The Wrath of the King (Royals Book 5)

by Bourdon, Danielle

  Hell with that.

  They'd have to run her off the road first.

  Much to her surprise, the vehicle pulled up alongside the old truck, pacing her while honking the horn repeatedly. They wanted her to stop, sure enough. With all the rain on the windows, she couldn't see much, and didn't bother to look. She gave the truck more gas, leaning forward in the seat like that might help her see better.

  The vehicle paced her, easily keeping up. Then it surged forward and nudged closer.

  Gasping, Chey veered the truck to avoid impact on the front fender. They really were trying to run her off the road! It hadn't been a hard motion, but it still freaked her out. She understood the intent was to force her to slow down. It worked, too. There was nowhere to go but the soft shoulder, and, fearing a spin-out, she chose to back off the gas as the looming, black truck nudged toward her again. Chey stomped the brakes that time, steering through a rough fish-tail. The truck screeched to a halt. She jammed the gear into reverse, intending to back up and either go around or ram the damn thing if she had to.

  Shocked to see a military man running at the truck, she reached over to punch the locks down, missing twice for the panic setting in. He was going to beat her to the door.

  Then it was open and she took a swing toward the adversary. He caught her wrist with too much ease.

  “Chey!”

  Her strength waned and her eyes opened wider. It couldn't be.

  “Sander?” But it was. Sander stood there in full military regalia, drenched to the bone, holding her wrist in a gentle but firm grip. He pulled her to him at the same time she all but flew out of the truck into his arms. Right away she was struck by his familiar scent, the heat of his skin. Chey wanted to melt and cry at the same time.

  “Are you all right? I'm sorry about the truck, but I had to slow you down,” he rumbled near her ear. He leaned back to claim her mouth in a bold kiss, giving her no time to answer.

  Once she caught her breath, she said, “I thought you were them. I thought they found the farmhouse and the wife told them where to go. I'm fine, Sander, I'm fine.”

  Sander swung her up into his arms, carrying her like she weighed nothing to the Hummer. “It was us. We got a call from Hanna, of all people, and she set us on the right path. You did good.”

  Chey held on tight, careless of the rain. She knew Sander must be fighting through pain and his wounds, but was so glad to see him. “I managed to get one call out. Are you all right? When did you wake up? I was so scared they got to you in the hospital.”

  Sander walked her to the back passenger door and set her on the seat. Gunnar had thoughtfully opened the door and was already in the driver's seat, prepared to take over.

  “I woke up to find my sister and Krislin defending me in the hospital room. We got out of there as fast as we could. Went to a safe house in the city where I started to make plans to get you out of Paavo's holding.”

  Chey refused to let go of Sander, holding onto him as they embarked and Gunnar got the Hummer in gear. Behind, the truck sat an angle in the road, the headlights shining twin beams into the rain.

  “They took me right out of your room. Paavo really made a concerted effort to overthrow you, Sander, and I thought for sure he meant to do you in.” She pressed smaller kisses along his jaw, feeling his hand on her belly while he assured himself she was intact and wound free.

  “Yeah, I found that out during briefing. All this time, he's been planning a coup. I should have seen it coming after the Bashir fiasco. He gave in too easy, and that was my first clue.”

  “He's your brother. You couldn't have known he would pursue it like this. None of us did. I'm so glad you got out before they hurt you,” she whispered. Chey tucked her face into the crook of Sander's throat, relieve in a hundred different ways to be reunited with him.

  “Natalia and Krislin really stepped up. I owe them,” Sander said. “I guess they would have finished what they started with the attack on the caravan.”

  Chey shuddered to hear it. To think Paavo would go as far as murder to take over the country. But wasn't that the way of greedy, power hungry people? Willing to stop at nothing to get what they wanted? Paavo had decided Latvala was his after the former King deigned to sit Paavo on the throne instead of other, legitimate heirs. That power went to Paavo's head, made him desperate and dangerous.

