The Silver Eyed Prince (Highest Royal Coven of Europe)

by VJ Dunraven

  He leaned on his elbows on the table, forming a steeple with his fingers. He lost heavily that day and two good men sacrificed their lives for his cause. Men like that were very hard to find.

  His eyes rested on the Officer in front of him. “Major Reynolds, how long have you been working for me?”

  “Fifty-one years in July, Your Grace.”

  “Please remove your pin,” the Duke commanded.

  “Your Grace?” The Major glanced at the gold oak leaf pin on his chest.

  “Give it to me.” The Duke held out his hand as the Major fumbled with the catch.

  “Your Grace? I don't understand—” Major Reynolds watched as the Duke casually threw the gold pin inside his desk drawer and rose from his chair.

  “Stand at attention, Major Reynolds.” John Drake stood before him.

  The Major immediately straightened and focused his gaze to the fore.

  “You are hereby promoted to the rank of Colonel.” The Duke pinned a silver eagle on his uniform in place of the old one. “Congratulations, Colonel Ralph Reynolds.” He proffered his hand to the stunned former Major.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” He shook his hand.

  “It is I who should thank you, Colonel Reynolds. Your promotion has been long delayed and well deserved.” The Duke patted his shoulder and indicated the seat before his desk. “Now, let's get on with business.” He regarded the surveillance picture of the newly arrived officer. “Have you identified this man?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. It is General Bradford of the European Royal Army.”

  John Drake instantly recognized the name. The General was well known for his brilliant military tactics and proficiency in weapons. Obviously, his arrival together with the team of assassins meant they’d discovered a threat to Elizabeth and her mother. Whether they knew the danger was from his camp or not, they must act fast before Colonel Gunter and the General joined forces.

  “We must put our plan into action very soon.” He glanced at Colonel Reynolds as he shuffled through the rest of the pictures. “Our soldiers are not fit to go against the Colonel and his assassins in man to man combat, but we could overwhelm them by sheer numbers. Three hundred men—, enough to keep them engaged so we can focus on our primary target. We'll launch our campaign at night, when our men are most confident.” His eyes met Colonel Reynold's across the desk.

  He need not remind him that Colonel Gunter ambushed their camp at high noon, using sunlight to their advantage, catching them off guard, unaccustomed to fighting in broad daylight.

  “I will gather the men for immediate briefing, Your Grace,” Colonel Reynolds replied grimly.

  “Intensify your surveillance. We need to know every move they make. Avoid unnecessary confrontation. We must be able to execute our plans at a moment's notice when there is a lapse in security.”

  “I will see to it, Your Grace.”

  “Very well.” The Duke dismissed him and watched him walk towards the door with a bleak expression on his face. Both of them knew the price of the dangerous mission they were about to embark on. There would be heavy casualties and many lives would be lost, not to mention the relentless pursuit of the vicious European Army that they must contend with, afterwards.

  Chapter 49

  Ways to Kill

  Elizabeth couldn't keep her mind on Dr. Jeff's class no matter how hard she tried. She glanced once again towards the back row where Chad liked to sit. Where is he? She sighed and flicked another sideways peek, this time at the opposite corner.

  “What are you doing?” Lela whispered next to her.

  “Looking for Chad,” she murmured, darting her eyes at Dr. Jeff who was writing on the board. “Have you guys seen him?”

  “No,” Lela said under her breath. “Haven't seen him since we left the two of you waiting for Prince William.”

  Elizabeth toyed with her pen. Chad had not been around since the two strange men appeared yesterday. She slid her gaze towards the doors where each one was posted. They wore black leather outfits like Major Alexander and were constantly alert and watchful. She had asked William about them and he had insinuated that they were there to keep things in order. Or where they there, more specifically, to keep others from bullying her?

  She frowned and stole another glimpse at the last row as the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Where’s Chad? Why isn't he answering her calls and texts?She realized how much she missed him—, and Bryan, too. She took out her phone and typed, “Wish you were here,” in response to Bryan’s text earlier. He’d been asking when she would come home from her Aunt Karen’s in New York, and she’d been dodging him with vague answers. She stared at his picture on the screen with a sigh, before slipping the phone back in her bag as she stood up to follow her friends out the door.

