Rise of the Lost Prince

by London Saint James

  Why wasn’t he as affected by her as she was by him?

  “Okay,” she huffed. “I’ve got it.”

  He let loose his hold on her. Immediately, her body experienced a cool breeze.

  Petúr stepped around her until he stood unyielding in front of her now—a wall of man and muscle. “Again,” he demanded. “Come at me again.”

  Wyndi lunged for him. Petúr did a counter move and knocked her on her ass. She just went ahead and lay on her back, sprawled out, took in a deep breath and exhaled, attempting to blow strands of her damp hair from her face.

  “Wyndi?” Petúr’s voice sounded worried.

  “You’re pushing her too hard, big guy,” said Dash, bending to give her a hand. “She’s not used to fighting.”

  “The bastards will take advantage of that.”

  “Here. Let me help you up,” Dash offered.

  “No,” Petúr said. “I’ll help her.”

  “I’ll get up on my own,” she huffed, rolling over to her stomach, then going to her hands and knees, feeling her muscles shake, before standing, arms at her sides, feet spread, gaining her center. “Again.”

  Petúr smiled, and she tried, she really tried not to let the perfection affect her, yet it did. “That’s my girl.”

  The perfection of the moment was gone. He didn’t just call her a girl? Maybe that was the problem. He saw her as a girl and not a woman. So, yeah she was only twenty-three, and he was something like eighty-nine in human years according to him. But how could their age difference truly count, when he was an ageless Fae and she was, well, not?

  She’d been dancing around the pissed-off mulberry bush all morning. Tired of being brushed off literally and figuratively. Now, she was officially ticked.

  “I’m not a girl.” She lunged. “I’m a full grown woman.”

  He countered, smacking at her arm. “No arguments here.”

  She ducked his blow. “Then why?”

  He stepped to the side. “Why what?”

  Wyndi spun. “You know what.”

  He kicked out his foot, silver boot buckles glinting. “Do you mean about the other night?”

  She jumped. “Yes.”

  “Now’s not the time. Keep your eye on the prize,” he said. “You want my throat.” He swung.

  No. She wanted his balls in a sling. She bobbed, weaved, bent to miss another swing, straightened and brought her knee up between his legs. Not hard enough to require a retrieval, but enough to make him consider he may need one.

  “Shit!” he grunted, hunching, and grabbing at his more than likely throbbing testicles, and that was when she went in for the kill.

  Training blade at his throat, she snarled, “I have my eye on the prize. You’re dead.”

  Dash clapped, then yelled, “Vape! Bring some ice for the big guy’s balls. His little woman just schooled him.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Petúr didn’t think his woman had it in her, but the saucy little minx actually doubled him over with a knee to his balls. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of her or appalled.

  Winded he said, “Dash. Give us a moment.”

  “All right,” Dash said, chuckling. “If you’re sure you don’t need some ice.”

  “You don’t need to give us a moment,” Wyndi said, eyes rounded, staring at the warrior. “You can stay.”

  Was she scared Petúr would take her over his knee and paddle her delightful bottom for kneeing him?

  “Yes,” Petúr said, scowling at her. “We do need a moment.” He straightened, and turned to look at Dash. “No ice. Go.”

  “Okay. I’m a-goin’.”

  Once he and Wyndi were alone in the training room, he stalked forward. She backed up, and kept on backing until her shoulders hit the wall. Keeping his gaze locked on her, he pressed forward, pinning her there with his bigger body, knee going between her legs. He could hear the thump-thump of her heart and see the pulse beating in her throat. Sweat glistened over her lip. And damn, her cotton candy scent was intensified.

  “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

  Her long eyelashes fluttered. “You wanted me to learn. So I learned.”

  “I don’t recall ball bashing in any of the lessons.”

  She stared into his eyes, her pointed little chin set. “I won, didn’t I?”

  “I guess you did.” He grabbed her hands, manacling them in one of his, and pressed them above her head. An almost imperceptible shudder rolled over her. For all her pissed-off bravado, the woman still couldn’t hide the fact she wanted him. Pride filled him. “But, just so I’m clear, the whole knee to the groin thing wouldn’t be more about what happened the other night, and less about winning, would it?”

  “Maybe.” Her lips pursed.

  He dropped his head and whispered, “‘Maybe’ is a hedge?”

  Goose bumps flew across her skin, and he wanted to soothe each one with his tongue.

  “Yeah, well. Maybe is what you’re going to get.”

  “No. Not good enough. I want clarification.”

  “Maybe,” she said, voice clipped, “I’m mad.”

  Ah. Now they were getting somewhere.

  “Mad because we didn’t finish what we started in the bathroom?”

  Her kissable lips pressed into a thin line. Opened. Closed. Opened. “What you started.” And she was sure to emphasize the ‘you.’

  He smiled.

  “Don’t you dare smile,” she snapped. “I was naked, and spread out, and almost ready to—” She clamped her mouth shut.

  “You were ready to come,” he stated, not asking.

  “You just stopped. It was humiliating being rejected.”