  “You helped Natalia out of a bad situation and she knows it. I hope she'll keep on this road, a less nasty, more mature one that will enrich her life instead of alienating her from everyone she secretly holds dear. Krislin was invaluable to me, too. She stayed behind to let me snitch a little rest while I watched over you.” Chey would be forever indebted to Krislin for it.

  “Either way, we have you back, and that's what matters. How is the baby? Are you in pain anywhere?” he asked, glancing ahead through the windshield then down to Chey.

  “Fine, I think. I had to walk several miles or so to get to that farmhouse, which wasn't pleasant considering it was through the forest, in the dark, and I kept tripping over things. But I made it and I'm not in labor, so I can't complain.” The cramps and aches had stopped, much to Chey's relief.

  Sander muttered a slew of curses under his breath. “I'm going to kill him for putting you through this.”

  She slanted a look up his cheek to his eyes. Sander sounded serious. She'd heard him make threats like this before, usually in passing and never literal. He'd told her in the past he wasn't that kind of man. She believed him. This, like the other times, was a figure of speech. If anyone asked her, however, she wouldn't be able to correctly identify what punishment Paavo should suffer for his actions. He'd tried to kill Sander, had killed some of the men in the caravan and who knew how many others. Those, along with treason, were serious crimes.

  “Right now, I just want to get somewhere safe and find Wynn. I have no idea where she is, but I'm afraid she may be in danger as well.”

  “We'll figure it out the second we reach my holding.”

  “Which one is that? Have I been there before, and how do you know it's safe?” Chey asked, wary to go somewhere new and different unless she was sure they could trust the people who might be guarding it.

  “A less well known holding about an hour and a half from here. The helicopter can't fly in these conditions so we'll have to drive. I know it's safe because I personally selected the people who are there waiting,” he replied. Sander kissed the top of her head, squeezing her shoulders with the arm looped around them.

  “You're sure you can trust them?”

  “Yes. Absolutely sure.”

  “Sander, Leander just texted me. He's got Wynn and they're on their way to your holding. I told them that's the location where we're all meeting up,” Gunnar reported from the front seat.

  “Oh, I'm so glad to hear she's safe,” Chey said, wilting against Sander.

  “Excellent. We'll take stock once we get everyone in the same house. Krislin and Natalia should already be there when we arrive.”

  “Do you think we'll run into any troops along the way?” Chey asked when the thought occurred. She chastised herself for becoming too complacent too quickly.

  “I don't know, Chey. Maybe. We'll deal with it if we do though,” Sander said. He tilted his head back against the seat, one arm still around Chey's shoulders.

  “All right. Do you need anything for pain? New bandages? You look so tired, Sander,” she said, concern for his welfare surfacing once more.

  “I'm fine. Resting my head in case we have to combat our way through a check-point.”

  “Are you dizzy?”

  “A little bit. Nothing detrimental.”

  “You wouldn't tell me if it was really bad, would you?” she asked, suspicious he was in more pain than he let on. After all this time, Chey had learned the hard way that Sander was capable of withstanding quite a bit of damage to his person.

  “No.” He smiled a broad smile without opening his eyes.

  “That right there tells me all I ne
ed to know,” Chey said, running the back of her fingers over his cheek, heedless of the grease.

  “I'm all right,” he repeated, cracking open an eye to see her. “A good night's sleep is all I need.”

  What Chey read in his gaze was, You're all I need. Flushed with pleasure at what he didn't say, Chey leaned her head against his shoulder and settled in for the ride.

  Praying that the next hour and a half would pass quickly and that they wouldn't run into trouble along the way.

  . . .

  Paavo stared at the mess in the foyer, furious at the group of men standing like whipped dogs near the base of the stairs. Men in uniform who, as far as he was concerned, were an embarrassment to the word soldier. He didn't care if half of them had been plucked straight from the land, with no training and no real fighting skill. They should have done a better job. And those with training—well.