  Combat class was held inside the open-air coliseum. Elizabeth watched as Major Alexander stood in front of the class, carrying an unusual-looking silver sword.

  “Uh-oh,” Ben murmured. “I hope we're not his guinea pigs.”

  “Sshhh!” Lela glared at him as the Major hoisted the sword in the air, the reflection of the bright coliseum lights bouncing off its blade.

  Major Alexander pinned his eyes in their direction. “Mr. Walker!”

  “Absent!” Ben ducked behind Lela.

  The Major swung his sword back and forth, making swishing sounds as he went. “Mr. Walker, if you're going to pretend you're not in class, try not to wear a yellow hat with a mini propeller on top. I can spot you from a mile away. Come here. Now.”

  “Go!” Lela shoved Ben, who dashed to the front.

  “Ah, Miss Ikeda.” Major Alexander shifted his attention to Lela. “Why don't you tell us about the ways to destroy a Deimon, while I demonstrate the process with Mr. Walker here?”

  “D-demonstrate, Sir?” Lela gulped. “By decapitation and dismemberment?”

  “Correct—, with the use of a sword made of sterling silver, a pure metal of the highest thermal and electrical conductivity that stings and burns on contact.” The Major held the weapon in a horizontal position to show two layers of serrated blades, separated by less than an inch of space in between. “The blades are sharpened to perfection, designed to make a precise, but severely mutilated cut.” He swung the weapon with both hands in a wide arc over his head, stopping within inches of Ben's neck. “The more mangled the injury, the longer the recovery.”

  The mini propeller on Ben's hat began to rotate slowly and shake.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Walker?” Major Alexander jabbed the sword to the ground.

  “I think I almost had a miscarriage, Sir.” Ben stood motionless like a zombie. “But other than that, I'm okay.”

  “Good. Now—, Miss Ikeda?” The Major turned to where Lela stood.

  “Yes, Sir.” Lela swallowed.

  “Why do we dismember or decapitate an enemy?”

  “To disable him, Sir.”

  “Very good.” Major Alexander inserted the sword in its scabbard on his back. “Unlike humans, we are highly resilient and durable. Dismemberment and decapitation are considered major traumatic injuries, but they do not cause immediate complete systemic failure, therefore, regeneration is possible.

  “But I must warn you. If you do not cremate your enemy within an hour of decapitation and dismemberment, the severed parts will drift and locate the torso. If contact occurs, swift recovery begins. Before you know it, your enemy is back on its feet with a vengeance. Now—, Miss Ikeda, do you know of any other method to debilitate the enemy more severely?”

  “By plunging a dagger through the heart?”

  “Yes!” The Major extracted a dagger from its sheath on his belt and raised it for everyone to see. “The curved tip on this silver dagger literally anchors it to the flesh of the heart. It is designed to cause serious damage if the enemy pulled it out. For the dagger to lodge in more securely, the direction of the thrust should be at an angle.”

  The Major leapt in the air with both hands clutching the dagg
er overhead and landed close enough to thrust it at a forty-five degree angle, an inch away from Ben's chest. The mini propeller shook more violently and Ben uttered something about giving birth to a real baby.

  “Thank you, Mr. Walker, for participating in today's demonstration. You may go back to your row.” Major Alexander shifted his attention to the class. “The classic techniques you have just witnessed are used to incapacitate the enemy prior to cremation, which will complete the kill.”

  “Sir?” Bret raised a hand with a black leather band at the wrist, brimming with pointed spikes. “Won't a dagger to the heart not only incapacitate, but kill a Deimon too?”

  “Yes, Mr. Kline, but only temporarily. It impairs all the bodily functions, shutting down the brain and paralyzing the enemy, but it won't kill him completely.”

  “You mean a Deimon could still recover after being staked?” Julie Anne asked.

