The Last Queen Book Two

by Odette C. Bell

  All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The Last Queen

  Book Two

  Copyright © 2017 Odette C Bell

  Cover art stock photos licensed from Depositphotos.

  www.odettecbell.com

  The Last Queen

  Book Two

  I’m still on the run, and my life is getting harder by the day. There’s nothing John and Spencer won’t do to acquire me. But I have no intention of giving up.

  I will fight. And if that involves taking incalculable risks, so bet it.

  When a book of rules comes up, I gamble that it will be my salvation, and I risk everything to find it. My gamble doesn’t pay off, and I’m thrust back into a fight for my life and freedom. Win, and the fight will just continue. Lose? And I’ll be auctioned off to the highest bidder....

  The Last Queen Book Two is the second instalment in the new action-packed, fast-paced urban fantasy from Odette C. Bell.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  The end of The Last Queen Book Two. The Last Queen Book Three will be available on 18 September 2017.

  Chapter 1

  I’m sitting on my bed, right on the edge, my arms held loosely and limply between my knees as I stare all dead eyed at the clock on the wall.

  My eyes are locked on the second hand as it marches around the clock’s face.

  I have five minutes until I have to head through the door and up to the penthouse to start my day.

  Because I’m still working for John Rowley.

  It’s been two weeks to the day since the incident with Spencer. And even though that should be enough time for my body to have gotten over it, the mere thought of what happened on that strange magical wall is enough to make my nerves run riot. Even though my arms were limp seconds before, I’m forced to draw up a hand and slap it over my mouth as my lips crinkle into a hard, desperate frown. I feel a sharp energy around my eyes, and I have to wonder if I’m about to cry.

  But I won’t let myself shed a tear, because I have to appreciate one fact. Despite the fact the past two weeks have been hard, they’ve proven to me one thing – John has no ability to see through this disguise. Though he’s spent the last 14 days desperately searching for me, he has no idea that I’m right under his nose.

  The only reason I know that he spent the last two weeks searching for me, is I can hear any conversation he has, even if he’s trying to keep it from his ordinary staff using magic.

  So I’ve heard it all.

  Antonio is still in the hospital, and by the sounds of it, he won’t be out for a long time yet. I’ve tried to find out if Antonio is in a real hospital, or if John and Spencer and the other kings of this world have their own medical resources or something. And that just underlines the one fact that keeps me rooted to the side of the bed, that keeps my shoulders drooped down and my hand over my mouth – I just have no idea what’s going on.

  “Come on,” I try to beg with myself as I force myself to stand. But it’s hard. A part of me just wants to turn around, flop face first onto my bed, and never show up to work again.

  But I can’t afford to do that. Do something suspicious, and not only might John find out who I really am, but even if he doesn’t, I can’t afford to lose this job. If I lose the job, not only do I lose access to the abundant food John has continued to offer me, but I lose the protection of this building. And even thinking about that sees my fingers curl around the side of my mattress and dig in hard. I pull them back just before they can perforate the foam and leave any evidence that I’m not entirely human.

  I force myself to stand. At first I’m wobbly, giving in to my desperation, but soon enough I clench my teeth, nod firmly at the door, and let out a tense breath.

  Another day. And that means another opportunity to find out more about this world.

  Over the past two weeks, though I’ve been trying to keep my head down, that doesn’t matter. Hearing John’s secret conversations has allowed me to confirm one fact – I’m extremely important in this world. He’s referred to me as the last of my kind. And he, just like Spencer, seems driven to find me and acquire me.

  That word – acquire – sends such a rage of nerves cascading down my back, I wonder if they will peel my skin back like an orange.

  I draw my arms up and clasp my hands over my shoulders, running my hands down as I try to force heat back into my body.

  It doesn’t work. So instead, I half close my eyes and I concentrate. That’s enough – that’s always enough. For the second I concentrate is always the second I attune to the magic that is permanently running in my veins. There’s more of it now – I swear there is. Ever since that fateful fight on that magical wall, my magic has doubled.

  And yet, there’s no outlet for it – because I haven’t ventured out of the building in two weeks. I’m not kidding you. I haven’t even gone out to get some fresh air.

  Fortunately no one’s noticed, and John seems way too distracted to remember he’s offered me this room on the condition I get back on my feet soon and find my own place.

  So I keep my head down, literally, as I force myself out of my room and head past several cleaning staff as I make my way through the bowels of the building toward the elevators.

  As I do, I tap my hand rhythmically against my thigh.

  With a breath, I open the door that leads out into the atrium.

  I compose myself and walk out.

  I don’t make it far.

  John is standing at the counter, and as soon as he sees me, he nods toward me and waves.

  Settling my nerves – nerves that have only become twice as strong since my fight on the wall – I force myself to walk over to him.

  With every step, the need to reveal myself again grows stronger. The need to see the recognition in his eyes – that same recognition that blasted wide through his pupils when he saw I was a queen.