  “Does anyone know where either Chey or Wynn have gone? Both women, both missing from the castle and the grounds. One of them was right beneath your collective noses, amongst you, and somehow, you still lost her.” Paavo paced in front of the ragtag group, disgusted beyond belief. Many of the best soldiers in the Latvala army hadn't been converted to his cause, leaving him with a scattered array of talent. Talent that was not nearly as organized as he wanted them to be.

  None of the men seemed to know where Chey or Wynn had disappeared to, serving to spike his temper further. Both women under his roof; both now gone.

  Unbelievable.

  “I want search parties scouring every inch of this castle, basement to turret. And the grounds. Search the creek, the nearby caves—everywhere. They can't be far. One of them is almost nine months pregnant—if she can outrun you, then you're all fired.” He dismissed the men with a flippant wave of his hand, stalking away to his office on the ground floor.

  With the fire doused, clean up crews were organizing to begin cleaning the mess. It was still too smoky in the upper floors, the scent of charred wood, paper and material lingering in the air. The latest report wavered on the cause of the fire, from a spark thrown onto a carpet from the fireplace to arson. No one was one-hundred percent sure yet.

  In his office, Paavo kicked the door closed, snatched up a whiskey decanter, and poured himself a drink. Taking it to the window, he looked out over the courtyard, turning the tumbler between his fingers. Yet to lift the potent liquor to his lips, he inwardly seethed at the attack amidst the fire catastrophe. He suspected it was a team sent by Sander, who had also disappeared. It couldn't be coincidence. Except the team that invaded his property hadn't left with anything as far as anyone could tell. Chey—the suspected target—had already been gone by then. So what was the point? What else were they after?

  An uncomfortable answer whispered across his mind: you.

  Instead of taking a drink, he cocked his arm back, pivoted in place, and launched the tumbler across the room. Liquor splashed across his desk and the floor. The tumbler cracked against the mantle and shattered into a thousand pieces. Even that subtle bit of violence couldn't take the edge off his anger.

  So close. He was so close to a successful coup. Yes, there was a lot of work to be done. There always was when someone new took over the throne by force. But he had the title within his grasp, had a good start on a new military that would, eventually, infiltrate all other regiments and spread the seed of his control. He had one of the best Generals in his pocket, a man willing to sacrifice it all on his behalf.

  Despite everything, he felt his position start to slip. With every escape and disappearance, it set him back. Now he had to worry about men sneaking into his castle on whatever nefarious business sent them there to begin with.

  They'd been seeking Chey, he was sure of it. But what about him? Ingvar's insistence that he leave the castle immediately upon discovery of the fire paid off in spades. If not for that extreme act of caution, where might he be? Dead? Behind bars? A prisoner in his own dungeon? He quailed at the thought.

  Prison was not for him. He'd rather be dead than rot the rest of his life away in a cell. And he'd come too far now to turn back. To wait for Dare to resurface and ask for forgiveness. The only way was forward. Forward with a vengeance. From this moment on, he could show no mercy to anyone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Twilight bathed the landscape in pink and gold, chasing the darkness away. It slanted across the spires jutting up from Sander's holding and splashed the colors of dawn over the window panes. A break in the rain allowed Sander to carry Chey from the Hummer to the front doors, where a butler and armed guards waited.

  All her protests about his health and her ability to walk went unheard by the King. He laid out orders for extra protection as he climbed the stone steps and swept inside, the gutted soles of his combat boots squeaking over a marble floor.

  Standing four stories, the castle was smaller than the others but still large by anyone's standard. Chey eyed the vaulted ceilings, stone archways, and mullioned windows overlooking acres of green grass. A far wall prevented strays from wandering onto the property and the guardhouse at the front gate added another layer of security to an already secure location. Chey thought Royalty might refer to this as a 'country house'. One not near the cities and lacking the high ramparts, baileys and other extreme protection measures better suited to a castle under siege.

  She could tell this structure had undergone renovation at some point, since the floors were marble instead of stone, like the others.