  “As long as someone pulls the dagger off him, Miss Riggs. If not, then he will stay frozen, lifeless to a degree. Remember, our body temperature is significantly lower than that of humans. The only factors stabilizing our temperature are our functioning bodily systems. If these fail collectively, our temperature plunges. Hence, we freeze to death—literally. Does anyone have any idea how it feels like to get staked?” Major Alexander swept his eyes around the class. “No? Very well. It's like having a major heart attack.” He squeezed his fist over his heart. “A massive pressure builds up before the heart begins to solidify. All the arteries and veins in the body calcify and circulation stops. A total systemic failure follows. The pain is extremely excruciating, comparable to a slow death. Then, final paralysis sets in within a minute or two.”

  “Damn! That was hardcore, man!” Carlos exclaimed as the bell rang and Major Alexander dismissed the class.

  “Hardcore?” Ben grimaced as they piled to the exit door. “Try standing in front, waiting for your head to get chopped off and you'll know what hardcore really means!”

  “By the way—, that was cool.” Carlos elbowed Ben. “I bet Bart Hammerstein would've crapped in his pants even before Major Alexander wielded that mean-looking sword.”

  “Talking about Bart,” Lela whispered, darting her eyes towards the guy in question, who was walking with his friends several paces ahead of them in the corridor. “He and his cronies have been keeping a low profile since that incident with Chad.”

  “I'm really worried about Chad,” Elizabeth said. “He was acting kinda weird last time I saw him.”

  “Weird, as in—?” Lela asked.

  “I don't know—, troubled, I guess,” she replied. “I just had the impression he was saying goodbye or something.”

  “Look, dah-ling—,” Ben placed a hand on her arm, “face the facts. The guy likes you. My diva radar picked that up eons ago. Now don't stare at me as if I've grown an extra eye on my forehead. Like I said, we're not blind or stupid. We do notice things, you know.”

  “Actually,” Carlos interjected before she could say anything, “I think Chad more than likes you. Seriously—, he has the super-hots for you. Anyone can see from the way he looks at you, even from the first time, when he gave you the eyes at the dining hall.”

  “We kinda knew it for a while.” Lela shrugged. “We thought he was eventually going to make his move so we just watched and waited, but then the Prince showed up and I think that really rattled him. I mean—, put yourself in his shoes. How can one compete with a rival who's the sole heir to the throne?”

  “Bottom line is,” Ben said as they reached the parking lot exit, “the guy is probably broken hearted, that's why he's acting strange and staying away.”

  Elizabeth shook her head with a snort. “I think you guys are exaggerating things. Chad is a good friend and we hit it off easily. For all we know, he might be sick or something.”

  “Honey, Deimons don't get sick.” Ben arched a painted eyebrow. “The guy is probably too depressed because he's madly in love with you. Unfortunately, you're already taken by Prince Hottie, speaking of which, here he comes—, on time, for once.”

  Chapter 50

  Star-crossed Lovers

  Catherine followed the tall, brown haired American Officer who had introduced himself as Colonel Reynolds when he picked her up from the hotel. He drove her to an isolated private property and led her to a surprisingly modern building surrounded by dense woods.

  Inside, Catherine was amazed to find that the first five floors were military headquarters with several desks, computers, maps on the walls and uniformed men busily going about their tasks. As they stepped off the escalator and entered the double doors on the sixth floor, however, she was astonished to discover that inside was a luxurious residence.

  “Lady Catherine, Your Grace,” Colonel Reynolds announced as they entered a spacious, elegantly appointed room.

  John Drake rose from his chair behind a large table. “Catherine. Welcome.”

  “Your Grace.” Catherine curtsied and watched his amused expression at her formality.

  “That will be all, Colonel Reynolds. Please ensure that no one disturbs us,” John said, but his eyes remained on her.

  Colonel Reynolds bowed and took his leave, shutting the door with a dull click.

