-nails exterior didn’t scare him. In fact, it made him horny as hell. Another thing she’d be wise to remember.

  A gasp parted her lips and she slapped both hands to his chest. “I do not take kindly to your impertinence, sir.”

  “Which is exactly why you need to understand a little good-natured ribbing doesn’t change how I feel.” He grabbed the mouth vent of her helmet and pried it off her head. When it came to Faedrah, there was only one way to show her where he stood.

  She shook out her hair and the tips tickled his fingers. His shaft pulsed as he gathered the heavy mass along her back and dragged her lips to his.

  The resistance on his chest firmed before she relaxed beneath him. Her lips parted and he accepted the cue to dip his tongue inside. She ran her palms under the unzipped sides of his leather jacket and fisted his shirt, tugging him closer, opening wider.

  Christ, she drove him crazy. It was impossible he could ever get enough. He dropped the helmet and a hollow clunk echoed down the alley as he clasped her neck, devouring her lips again and again, nipping and sucking. The silky glide of her tongue, the hungry way she matched him stroke for stroke. Her flavor was like bathing in a breath of fresh air. Everything about her cooled his raw nerves and, at the same time, they were so alike—defiant, tough and persistently itching for a fight.

  He scooped her up by the thighs, wrapped her long legs around his waist and strode forward, slamming her against the side of his building. She shuddered in his arms, shoved a hand under his dego-t and raked her nails down his spine. Shit, the way she responded to him, how she seemed to know exactly what he needed made him harder than the brick at her back. If it wasn’t for the fucked-up mess they were in, he’d carry her back upstairs and bury himself inside her until all this bullshit about wizards and kingdoms and alternate realms was nothing but a bad memory.

  “Fuck, Faedrah.” He broke away from her lips, balancing his forehead against hers, their bodies swaying. “When I’m near you, I can’t think straight.”

  Her heavy breaths matched his, but her brow twitched like he’d just admitted where Hoffa was buried. “I shall do my best to use that information to my fullest advantage.”

  He chuckled. One thing was for sure. Life with her would never be boring. “You got any leftover doubts about whose side I’m on?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “Good. Remember that moving forward.”

  With a parting peck to her lips, he released her to the ground. Two steps back, and he retrieved her helmet, flipped it in the air and resettled it on her head. Desire sparkled in her eyes. Her cheeks had rosied to the pretty pink he loved, and his kiss had left her mouth pleasantly plump.

  If he had anything to say about it, those two qualities would be the first thing people noticed about her whenever they were together. So everyone would know he’d marked her as his.

  He secured the strap under her chin and tapped the end of her nose. “And if anyone besides me gives you a hard time, just say the word and I guaran-damn-tee they’ll never know what hit ʼem.” Including his father, her parents and any other hassles that got in his way.

  She grinned and nodded, trailing him toward the bike. Her hand met his shoulder as she climbed aboard behind him. He jacked the starter and the snarl of fine-tuned gears ruptured against the vacant buildings. After adjusting his chin strap and flicking down the visor, he eased them to the head of the alley and veered onto the street.

  The hint of her curves along his back kept him rooted in the present. The clamp of her arms around his waist and the heat from her inner thighs reminded him he wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

  He kept the bike in first gear, puttering through his ramshackle neighborhood. Once they arrived at her uncles all that could change. According to her, his father was the Austiere version of Satan…which basically made him the anti-Christ. Fucking great. The minute her parents discovered who he was, it was pretty much a given they’d demand she get as far away from him as possible. And who could blame them? If he had one ounce of common sense, he’d drop her off at Forbes’ condo and head straight over to Leo’s to confront the asshole himself.

  Stopping at the corner mission, he put his foot to the ground and checked for oncoming traffic. Faedrah ran her palm up the center of his stomach and fingered the dip between his pecs. Her arms cinched as she wriggled closer, and he lowered his hand to squeeze her knee.

  Maybe he’d been a full-blown idiot to second-guess everything she’d told him. He ran his fingers down her calf to stroke her bare ankle. For Christ’s sake, he was the one who’d sketched Gaelleod’s picture and then jokingly signed Leo’s name to the bottom. There was no arguing with that…or Leo’s disturbing appearance and the fact both he and Faedrah had recognized each other on sight. Besides, if it was fine and dandy to accept she was from another dimension, what was so fucking hard about admitting Leo had somehow taken that same leap?

  Couldn’t be that the details were just a tad too far-fetched now, could it?

  Rhys expelled a frustrated breath, juiced the engine and leaned into a soft left-hand turn. If there was one thing Leo was proud of, the McEleod lineage could be traced back to the Mayflower. Shit, Rhys had passed the portraits of each mogul who’d run the empire over the centuries every time he went up and down his father’s god damn stairs.