  “I didn’t mean to humiliate you.”

  She dropped her head. “You did.”

  “I’m sorry.” He nudged her chin up with his nose. “I really am. Forgive me?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “While you’re thinking, mull this over, too. I didn’t reject you.”

  Celestial blue flames flickered in her eyes the instant before she narrowed them on him. “Newsflash. Not wanting me and leaving me is a rejection, Petúr.”

  He kissed her jaw. “FYI,” he said. “I did, and I do want you. I only walked away because I didn’t want your first time to be by my fingers, fast and hard in a freaking bathroom.”

  Her features softened. “You want me?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you—”

  He stopped her silliness with his mouth, tongue delving past her teeth, rolling around the sweetness of her moist flesh in a culmination of yearning passion, blazing lust, and deep, aching hunger.

  ****

  Bell gaped at the picture of the missing person on the TV screen, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume. She recognized her.

  “The tiara-topped birthday girl,” she said under her breath.

  “Dalia Stratford has been missing since the night of the seventeenth,” said the news anchor. “She was last seen in the company of this man.” A picture flashed across the screen of the big linebacker. “Trent Maguire, a college senior at OU. If anyone knows the whereabouts of either student, please contact the Oceanport police department.”

  As the memory of the big linebacker snapped front and center, Bell dropped the book, and hopped up from the recliner where she’d been reading one of Tera’s romance novels—the guy loved romance novels. Go figure. She made a beeline for the training room, passing Dash.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Where’s the fire?”

  “I need to talk with Petúr,” she said in a rush.

  Dash, grabbed her arm, stopping her. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

  She frowned, staring up at him. “Why not?”

  “Petúr and Wyndi are… working things out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, they are establishing their relationship.”

  “Establishing their relationship?”

  There she w
ent, sounding like a parrot again.

  Dash smiled, real amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “You know. The who gets to be on top kind of thing.”

  Bell snorted, none too delicately. “This is more important than their issues.”

  “What’s more important?”

  “Round up the others and have them go to the game room.” She worked her arm free of his hold. “I’ll explain once we’re all there.”

  ****

  “Atalos!” Grapple bellowed, and Kros smirked. He recognized the ‘someone’s-going-to die’ tone in his father’s voice.

  Atalos stepped forward, breaking free of the horde, sleeping where they stood. Even down here in the under-verse of shadow the darklings slept during the daylight hours of man. This was the one rule Kros was never forced to abide by.

  “Sire?”

  “Get rid of that body you are possessing.”

  “But—”

  “Silence!”

  Atalos bowed his head.

  “The humans are looking for him. It’s time to rid yourself of his vestige. Do I make myself clear?”

  Atalos nodded.

  “Good.” Grapple thrummed his fingers in a staccato rhythm on the arm of his chair. “Make it look like he took his own life when you shed him. And leave the body where the humans can find it.” He turned his attention to Kros. “You are to go to the surface with Atalos. I want you to find out where Petúr is keeping the human woman. Do you think you can handle something as simple as a recon mission?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Oh, and Kros?”

  Kros glanced up.

  “Should I be disappointed yet again upon your return, I will slowly slice the flesh from your back as reparation. Understand?”

  Kros gritted his teeth, but nodded.

  “Then go, and you shall feed in order to stay strong, only do so with those found within the dregs of society of which the humans care not.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Wyndi was seated sideways on Petúr’s lap, one of his strong arms banded around her waist, overjoyed he was allowing everyone to see his claim on her.

  “I see you two have kissed and made up,” said Dash, strolling into the game room last, then leaning his hip against the arm of the sectional.

  “Bite me, Dash,” said Petúr.

  The big warrior just laughed, tilting his head, glancing at Wyndi’s exposed neck. “Looks like somebody around here already sunk their teeth into someone’s flesh.”

  Dang it. She slapped her palm over the side of her neck as everyone stared in her direction. She forgot about the fading love bite when she pulled all her hair up into a messy ball on top her head in order to cool down from the training and then the kissing.

  “What’s this meeting about, Bell?” Petúr inquired, obviously not taking the bait.

  “The night you, Vibe, and Dash walked Wyndi into Jolly Roger’s,” Bell said.

  “What about it?”

  “Tera and Byte told me you guys don’t know where the darklings retreat to. Where they hole up.”

  Petúr nodded, the small braid he wore tickling Wyndi’s cheek. “We’ve always suspected they stay underground, but we’ve never found where.”

  Bell crossed her arms, the gesture reminding Wyndi of Petúr. “If my suspicions are right, I may know of a way to find them.”

  “How?” Dash asked.

  “That night,” she said. “The night you guys came into the bar, I saw something.” She worked her bottom lip over with her teeth. “At the time, I dismissed it, but there was something off about one of the patrons.” Bells green gaze went to Petúr. “Can darklings do things like control a human?”

  “What do you mean by control?”

  She glanced over to Vibe. “You can change memories, feel emotions. Can you control someone’s actions? Make them a puppet on your string?”