  Sander carried her all the way to the fourth floor and into a master suite with a vast view of the grounds. Like every other Kingly suite, this one was lavish in its décor. Heavy wood furniture was offset by cream walls, crown molding and subdued colors of dark green, deep crimson and neutral browns. The ceiling sported a master painting of hounds and riders on a foxhunt.

  He set her down on the edge of the enormous bed like she was made of fragile glass, then retreated to begin peeling out of his still damp uniform.

  “I'll have one of the girls get you some new clothes. Natalia and Krislin are here somewhere, so you can visit with them after you rest and eat or whatever you want to do,” Sander said. He bared his chest along with all the wounds he'd suffered from the caravan attack. Some of the bandages had started to come off, exposing red, raw skin, stitches, and other extensive bruising.

  Chey gazed at him while he undressed, appreciating the masculinity he so effortlessly exuded. The wounds only added to his rugged appeal. She thanked her lucky stars one more time that fate brought him back to her in one piece.

  “Why does it sound like you'll be doing something else while I'm reuniting with the girls?” Chey asked. The way he talked made Chey think Sander had other plans. The only plans she wanted him to have involved a lot of recovery. She knew he had business, of course, but her concern was for his recent coma and what all the strain might be doing to his wounds.

  He met her eyes across the room. “As soon as Leander and Wynn get here, we'll be making a plan to oust Paavo.”

  Chey shifted on the mattress, laying a hand flat over the bedcover. “Making a plan, all right. Can't it wait one night?”

  “No. We'll be leaving as soon as we put together something reasonable. You and the other girls will be more than safe here. These men I trust with my life.”

  Chey frowned. “Sander, you can't be serious. Have you even slept since you woke up? When was the last time someone looked at your injuries? Because I could swear you've popped a few stitches, at least.”

  He threw the uniform into a pile, attired only in a pair of black boxers that hugged his hips and thighs. “Chey, I can't wait. There is no time to sleep. Paavo might regroup while I'm taking tea in the courtyard.”

  The mild sarcasm hit Chey the wrong way. “I don't care. You can't just leave five minutes after we get home. What if I go into labor?”

  “Then someone will recall me. You're not in labor now, are you?” he asked, stalking into the bathroom.

  Chey had half a mind to tell
him about the aches and cramps hours ago, walking through the forest. But if she'd been in labor then, she wouldn't be sitting here this calm now. The pain would be ten times worse.

  “No,” she said flatly. “But that doesn't matter. I want you here, Sander. We've been separated for what feels like weeks. Can't you send someone else?”

  He emerged wearing a pair of black cargo pants and boots, pulling a black shirt over his head. Reaching up, he yanked the band out of his hair, leaving it loose a moment until he gathered it back into another neat tail. “I'm not sending someone else to do my dirty work. Gunnar, Leander and I along with a few other special forces members will put an end to any idea of a coup. It needs to be done now, while they're possibly dealing with that fire and whatever else, rather than wait until they regroup.”

  She stood up off the edge of the bed, one hand braced against her back. “It's too soon, Sander. You look exhausted. I know you have to be in pa--”

  “I'm going, Chey.” Sander gave her a hard look that brooked no argument.

  Chey pressed her lips together in frustration and worry. “Sander--”

  “I need to get with Gunnar so we have a plan by the time Leander gets here with Wynn.” Crossing the room, he leaned down to pluck a kiss from her mouth.

  She gave him nothing. No return kiss, no hug. He arched a brow, planting his hands defiantly on his hips.

  “I'm telling you I don't want you to go, and you're just going to walk out the door anyway,” she said with an impatient gesture.

  “I feel fine. This is what we train for, Chey. Mattias and I have spent months and months conditioning our bodies for situations like these. Yes, I have injuries, and yes my head hurts like hell. But being King means taking action, especially when my loved ones lives are in danger. When my country is in jeopardy. He took you, Chey, and I'm pissed. If anything had happened to you or our child...” Sander let the threat trail.