by T. A. Grey
Tonight Lysette would do much the same. The guards didn’t say anything as they spotted her leaving her bedroom, recognizing the signs of her insomnia.
Lysette paused before passing the guard, smelling the distinct twinge of smoke on him. “Bernard, do you have a cigarette on you?”
Surprised at the question, Bernard nodded and patted down his pockets until he pilfered a pack, holding them out for her.
“May I have one?” She even asked nicely.
Nodding rapidly, Bernard passed her one, which she tucked the spongy filter between her lips.
“Fire,” she said.
Bernard sparked a flame from his lighter and Lysette lit the end. She breathed out a cloud of smoke, already feeling a touch better.
“Merci, Bernard.”
Lysette left a trail of bitter smoke behind her. She found her head hanging, staring at the royal red carpet that lined the middle of the hallways like a grand carpet seen at movie premiers for celebrities. Only this carpet was more than two hundred years old, the edges sewn with gold thread to make a lovely latticed border. Bare footed, she felt the soft spring of the carpet. She loved these raw moments, of doing simple things like walking bare foot. Some things were simply frowned upon when you were a lpha, and not wearing shoes was one of them.
Etienne had never allowed her head to dip. Once to her he’d said: “Only commoners acted thusly. You are a queen, my lady. You shall act as one, every step of the way. Remember, it’s not for you. It’s not even about you, my dear. It’s about them. Our pack. Without them, we’d have no heritage, no home, no people. We must set the example by being it.”
A lone tear slipped down Lysette’s face that she brushed away. Etienne had been so much stronger than she was, and he’d taught her so much. Oh, how she missed him. She missed him so much it hurt--a deep, physical ache in her heart where he used to be. He’d been dead for some time now. For a little while after his death, she’d been able to put on a calm cool. His death, as far as anyone else could tell, didn’t affect her much. That’s how she wished it to be, how Etienne would have wanted it.
Some started calling her The Ice Queen.
Such a cliché that she rolled her eyes when she first heard the whisper.
What her people didn’t know was that it wasn’t until many months later that the true impact of Etienne’s death had struck her--like a hammer blow to the gut. It’d happened the first night she’d needed him and he hadn’t been there for her.
After a hard, long day of dealing with a pack filled with unrest and doubt that she was steadily trying to turn around. She’d gone to bed and needed him so badly to hold her, to tell her what to do, to tell her she was still doing a good job. But he was gone. And he was never coming back.
That night she’d cried as she’d never cried in her whole life. Not even after losing her sister.
Lysette found herself at the foyer down on the first floor. The castle was empty at night, servants having gone to bed. She liked the castle at night. It was quiet and peaceful. Yet, with that quiet, her mind liked to run wild with thoughts. Some of which she didn’t care to have anymore.
She walked the halls, back and forth, the guards knowing better than to acknowledge her presence. They pretended to ignore her, and she them.
A knock sounded at the front door.
Philippe, the butler, had already gone to bed. It was too late for visitors. A guard moved to answer the door, but Lysette waved him off. She swung open the great door--and felt the blood drain from her face.
Xavier Carbon.
The only thought she form: please, no. Not him.
If ever she had a nemesis, it was this man. This horrible man.
Xavier was stocky and tall. He wore a fine heavy coat that belted around his waist and fell below the knees. He had thick black hair he wore swept back to his collar. He had the striking features of a man who might not obtain a woman so easily based on looks; he’d have to be special in some other way. Not attractive of face, more harsh, the nose too large, the eyes too mean. Tanned skin with a hawkish nose and thick, ebony brows were pinched in consternation. He wasn’t handsome per say, but he caught one’s attention with his strong masculine features. He sat somewhere between attractive and scary.
Xavier arched an eyebrow at her. “Well, I must say, I didn’t expect you to answer the door.” He looked at her bare feet and scoffed.
Of course he’d catch her barefooted. Lysette’s toes curled into the floor and she moved her dress to hide her feet. She didn’t like facing him unprepared.