  My nerves run riot, and it’s through pure determination alone that I control them long enough to reach his side. I clasp my hands professionally in front of myself and nod my head low. “Good morning,” I say.

  He nods, an affable smile spreading over his face. I’ll grant him one thing – even though I know he is personally and professionally driven to find me, the unattached queen, he’s not letting it affect his everyday persona. To the rest of his staff who can’t hear his secret conversations, they would have no idea that John is going through a mini hell.

  And I’m not lying – it is a mini hell. Every time I let my gaze flick over his eyes whenever he talks of me, the queen, I can see how conflicted he is.

  I take a breath and smile back.

  “I need you to come out with me on a deal today,” he gets straight down to business.

  I blink hard. “Doesn’t Rosemary usually do that?”

  “She has the flu.”

  “Oh,” I manage. “Are you sure I’m the right person for this?”

  Though he could brush the comment off, instead he locks his gaze on me, and there seems to be an assessing quality to it. It doesn’t dart down my figure or anything, just locks on my eyes for several seconds and lets me know that he’s really considering the question. Soon enough, he nods. “You’ve been doing a good job over these past two weeks. You’re ready.”

  “... Thank you,” I force myself to say. At the same time, surreptitiously, I draw
a hand up and clamp it on my stomach. I’m trying to control the tingles that suddenly escape through my gut, the very same tingles that – if I allow them to do what they want to do – will force me forward into his arms. And I know, even though he can’t recognize me in this form, if I get close enough – right up against his chest, right up in front of his eyes – it will give him a chance to see through my disguise.

  So I nod again and take a step back. “Are we leaving right now?”

  He nods. “Haven’t you had breakfast yet?” he asks, and there’s a perceptive quality to his tone.

  I shrug. “I’m fine,” I manage.

  “There’s some in the car,” he says.

  He turns hard on his foot, nods to one of the receptionists behind the counter, and heads through the main doors at the front of the building. There are now two doormen standing where Antonio used to stand.

  Though once upon a time I thought it was kind of quaint to have a doorman, I now realize they aren’t there to greet each guest to Rowley’s tower. The doormen are security – of the magical kind.

  Even as we shift past them, I can feel that they, like me, are players in this game.

  Even that thought is enough to send a hard shiver darting up my spine, and it’s only through sheer will alone that I don’t let it show as I stride next to John’s side.

  Ever since the... match, if I can call it that, two weeks ago, I’ve appreciated that this is a game. But unlike any other. And the stakes? Are real people’s lives.

  Though John has only mentioned it several times in secret conversations, I’ve figured out that there are specific rules that control this magical world. The same rules that allowed Spencer to attack Antonio and demand him as a piece.

  The same rules that – if John or Spencer had their way – would see either man acquire me.

  Acquire. I hate that word. But it’s one that sprung from John’s own lips.

  Apparently, acquiring a queen is the most important thing a king will ever do. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity – because, reading between the lines, queens shouldn’t exist anymore.

  John walks quickly, and I manage to keep up by his side easily, even though he’s tall and broad and I’m short. No, wait – the real me underneath this appearance is short, but right now, I’m a good 5’9.

  Though I’ve been forcing myself to become more aware of my appearance – lest I try to loop my short hair behind my ears again – when I’m distracted, like I am now, I tend to make mistakes. Fortunately, John is paying no attention to me whatsoever as he reads something on his phone.

  As I glance at the phone, I can tell it has magical protection in place to ensure that an ordinary person who catches sight of it won’t be able to see what’s really there.

  My stomach clenches, and I almost fall behind as I read the text on the screen.

  “The Queens Book of Rules is ready,” it reads.

  A quick, cold sweat slicks across my brow, and I bring a hand up, working it off surreptitiously as I pretend to scratch my scalp.

  We make our way around the side of the building until we reach one of John’s waiting cars.

  The driver opens the door, and John gestures to me first.

  I sit down, pulling my skirt down and doing up my seatbelt as I cast my nervous gaze on John. He stops, one hand on the door, as he seems to focus all of his attention on the text message.

  I hear a ping, and realize another message has come through, but now I’m seated, I have no chance of catching a glimpse of it.

  John forces a hard breath through his teeth, turns on his foot, heads around to the other side of the car, opens the door on his own, and sits down.

  As he does, he returns his phone to his pocket.

  John is usually friendly and interested when we’re alone together – usually, he can fill the silence easily. But now, as we drive a few city blocks, he doesn’t say a word.

  Five minutes later, we arrive at our destination. John practically jumps out of the car like a spring.

  My eyes lock on him, darting down the hard angle of his back. Even though he’s wearing a suit shirt, the fabric barely does anything to hide how chiseled and hard John’s muscles are. And right now, it sure as hell can’t hide how tense he is.

  It’s a tension I feel too as my mind ticks back to what I read on his phone.

  The Queens Book of Rules?

  It has to be about me. Or rather, acquiring me.