  Each of them had birth records, had lived to old age and then died. So what explained that inconsistency? Reincarnation? Leo was an evil succubus who stole the lives of his victims in order to extend his own?

  Faedrah had confessed right away she wasn’t sure how Gaelleod had shown up in this time. Apparently, the dude never had access to the mirror. He’d never gotten his hands on the key or convinced Faedrah’s mom to help him make the trip. She didn’t have a clue how he’d done it, but that didn’t lessen her certainty one fucking bit. She was proof positive Leo and this Gaelleod person
were one in the same.

  Her aggravation…the desperate way she’d wrung her hands and paced his floor over being unable to give him an answer had been the icing on the cake. When she could have easily lied, made up a bunch of bullshit to cover her ass, Faedrah had opted for the truth. She’d acknowledged her ignorance—a decision which no doubt nearly killed her—and been honest with him, and that had sealed the deal.

  He would follow her. He would fight for her. He would love her until the end of forever. But none of that meant Leo’s judgment day was over and done. That fucker owed both of them an explanation. Rhys would beat it out of him if he had to, the minute her parents were done ripping him a new one.

  He changed gears into second and then third, following the ramp to the expressway, north.

  Chapter 4

  Faedrah shoved her key into the lock and twisted the knob, and Rhys followed on her heels as she stepped inside the tiled entryway of Forbes’ condo. Mingled voices drifted in from the direction of the living room and she turned, locking her eyes on his as she quietly pushed the door closed over his shoulder.

  A reassuring smile settled on her pretty face, but he wasn’t buying it. No matter how much she tried to fake an outer confidence, there was no hiding the inner worry. Not from him.

  He slipped his hand around her neck and tugged her forehead to his lips. Where the line had been drawn between what she believed…what he believed…he couldn’t make that call. But if his muse still wasn’t convinced her being here had anything to do with him, at least he could console himself there was one thing they’d agreed on.

  Their time together wasn’t over. No way, no how. And he’d be damned sure he used every single second they had left persuading her this—with his hands on her body, his lips on her skin—is where she belonged.

  “Hey.” He pulled back from her. “It’s gonna be okay. As long as we stay on the same page, everything should be fine.”

  “Most assuredly.” She clasped his wrist, fingers holding tight, but something in her voice, or maybe the way she kept her lashes lowered, made him hesitate.

  Dragging his thumb across her throat, he angled her chin up and waited until she met his gaze. “We are in this together, Faedrah.”

  “Of course.”

  Nope. She was hiding something. Something she worried might piss him off, based on the way she trembled.

  She jerked away and Rhys pivoted toward the living room as Forbes’ chuckle coasted in beneath the higher register of a female laugh. According to Faedrah, Oliver and her mom had been close prior to the day she’d jumped through the mirror and into the arms of Faedrah’s dad. Evidently, the two of them had been using the time to catch up.

  “I most certainly did not eat an entire cake!”

  “Oh yes, you did,” Forbes insisted. “And then you complained about your stomach for a week. I didn’t care, though. At least it stopped your kvetching about that idiot who broke your heart.”

  Another round of hilarity echoed down the hall, and Faedrah sighed, shaking her head. “’Twould seem I owe my uncle a debt of immense gratitude. If nothing else, his efforts to waylay the queen’s anger have apparently been successful.”

  Rhys tangled their fingers together, leading Faedrah toward the noise. “Good. Then let’s get this over with before your parents have the chance to remember what ticked them off in the first place.”

  It was a lame attempt at using whatever advantage they could to land on top, but it wasn’t like he and Faedrah had a choice. As it was, their odds at being heard were about the same as standing in front of a firing squad.

  The scent of melted candle wax grew stronger as they closed in on the living room. Same with the smarting tang of a smoldering fire. Rhys frowned. He could’ve sworn Forbes’ fireplace was powered by gas.

  The two of them stepped through the archway and Jon glanced over from where he and Forbes had placed two chairs before the open armoire. His focus dropped to their joined hands, and one of his eyebrows rose. He lifted his eyes to search each of their faces shook his head.

  Shit. Evidently, Rhys and Faedrah’s afternoon jam session hung off both of them like a cheap suit.

  Forbes’ attention never left the armoire. Seemed he was too wrapped up in his conversation with the queen to notice the guests of honor had arrived. A killed bottle of wine sat on the coffee table along with a picked-over platter of fruit and cheese. Leftover swills of burgundy discolored the sides and very bottoms of two thin-stemmed glasses, and Rhys smirked. Or maybe Forbes just had a good buzz going and was too busy reminiscing with an old friend.

  The armoire stood against the same wall as the doorway, the mirror hidden from view…that was, until Faedrah filled her lungs like she was about to take a header into the deep end and stepped inside the room. Rhys’ arm stretched, but he tightened his hold and followed her inside.

