Shattered Heir (Broken Gods Book 1)

by N. M. Howell

  “What are you so cheery about?” Rhea turned the phone off and tucked it away in her sweater pocket, smirking at the pleased expression on her friend’s face.

  Lanei shrugged. “Oh, you, know, nothing special.”

  Rhea raised her eyebrow and tossed a small throw pillow at her. “Seriously, what’s got you in such a good mood? I haven’t seen you smile that much since you went for a joy ride in that banker’s BMW last summer.”

  Lanei bit her lip, her expression more pleased than Rhea had ever seen it. Humming a soft tune, she rocked back and forth, waiting for her friend to respond. She held her hands behind her back and was practically bouncing in her seat.

  “Spit it out before I hurt you,” Rhea said with a laugh. She ran her hands through her hair, a habit she hadn’t realized she picked up since living on the streets. It constantly fell in her face, heavy and thick with grime.

  Sighing in exasperation, Lanei pulled a paper bag from beneath her jacket and held it out in front of her. When Rhea replied with a raised eyebrow and a look of confusion, Lanei threw the package onto the bed and rolled her eyes. “For you, my sweet.”

  “What is it?”

  Her friend heaved another sigh and groaned loudly, her arms raising to either side of her head in surrender. “A gift. Seriously, you’re really bad at this.”

  Rhea reached for the item. It was heavy, solid. It felt like a large glass vase or container. She was even more puzzled than she had been when her friend first showed up. It wasn’t like Lanei to wander the streets at night, not after an incident with some guy the month before that she refused to talk about.

  “What’s the occasion?” Rhea asked.

  “You have got to be kidding me right now.” Lanei reached forward and snatched the paper-wrapped gift from Rhea’s hand. She then pulled out a large bottle of Jameson whiskey and held it up high like a trophy. “For you. For your b-i-r-t-h-d-a-y!” She spelled out the word to some strange tune, waving the bottle in the air in front of her like a conductor would to a choir.

  Rhea was shocked. “Seriously? Whoa, Lanei.”

  Lanei laughed and tossed the bottle across the bed. Rhea caught it in one hand and held it up to her face so she could read the label in the dim light. “How did you swing this?”

  She shrugged. “Best not pry for the details. I just thought you could use a little pick me up.”

  Rhea shook her head and felt a broad smile spread across her face. “This is too much. Thank you.”

  Lanei was a hardened Detroit street rat. Running away from home at the age of twelve, she’d lived on the streets ever since. The girls’ histories with abusive fathers bound them together in sisterhood, and they kept each other company a lot of the time. It got lonely on the streets.

  Lanei was nineteen years old now, and had become fast friends with Rhea as soon as they first met. Rhea was scrounging for food after having not eaten for days when she first arrived in Detroit. Lanei found her, shivering and starving in a back alleyway, and shared a loaf of stale bread with her. They had been close ever since.

  Rhea cracked open the bottle, offering it to her friend for the first drink. Lanei accepted it gladly, chugging back a throat-full of the harsh liquid. Scrunching her face as she swallowed, she offered the bottle back, doing her best to keep the drink down.

  “Good?” Rhea laughed.

  Lanei shook her head and let out a loud belch. “Holy shit, that crap’s awful.”

  Biting her lower lip, Rhea sniffed the bottle. “Doesn’t exactly smell like fruit punch.” She took a timid sip and nearly gagged. She then steeled herself, squeezed her eyes shut, plugged her nose, and took a swig.

  One eye opening at a time, she felt proud at not having spewed up the contents of her stomach. She even took a second gulp. The liquid burned her throat as she swallowed. “Not actually that bad.”

  The tarp overhead flashed with a bright white light, and the roar of thunder echoed through the skies above them a couple seconds later.

  “Oh great,” Lanei sighed. “Just what we need.”

  “Three, two,” Rhea counted down. The girls caught each other’s gaze and said in unison, “one.”

  A heavy rain fell from the sky, right on cue.

  Rhea scooted to the side of her bed and pulled back the blanket, making room. Lanei crawled over and settled in beside her, leaning her cheek against Rhea’s shoulder as she brought the bottle to her lips and took another painful sip.