“What are you doing here? You know it’s after midnight.”
“Yes, well, I just arrived in town. I heard the news and came as quickly as I could.”
“The news?” she feigned ignorance.
Xavier looked unimpressed with her, shaking his head and looking around the hall as if searching for someone else who might have the answers he sought. “Yes, yes. Remi’s been slain has he not?”
Lysette’s throat constricted making it difficult to speak. “Yes, yes he was.” There would be a private burial she’d attend tomorrow night. Where they’d light his pyre, give a blessing, and send Remi’s physical body back into the void.
“Poor boy.” He marched into the foyer like he owned the place. “And the culprit is still here?” Xavier pulled off his fine leather gloves and fisted them in one hand. She sure hoped he didn’t invite himself to stay here, as if he had in the past. “Alive?”
“Yes. The culprits are still alive. What are you doing here? This is none of your concern.”
Xavier laughed, the sound full of condescension. He never had thought much of her, at least, not after she rejected him. They had a long history, Lysette and Xavier. One she didn’t enjoy rehashing in the least. Better to forget he even existed. The day news came of his death would be a day of celebration indeed.
“Culprits? There’s more than one of them?” Ridiculous, he muttered softly in French. “Care to explain why these murderers have not been executed for murdering the Prince of Gerioux?”
The door now wide open but empty, Lysette resolved herself and closed it. She yearned to lean against it for support, but that would appear weak. Never look weak in the eyes of the enemy, Etienne had taught her. So she put on her royal face. Shoulder back, spine erect, chin tall, and eyes hard.
“Yes, there are two of them. Hanna MacKellen and Alex Thompson.”
Xavier thought for a minute. “MacKellen...MacKellen. Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Hanna is Gavin MacKellen’s sister—”
Xavier cut her off. “Enough said. Now, care to explain why they are not dead yet?”
“Not really.”
Her response took him by surprise; he hadn’t been expecting that.
“Excuse me?”
Lysette was queen. She did not answer to no one, least of all him, if she did not wish to. No more than a man, yet one of significant lineage, who’d once attempted to challenge her for the very throne she sat upon now. He’d changed his mind, for one reason or another. Of course, their history went ever further back than that. To a time when Etienne thought he’d lose her to him, but she knew whom she’d wanted the whole time. And it was not Maxim Xavier Carbon. No matter how hard he’d tried to win her hand.
“Did I not speak clearly enough?” Her voice rose.
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I believe you did actually. Bon. So, they are in the dungeons awaiting execution I take it?”
“Non.”
His hands formed fists which gathered at his waist to form an imposing figure. “And why not? They did murder Remi did they not?”
Lysette felt the guard’s eyes on them, watchful in case Xavier tried to do anything stupid. She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. But he wouldn’t physically hurt her like that, he’d simply rather take over the throne. “It looks like it. Though we’re uncertain if the man or the woman actually committed the murder. She claims he was chasing her, possibly to
rape her. The man agrees, yet we have no counter-witnesses, only their own claims. Naturally they’ll defend themselves.”
Xavier nodded, rubbing the cleft in chin thoughtfully. “Oui, of course. Naturally they must be made an example of. Both of them. They cannot be allowed to kill a member of the Gerioux royal class without steep punishment. It would set unprecedented grounds if we do not act swiftly. Other packs will see it as a weakness. They may try to overthrow you.”
Something Lysette feared greatly.
“Justice will be dealt, but fairly Monsieur Carbon. Consider the stay in execution time for a fair trial as I review their testimonies and mourn for the loss of my nephew.”
A bitter look on his face, Xavier shook his head in disapproval. Something she said had rattled him.
“You should’ve beheaded them both. This would already be done. You are only foregoing the inevitable.”
Lysette’s laughter trickled over them. “I do not agree. I may execute the man only and accept Gavin MacKellens lucrative generosity if I spare his precious little sister. He’s offering steep benefaction.”