  “I don’t know,” said Vibe. “I’ve never tried.”

  “Darklings can step into a human,” said Petúr. “That’s how they take the souls and feed.”

  “Oh my God!” Wyndi moved her hand from her neck to her mouth.

  Petúr rubbed soothing circles on her back.

  “If they can step into a human, then maybe they can control them,” said Bell.

  “Makes sense,” said Tera.

  “Yeah,” said Byte.

  “If they can do that,” Firefox interjected, brushing some of his fiery red bangs from out of his eyes, “they could use humans against us.”

  “Not good,” said Vapor. “Not good at all.”

  Bell dropped her arms and started pacing. “I saw something on the news this morning about a missing girl. She was in the bar that night. And she left with the big guy who had something odd going on with his eyes.”

  “Odd how?” asked Vibe.

  “I blew it off at the time, thinking it was a trick of light, but for one quick instant, I could have sworn his eyes reflected.”

  “Reflected?”

  “Yeah, like a mirror being turned in the sun.” Bell stopped. “Human eyes don’t do that.”

  “No,” said Petúr, his voice low and menacing. “They don’t.”

  “I say we track him down. I know the group of guys he hangs out with.” Bell tweaked her chin with her thumb and forefinger. “Tera. Byte.” She gazed at them. “The name they gave on the news was Trent Maguire. He’s a college student at OU. Is that enough information to find him?”

  “No problem,” Byte said.

  “We can hack into the student data base,” Tera said.

  Bell smiled. “Maybe if we follow him, he’ll lead us to the other darklings.”

  “If he even is a darkling,” said Tera.

  “I’m digging where Bell’s going with this. A darkling wearing a human suit. What else could he be?” asked Dash.

  “A demon. We’ve run into one or two of them over the years.”

  “Okay. So, let’s say he is. The darklings and the demons go hand and hand.”

  “Could he be another one of us? After all, we never knew about Bell. Perhaps there’s more Fae here,” said Tera.

  “He didn’t smell like any of us.” Bell closed her eyes. “In fact…” She scrunched up her nose. “Now that I think about it…” Her eyes flittered open. “He smelt of burnt wood.”

  “Tera. Byte,” Petúr said. “You two find Trent.” He stood, taking Wyndi with him, then placed her down where he’d been seated. “Vibe, D-man, Vape, and Fox. Get ready to head out.”

  “I’m not missing out. I’m going with you,” said Bell.

  “Me, too,” Wyndi said, standing.

  “You are staying here,” Petúr said, looking down at her with that determination she was coming to recognize.

  “No,” she snapped, hands going to her hips. “I’m not.”

  ****

  When it rains, it pours, Petúr thought darkly, seeing Cromwell Darlinghart, and his body guard on the monitors in front of him—the two breezing past the ticket booth.

  “Daddy,” Wyndi said in a small voice. “He’s here.” Then she snapped her spine straight and headed out of the control room, a woman on a mission.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To talk to my father.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, catching her.

  Her struggles only made his manhood form a stiff resolve.

  “Let me go, Petúr.”

  “Nope.”

  She exhaled. “I want to talk with him.”

  “You are supposed to be at a spa. Relaxing. How are you going to explain being in Neverland?”

  She reached up and patted his cheek. “Trust me.”

  Damn it. He would probably regret this… “I’m going out there with you.”

  “Me, too,” said Vibe, joining them.

  “Fine,” she said as Petúr let loose of her. “But let me handle this.”

  ‘Handling this’ was Wyndi running up to her father and throwing her arms around his neck.

  “Wyndi?”
Cromwell asked, shock and confusion playing over the features of his face. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  She let go of him and took a step back, grabbing Petúr’s hand. The acknowledgement did something queer to his heart.

  “Daddy. This is Petúr.”

  Cromwell frowned up at him. “Who in the hell is Petúr?”

  “My boyfriend,” she said, sweet as pie. “And this is Petúr’s brother.” She pointed. “Vibe.”

  Vibe nodded.

  “We’ll discuss the boyfriend thing later,” Cromwell grumbled, returning his attention to his daughter. “But, why are you here?” He waved his hand around. “In Neverland?”

  “I want you to give me Neverland,” she said.

  Petúr blinked.

  “What?” her father bellowed.

  Wyndi nodded, strands of her autumn colored hair shimmering like spun silk in the sun. “I want you to give me Neverland. Petúr and I want to restore it. Turn it back into a working amusement park.”

  Pride washed through him. His woman wanted to help him keep his home.

  Cromwell bristled. Cleared his throat. “This place is worth more having the park cleared and—”

  “I know,” she said, cutting him off. “Your beach front condo project. But Neverland is an Oceanport landmark, and it should be preserved, not destroyed.”

  “I think this is something we need to talk about in private.” His beady brown eyes narrowed as he looked toward Petúr, then over to Vibe, then back to Wyndi.

  “No,” she said. “I want to talk about this here and now.”

  “Listen here young lady,” he said, voice gruff, and Petúr didn’t like it. He snarled at the asshole.