  It’s because of that word that I still haven’t revealed myself to John. Though I go to bed every single night, place a hand on my chest, close my eyes, and tell myself tomorrow morning I’ll finally tell him who I am, in the morning, I always think differently.

  Because, in the morning, I can never get the way Spencer stared at me out of my mind.

  When John stopped me from destroying that chessboard, stared over his shoulder at me, and told me to run, he begged me to come and find him once the fight was done.

  Spencer Gates warned me not to. Because Spencer Gates told me that if I aligned myself with John Rowley, I’d die.

  I shiver as the wind races up the street. It captures the tight hem of my skirt and ruffles through my hair as my heels click along the pavement.

  John is fast – like a bullet, in fact, as he strides up to a building in front of us.

  It’s old, low, half sunken into the floor, and John has to march down several worn sandstone steps to get to it.

  It must be some relic from years gone by, and as I approach it, I can sense that the energy is old.

  Despite the fact I haven’t been out of Rowley Tower for two weeks, my ability to attune and connect to the Earth’s energy hasn’t changed – in fact, like my other skills, it’s only become acuter.

  And as I approach the building, I can sense that it’s important somehow.

  Though I want to take my time to figure out why, I don’t dare. Because the only reason I left the tower is that I know that while the tower can offer me protection from Spencer, so can Rowley.

  I hasten my step, my heels clicking against the worn sandstone steps as I place a hand on the chipped, metal railing, and dart down.

  John is waiting at the door, one hand on it, keeping it open for me. Once a gentleman, always a gentleman, apparently. And though I want to use that as evidence to tell myself that if I reveal I’m a queen to him, he won’t get me killed, I know I can’t go through with that desire.

  So I follow him into the building.

  In here, I can feel the energies more acutely, and they make me shiver.

  John strides down a narrow, stone hallway, and then hooks a right into a room. It’s a well-appointed drawing room, with comfortable, wingback leather chairs, several plush rugs, and walls of library books.

  There’s an old man seated on one of the chairs, and he has several papers strewn over the table in front of him.

  John doesn’t bother to introduce me, and instead quickly sits in the chair opposite the man. They start talking about business, and several times, John asks me to jot something down and to remember to make several appointments with people.

  I do my job, but at the same time, I wait.

  And I don’t have to wait long. Once the everyday business is done, subtly, John shifts the ring finger on his left hand slightly to the side.

  And that’s all it takes. I feel a familiar wash of magic, one that’s directed at me. One that John assumes will prevent me from hearing what he’s actually saying.

  He takes a hard breath, slouching down in the chair, allowing his weariness to show. He brings an arm up, locks it on the armrest, closes his stiff fingers over his brow, and takes a deep breath. “You said you have the book. Where is it?”

  The old man shakes his head. “I said I know where the book is.”

  “So it isn’t here?” John’s words are whip-crack fast, and I swear that if they were laced with magic, they would have been able to chop through the very walls.

  I control my expression. I stand easily and look mi
ldly interested. In other words, I don’t do anything to suggest I can hear what he’s really saying.

  “It is in Laxor Manor,” the man reveals.

  John’s eyebrows tick down hard. “Where’s that?”

  “On the city limits. I managed to track down the book – it belonged to a prominent unattached.”

  There we go, there’s that word. Unattached. Reading between the lines of John’s secret conversations, I now appreciate that to be unattached is not to be aligned to a king.

  I am unattached – as everybody keeps telling me. But I also now know that the shadow man who attacked me with those whips is unattached. Though I appreciate that is key, I haven’t found out any more information about that man.

  And that, more than anything, is the reason I don’t leave Rowley Tower.

  But maybe that will change. Because maybe now I have a ray of hope.

  The Queens Book of Rules....

  John unclenches his hand from his brow and sits all the way forward on his chair. “Is it protected?” he asks.

  The old man shrugs. “It is likely to be protected. The prominent unattached the book belonged to was a powerful man. He was a Cas’tle,” he reveals.

  Though the old man pronounces the word Cast-Lee, I know he means castle. Or at least, if we were really involved in a game of chess, that’s what he would mean. But apart from the chessboard and a semblance to the names of the players, this world I’m in is completely goddamn different from a mere game.

  And yet, I can appreciate one fact – if this prominent unattached was a Castle, then that means he was powerful.

  Meaning the protections on his manor will be powerful, too.

  “Does Spencer know?” John spits.

  At the mere mention of Spencer, I straighten, and there’s little I can do to stop it.

  Just for a second, John’s gaze slices toward me, but before he can figure out that I’m listening to his secret conversation, I jerk my shoulders and stifle a yawn.

  He shifts his gaze back to the man.

  “As far as I’m aware, he does not. For the book is still there,” the man explains.

  John no longer sits forward in his chair, and rather flops back. He clasps his hands in front of himself, tapping two fingers together as he shifts his jaw to the side and sucks in a deep breath. “It may be costly to acquire, but I have no choice,” he says in a low voice that’s obviously not meant for the man.