“You will appear weak if you take his deal.” Disgusted, he paced in a tight circle. Lysette could see the anger in him. It was always something that had frightened her about him. This was a man capable of great things and violence was one of them. She’d seen what he was capable of firsthand.
Lysette had said all she needed to say. She marched to the front door and pulled it open, motioning for Xavier to make his departure.
Xavier smiled at her, one that said he was merely humoring her. “Shall I be going now, my queen?” He’d stopped right next to her as he said it, looking her hard in the eyes.
Those striking baby blue eyes had once had an effect on her. One which had made her doubt her entire life at one point. Lysette had made the right decision in the end. She knew that now with all her heart.
“Oui.”
Mocking laughter trailing him, Xavier nodded and slipped outside into the bitter air. Moonlight reflected off the beautiful snow in an ocean of pale splendor. Fresh flakes were drifting from the cloud-covered sky. They landed on his black overcoat, little white stars of frozen water.
“I’ll be back Lysette. To ensure you do what needs to be done.”
Anger seeped into her bones, making the hand she held on the door dig grooves into the wood. “Oh really?” She kept her voice bored to irritate him.
“Oui. A week isn’t a long time, but it is enough time to dethrone a crown.”
With those parting words, Xavier turned and retreated to his parked limousine. The steam from the running engine billowing in a smoky haze at the rear. A chauffeur jumped out of the front seat and moved around the car to open the door for him.
Looking back at her, Xavier said one last thing. “Remember what I said, Lysette. I will be back.”
A promise he would keep.
Lysette closed the door, and then turned the bolt to latch it. Spinning around, she finally collapsed back against it. Her head spun from a mixture of rushing adrenaline, fear, and too much booze. Suddenly out of nowhere, she belched a rather unladylike sound. When she opened her eyes, she stiffened, a silent curse falling from her lips.
Jo MacKellen stood atop the stairway looking down at the scene.
“How long have you been standing there?” She hadn’t meant to shout, but her nerves were fried. How much had he heard? Panic was like a bee swarm in her mind, noisily buzzing in spinning circles.
Jo treaded down the stairs. “Lower your voice, people are asleep you know.” How did he always act so calm and nonchalant? She’d hardly been around the man but she found him infuriating. Nothing seemed to crack that diligent shell he kept around him.
“Who was that?”
“That was Monsieur Maxim Xavier Carbon.” At Jo’s questioning look, she answered. “He doesn’t go by his first name because he was named after his father. He hates his father.”
“I see. So, he just stops by on occasion to harass you then?” He almost sounded defensive for her, which she was certainly must be misconstruing.
“I haven’t seen Monsieur Carbon in more than eleven years.” He looked the same, merely older, harder. Meaner.
“He wants the alpha position. He’d have to fight you for it in a physical battle. I don’t think he wants to do that.” Jo observed as one might remark on a shift in weather change.
Ah yes, clouds are coming in heavy, might get rain.
“I know what he wants. He wants to rule this pack. He never will.”
Jo nodded. “You sound certain, but how can you be?”
Lysette’s jaw crunched as she slid it to the side. “Because I won’t allow it.” She started away from him, finished with this conversation, but a sturdy grip on her arm stopped her. “You would lay your hand on the queen?” she hissed at him. Her anger had little to do with him and more to do with everything that had just occurred. She needed to retreat, to think, and to make plans. Things were going to get ugly with Xavier around.
Jo released her, tossing his hands up and taking a step back. “Listen I don’t want to keep you but he’s dangerous. You have to be careful.”
“As if I don’t already know that. Listen here, Jonas MacKellen.” She stood to her tallest height, which appeared lackluster without her heels. “I’ve known Maxim for a very long time. Since I was sixteen years old. If anyone knows what he’s capable of it is me.”
“Just thought I’d throw it out there that Gavin’s protection would help you. In the event that anything untoward happened to you or your pack. You’d have the full weight of the MacKellens backing you. Do you have any other packs supporting you right now?”