  “You wearing any pants?” she asked as her foot grazed Rhea’s leg.

  Rhea snorted. “Nope. Wasn’t expecting company.”

  “No pants and whiskey,” Lanei mused. “Didn’t think it would be that kind of a party.”

  The girls sat in bed, keeping each other warm for a long while. The pounding of the rain was deafening in the small space, but they remained dry beneath the tarp. A puddle began to form on the far side of the room, but it was still far enough away that it didn’t threaten the comfort of their bed. Finally, after what felt nearly an hour of drinking in silence listening to the storm pass overhead, Lanei turned toward Rhea, her eyes serious.

  “You look like you’re about to lecture me on something,” Rhea said. Her cheeks felt flushed from the alcohol and her body burned from the heat. They had downed over half the bottle, and she was worried if she tried to stand or speak too quickly, her body would fail her.

  “Why are you spending your birthday here?” Lanei finally asked.

  Rhea raised her eyebrow. “What do you mean? Where else would I be?”

  Lanei pulled the photo strip of the two of them from the wall, staring at it mournfully for a long minute. “I obviously know how hard it can be coming from an abusive family. I really do,” she began. “Rhea, it’s your birthday. Don’t you think you should be spending it with your family? Wouldn’t they take you back in, keep you warm?”

  Rhea sat in silence for a while, contemplating her response. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a gurgle came out. She then cleared her throat and took another swig of the whiskey. Turning to Lanei, she frowned. “Would you?”

  “Would I what?”

  “Go home?”

  Lanei stared at her, her eyebrows furrowed into a deep crease. She then sighed loudly and shook her head. “I guess not. But my dad was a particularly nasty son of a bitch. He’d likely rather have me killed than have me for dinner. I can’t imagine anyone else’s dad being quite so evil.”

  Rhea laughed then, a deep and boisterous laugh that made Lanei jump back in concern. She looked on at Rhea as if she were a mad woman, and to be honest, that was exactly how Rhea felt.

  Wiping a tear from her eye, Rhea finally settled and took in a few deep, steadying breaths. She cleared her throat and turned back to her friend, placing a small hand on her shoulder. “Oh, Lanei. You really have no idea.”

  Rhea contemplated spilling everything to her friend. She had held her secrets in for so long. It would feel great to lessen the burden on her mind. She was certainly drunk enough to make such a stupid mistake.

  Lanei shrugged and tucked herself back up against Rhea’s side. “Whatever he’s done, I can’t imagine him being any worse than Frank.” She spat out her father’s name like it was a curse.

  Rhea smiled and shook her head, her mind delirious from the whiskey. “Oh, what the hell,” she said, sliding down the mattress so she lay flat on her back, looking up at the fluttering tarp above. She could hardly see straight from the liquor.

  She sucked in a deep breath. “My father is an evil, murderous, sadistic bastard who destroyed my world and my people, cursed the land I grew up on, got my mother killed when she was trying to protect him, and was so preoccupied being fawned over by all his guardian lovers that he was too busy to even notice me run away.” The words came out a jumble, but there it was. Her past right out there for the world to see. Hearing it all out loud made her stomach clench with rage. Or was that the whiskey?

  Rhea let out a slow, whiskey-filled breath, her eyes growing wid
e with the realization at what she had just done.

  Lanei stared down at her friend, her own eyes having grown wide. She then let out a slow laugh. “Sounds like most of the men in this godforsaken city.”

  Rhea nodded her agreement and took an awkward sip from the bottle as she lay flat, spilling some of the whiskey down her cheeks in the process. “You can say that again.” She let out a breath of relief that Lanei hadn’t picked up on the her world part.

  “Sorry about your mom,” Lanei whispered.

  “Yea,” Rhea said, handing her friend the bottle. “Me, too.”

  They rested together, the sound of the storm a lullaby in the distance. The sporadic lightning was a display of blue light above them.

  Rhea must have dozed off, because she woke startled by Lanei shaking her shoulder quite a while later. The tarp glowed from the rising distant sun, and she figured she must have slept for a solid few hours.