  “Your Grace, the Colonel said you have information for me.” Catherine studied the immaculately dressed man before her. His dark blond hair had grown a little longer since the last time she saw him, which made him look even more handsome. She watched as he crossed the space between them in long lazy strides, his lips curving into a sensuous smile.

  “Ah, propriety, propriety.” He lowered his head.

  Instinctively, she raised her lips, but he gave her an open mouthed kiss along the side of her throat instead, swirling his tongue languidly on her skin.

  Catherine caught her breath and closed her eyes, trying to control the burst of desire that his nearness, his scent, his voluptuous kiss had invoked. “John ... don't . . .” She sighed, as his arms closed about her waist, pressing her body against his.

  “Just so you know,” he rasped, biting her earlobe gently. “I always mix business with pleasure—, but I always take pleasure first.”

  She gasped, as he swept her into his arms and strode towards the enormous chaise in front of the fireplace.

  John knew his plans would have to wait the moment he saw Catherine walk through the door into his study. Her beauty never failed to take his breath away, her fragrance inundating his senses, waking him, flooding him with a torrent of aching need. To him, she was a burning beacon, and he, a moth, completely mesmerized by her flame, eager to plunge into the fire of her scorching inferno.

  “I want you,” he whispered in a voice as deep as his longing. “And I know you want me too.” he pinned her wrists above her head and looked into her desire-glazed eyes. “Don't deny it.”

  Several moments later, Catherine stared at the dancing shadows on the ceiling cast by the dwindling light from the fireplace. She felt sated and whole, almost happy, but then . . .

  “We can't keep on doing this.” She lifted her head from John's shoulder and turned to look into his expressive eyes.

  “It's too late for that.” He coiled his arm tighter around her waist. “My men have already collected your belongings. You're staying with me.”

  “No!” Catherine gaped at him, abruptly straightening to sit up, but he held her firmly against him. “You can't do this! You can't keep me here against my will.”

  “Oh, but I just did,” he drawled, imprisoning her in a snug embrace. Then, in a more somber tone, “you belong with me, Catherine. I love you and this time, I'm not letting you go.”

  Catherine gazed into his eyes and saw all the suffering, betrayal, and heartbreak he endured from their separation and her infidelity. But in spite of it all, the ray of his love shone through, lifting the dark clouds of the past, surviving the onslaught, and outlasting everything to emerge like an impregnable fortress in the middle of a roiling catastrophe.

  Her eyes misted, spe
echless at the greatness and faithfulness of the man who held her in his arms. No one—, not even her mother—, loved her as much as he did.

  All at once, she was reminded of why she had fallen in love with him. Of why through the years the beloved image of his face was imprinted in her memory. Try as she might to deny it, she had known no other happiness except for the time they'd spent together, cherished moments stored in the treasure-chest she kept in secret, buried within the depths of her heart.

  A profound sense of culpability struck her like a jagged knife. She suddenly felt remorseful, chastened, and ashamed of her role that contributed to the tragedy of their love. She'd never even had the chance to properly mourn him—, to grieve what they'd lost. Her mother made sure of that. She was immediately whisked away to all the exclusive balls, to be displayed and admired, so the Prince would notice her. And she was a fool for believing in the fantasy that one day she would be Queen.

  The degree of her weakness, infidelity, asininity and vanity, rose into a monstrous beast that devoured what was left of her dignity. “No, John, please don't—,” her voice quavered, as the threat of tears weighed on her lids, “you can't love me still. I've done nothing, but hurt and humiliate you. I may be European, but it is I, who doesn't deserve you. I—, who is not worthy of you. Let me go. Find another.”

  He regarded her for a moment with those eloquent eyes, before he reached out to brush the trail of tears from her cheeks. “Look at me Catherine, and tell me that you don't love me.”

  She heaved a deep breath and leveled her gaze on him, preparing to inflict the worst injury of all. But as she read the same hope and dreams they once shared written all over his handsome face brimming with the fortitude of his love, her resoluteness departed.

  How could she look him in the eye and lie, tell him that she didn’t love him, when after all this time, not one man had truly taken his place in her heart—not even the highest Prince?