Lysette’s temper flared. She did not take kindly to being talk down to, never had. “I know full well what Gavin is offering and you know full well that we standalone out here. I said it once and I’ll say it again, I will consider Gavin’s proposal. But the death of Remi still must be dealt with. One way or another.”
Lysette left Jo MacKellen standing in the foyer.
When she finally made it back to bed, she couldn’t sleep a wink. But she did stay up thinking about a certain lykaen with the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. He was the kind of soldier who showed little emotion but cared wholly and deeply. Why else would he have come all this way to help fight for his cousin’s life?
Lysette had been studying him. Probably as much as he’d been studying her. That they had in common. So far she’d learned that Jo was a man who didn’t seem phased by her luxurious outfits or her emotional outbursts, nor did he appear impressed by her. This bothered her. Mostly because this was unusual for her. Most people were enthralled with her--she was a queen and alpha of the Gerioux pack. It only made sense that people would find her interesting. But Jo MacKellen did not. Had some other woman, so wonderful and charismatic already entered his life and filled it up?
Or had some poor woman ruined his heart for others. He did seem to have a chip on his shoulder towards women.
That may only be her opinion, but when a man shunned women as hard as he tried, it was oft for reason.
Chapter SIXTEEN
Entwined with Hanna on a dilapidated cot on the barren floor, Alex was wrapped in a woman’s sweet, passionate embrace. Bodies braced together, undulating rhythmically in baser urges, hips arching and stroking, hands climbing down a narrow waist and up a firm, slender thigh. Alex was lost in her. Utterly gone. His mind shut down the minute she kissed him. Fact was Alex had wanted a taste of Hanna for a very long time, and not a brief little kiss in the middle of a bar on a weekday. But this kind of kissing. Real kissing. Hot and passionate and wet, while their bodies grinded against each other, their heavy panting and soft moans the only music needed. Boy was it beautiful.
And not enough. He needed more. The more she suckled his tongue, the harder he wanted to kiss her. The more she ground that hot little pelvis into him, the harder his cock got, until he felt ready to burst. Fuck, at this rate he would be ready
to come in his jeans in no time. He hadn’t been with a woman that turned him on like that since he was a teenager. Nothing compared to her touch, to those soft little sounds she made, which drove him wild. He was greedy for it, touching her everywhere to see if he could drive her to make more of those sexy noises. And she did.
“Oh, Alex,” she moaned. Hot breath in his ear, panting, damp lips suckling at his neck until he groaned and shove his cock in the cleft between her thighs. Exactly where he’d wanted to be. Her jeans met his, their clothes becoming an annoying irritant between them.
Christ, hearing her say his name like that, made his eyes roll in the back of his head. She rocked her pelvis against him. He knew what she wanted. Could decipher her body’s physical needs. Damn did he want to give it to her, would give it to her, but she had to be patient. He had far too much he wanted to get to know first.
Starting with those amazing breasts.
Alex pulled back from the kiss. Panting up at him, Hanna made quite the sight as she flopped back, smiling the sexiest grin he’d ever seen, arms lax by her head. As he inhaled deeply trying to catch his breath, he sucked in her aroused scent like musk. His cock throbbed at the scent, the enticing aroma beckoning him like a whore with a wink and a nod. For a moment he imagined simply pulling his zipper down, reaching inside to pull his cock out. Would she like it? Reach for it with her soft little hands and stroke him? He shivered and pushed those thoughts aside, knowing full well he couldn’t just pull his cock out like that. It was too soon, and the lights were too bright.
“I’ve want to feel these.” A gruffly voiced statement. Alex never had been much for bedroom talk, but he felt the need to tell her how he felt. Hanna was different from those other women.
“You do?” came her soft question.
Not one to waste around doing nothing, Alex began tugging her two layers of shirts up. He couldn’t answer as his mouth went dry. First, he’d been focused on the sight of her stomach--a feminine, flat thing that curved outward at the hips, curing in all the right places. One thing he realized was how small she looked .So much smaller than he could have pictured, her waist this tiny thing he wanted to bury his hands around...while fucking her.