  Not one damn thing in her world or his was coming between them. He’d smash the damn glass before he let that happen.

  The conversation screeched to a halt. He turned to face the mirror and his knees gave as the floor tilted off-kilter beneath his boots. What. The. Hell. Sure, he’d believed Faedrah when she’d told him the mirror led to an alternate world, but this… Mumbling a string of obscenities, he dragged his hand down the five o’clock shadow on his face. No description could’ve prepared him for the clarity of the picture, the energy buzzing around the edge of the frame. He squinted and leaned to the side as a tendril of smoke drifted off the candelabra to the left of Faedrah’s mom and crossed into Forbes’ living room.

  Jesus Christ. He darted a glance at Faedrah. Criss Angel had nothing on this mind freak.

  The smiles on the king and queen slowly faded, and Forbes swiveled in his chair as the tension in the room spiked like the pulse on a heart rate monitor.

  “Faedrah…” the queen whispered.

  The seconds ticked by as Rhys sized up their opposition. The king or queen weren’t anywhere near what he’d expected, though their notch-above-the-rest good looks made it clear where Faedrah had inherited her super model body and traffic-stopping beauty. Not that he was surprised. It’d been clear from the day one his muse descended from an enhanced gene pool.

  Instead of fur robes and gaudy costumes, their clothing was pretty plain, though the king’s puffy sleeves and black leather vest could’ve easily doubled as a pirate for Halloween. A gray leather cat suit hugged the queen like a second skin, her white hair pulled back in a long, thick braid. And Rhys had to hand it her, for a woman who had to be in her forties, she was in damn good shape.

  The concern creasing their brows made them seem more real…more normal somehow. In fact, it if wasn’t for the renaissance decor in the room behind them, he would’ve assumed they were one of those weird couples dressed to attend Comic-Con.

  Faedrah dropped to her knees and his jaw firmed as her hand slipped from his. He frowned at her bowed head, lifted his scowl to her parents and crossed his arms. They’d get no such respect from him. Not until they’d earned it. If he’d learned anything as Leo McEleod’s kid, people who demanded obedience were usually the ones who least deserved it.

  “I beg your forgiveness, mother…father.” She folded her hands under her chin and he fought to keep from grabbing her upper arms and hauling her to back her feet. This was such bullshit. What the hell did she have to apologize for? Being the bravest person he’d ever met? Risking everything to save their kingdom? “I swear to you now, the actions I took were my own. Neither Vaighn nor any subject in the realm should be made to bear the punishment for my insubordination.”

  “On your feet, Faedrah.” The king slid a sidelong glance at Rhys before refocusing on his daughter. The queen’s attention, however, stayed glued to Rhys’ face, and he planted his heels against the impulse to shuffle his boots. Jesus Christ, the knowing glint in her sharp green gaze demoted him to a specimen under a microscope, as if she’d already figured out the exact role he played in this game of thrones.

  “The cour
t is not in attendance, and your mother and I have never demanded you kneel whilst alone in our presence.” Faedrah’s dad crossed his arms and muscle corded on either side of his thick neck. Excellent. The dude was a fucking Titan. “Do not attempt supplication to our sympathetic sides now. That time is long spent.”

  She rose, lifting her chin, and pride rushed to the surface over the determination concreted on her face. She wasn’t about to grovel, which meant she planned on sticking to her guns. There’s my girl. “Nevertheless, I disobeyed a direct decree handed down from my king. As a member of the Royal Guard, I am fully prepared to suffer the consequences of my sedition.”

  Like hell. Rhys unlocked his arms, hands balled into fists. So help him God, it was every man for himself if they so much as slapped her wrist.

  The queen’s brow twitched and a soft chuckle shook her shoulders, but she didn’t leave off staring at him like some bizarre tropical fish. Blindly placing her hand on the King’s arm, she tipped her head in Rhys’ direction. “I like him, Caedmon. He’s extremely protective of her. Do you not feel it? Goddesses wept, his frustration over these proceedings has nearly singed my ass in the chair.”

  Forbes grunted. “Try standing in the same room with him. He’s liable to lop a person’s head off if they so much as breathe at your daughter the wrong way.”

  A dreamy sigh issued from Jon, his hand wafting to his chest. “Sorta reminds me of another young man I once met who’d been smitten by an ethereal blonde beauty.”

  Oh, for God’s sake. Rhys rolled his eyes.

  The king’s attention landed on him, but he didn’t so much as flinch. Big as the guy was, he was about to be disappointed if he expected Rhys to tuck tail and run. It cranked his knob to know everyone recognized his obsession for Faedrah, and to shrug off something so important would only make him out to be a cocky prick.

  “So, you are the one to whom our daughter has pledged her heart?”