  “I’m going to head back home,” Lanei murmured through a yawn. Her hair was disheveled and her cheeks tinged a sickly green. She must have fallen asleep, too, Rhea figured.

  Leaning in to kiss her friend on the cheek, Rhea smiled and nodded her agreement. “Get home safe, kid.”

  Her friend winked and pushed her side of the blanket onto Rhea, who immediate tugged it over her shoulders as she shivered, grateful for the added layer. The fabric had grown heavy from the damp air, but it held off the wind well enough.

  “You sure you’re okay to get home right now? You’re welcome to stay here, you know.” Rhea rubbed the sleep from her eyes, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.

  Lanei stretched and crawled backward from the room, nodding. “Yeah, I’m good. Have things I need to do, you know how it is. Happy birthday, love.”

  Rhea watched her leave, not settling back down until the metal sheet was securely back in place. She then fell back onto her pillow and closed her eyes, with the whiskey still coursing through her veins like an angry disease. She felt nauseous and guilty, and wanted nothing more than to drift back into a dreamless sleep. Her mind had other ideas.

  Laughter filled her ears and she pressed her pillow tight against either side of her head with both hands. It haunted her. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to think of anything else. She thought of the trees in the park and the sound of cars honking at rush hour, but the laughter persisted. She thought of the bakery down the road and how they would sometimes give her the slightly burnt bread when they saw her walk by, a kind gesture she always thanked them for. She could almost smell the bread, now.

  The thought of the bread made her stomach gurgle. She was starving, and there was no way she’d fall back asleep with her mind racing like this. She then remembered the treat she had yet to eat, and sprung up in bed, looking around her floor furiously.

  A broad smile spread from cheek to cheek when she saw the uneaten cupcake sitting next to her, barely touched. She reached for it and held it up against her lips as she inhaled deeply. She closed her eyes and reveled in the sweet scent of the icing. Her tongue slid from her lips and flicked the icing from the top of the small cake, a deep moan escaping as the sugary goodness filled her mouth and coated her lips.

  She opened her mouth to take that precious bite when a low cough made her snap her eyes open and gasp in shock. She dropped the cupcake onto her lap, her body frozen in utter panic. The instinct to run was strong, but the whiskey was stronger. It slowed her reflexes. She simply sat there, paralyzed, gazing up at the five large men who stood at the foot of her bed, staring down at her with mixed expressions.

  “Rhea Greystone,” the tall, dark one said in a dulcet tone. “Your father is dead.”

  3

  Her body remained paralyzed as she looked up into the eyes of the five men who were sworn to protect her. The five men who had failed.

  “See, I told you she wouldn’t be happy to see us.”

  Rhea’s gaze met the piercing, ice-blue eyes of Keaven, sparking wildly down at her through his tousled, black hair. His porcelain face was pulled in a tight smile, his pointed fangs visible in the dim morning light.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out except a dry cough. Flashes of her childhood flooded her mind, horrors she had repressed for so many years. She could hear the screaming of women as they were brutally murdered by her father, the haunting noises of men being tortured in the dungeons. An image of her young servant friends being hung before her as her father made her watch made her stifle a sob. She could still hear the sounds of their necks breaking.

  Worse still, memories of her uncle’s guardians hanging up the children of the neighboring farmers to die of starvation on tall wooden piers outside the castle walls, their parents being forced to watch. Their only crimes were eating their own share of the harvest during a drought. Her uncle had made her help tie the bonds. When she had gone to her father about it, he had made her watch two more of their young sons fight to the death with kitchen knives. A lesson for her to toughen up and be worthy of her position as a god.

  A familiar laugh sounded from above her, pulling her from her nightmarish memories and drawing her attention to the man who stood next to the vampire. The sight of these men made her skin grow cold.

  “Nah, she’s just shocked is all,” the leprechaun said.

  Rhea recognized those emerald green eyes and freckles splattered across his smiling face.

  He waved his hand out in front of her glazed-over expression, causing her to blink. “Hello? Oh, Earth to Princess Rhea. Remember me? Arry?”

  A dry lump formed in her throat that she forced herself to swallow through, her eyes wide.

  “I think she’s in shock.” The soft voice drew her attention up to the far corner of the room. Taelor sat perched atop the large wooden crate that Rhea used to store her collected items and worldly possessions. The sleek, defined lines of his body stretched out casually as his leg hung from the side, swinging back and forth to some silent rhythm he bobbed his head to. His long, midnight blue hair was tied loosely back, the long tips of his elven ears visible through the fallen strands that framed his angular face. His lips were drawn up in a half smile as he stared down at her with an expression of mild amusement.

  A loud snap sounded from beside her, causing her to jump. Her heart raced wildly as she turned her head to the large man beside her, his golden skin a stark contrast to Taelor’s cream-colored complexion.

  “Oh, crap,” Roan swore as he tried to fit the broken piece of wood back together. “Sorry, Rhea. This thing’s not really that well-built.”

  The large, tawny-haired lion shifter sat hunched over the small empty dresser beside her bed, fidgeting with the broken drawer. His heavily muscled arms tensed as he worked the delicate wood furniture back together.

  “Seriously, dude,” Arry hopped over to join him near the dresser. “We’re not even here a minute and you’re already breaking shit.”

  Roan shrugged and carefully slid the drawer back into place. He then turned and smiled sheepishly at Rhea before pushing himself back to his feet. He hulked over the rest of them, his shoulders far wider and more muscled than the others.

  “I…” Rhea began, but couldn’t formulate the words to continue.

  “Oh look, it speaks!” Arry chuckled.

  The fifth, silent man shot an angry look to his red-haired companion. “The princess is in shock,” he said, his voice deep and holding an heir of authority. “Give her a minute to process all of this.”

  Grayson stepped from the shadows, his arms crossed and his charcoal hair fallen forward, covering most of his face. His stormy gray eyes were barely visible through his dark locks.

  Rhea stared up at him, her gaze lingering on the pale gray tattoos that splintered across his arms and up his neck, a soft lattice-work against his dusky skin. It was a unique mark all gargoyles had.

  Silence filled the space, the deep rumble of the surrounding traffic pressing around them. Rhea glanced in turn from each of the men to the next, her stoma
ch tightening in more knots with each set of eyes she met. The atmosphere dripped with tension, the air growing hot in the cramped space.

  Her face grew hot as she sat there, realizing everything she had fought so hard to run away from had somehow made its way to her bed. Every defensive spell and concealment charm, every bit of glamor and magic used to cut her ties with her former life had been for naught. She still didn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

  “You might want to breathe there, sweetheart.” Taelor’s voice was gentle as he hopped down from the crate. His eyes were the same deep blue as his hair, a stark contrast from his pale skin.

  Grayson brushed his hair back from his face, his brow furrowed forward in great concern. “Rhea.” The hoarseness of his voice when he said her name brought her back to the days when she was younger, hiding away from these same five men deep within the confines of the castle that had become her prison. She used to cringe every time she heard him call her, never wanting anything to do with her guardians back in her own world. She’d despised the arrangement.

  “Rhea,” he repeated, louder this time. “Say something.”

  Rhea blinked. “I…”

  Arry flopped down on the foot of her bed, leaning casually on his elbow as he grinned up at her. “You said that, already.”

  Grayson kicked him in the back, eliciting a groan from the man who seemed far too comfortable on her bed. Rhea scooted backward, pressing herself against the rug that lined the wall behind her. A chill set into her bones and she shivered, all the while not taking her eyes off the five men.

  Rhea’s wits came back to her like a shock of freezing air. Her heart thundered and her muscles clenched with tension, the strange buzz of energy on her skin prickly with electricity. “How did you find me?”

  She kicked off her blanket and sat up on her knees, her hands running nervously through her hair as a hundred possibilities for their arrival flooded her mind.

  “What do you mean, how did we find you?” Keaven asked. His eyebrow was raised in a perfect arch, his skin so porcelain he looked almost carved from stone. His eyes darted to her exposed legs for the briefest moment before returning to her wild gaze. Vampires were rare in the Otherworld, and his stillness always made Rhea feel uneasy. She chewed on her lip as she tried to puzzle out what he meant, wishing she was sitting there in more than a t-shirt and underwear.