Reluctant King (Reluctant Royals Book 1)

by Montana Ash

  Reluctant King

  Reluctant Royals, Book One

  Montana Ash

  Published by Paladin Publishing

  Reluctant King

  Copyright © 2019 by Montana Ash

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of Montana Ash, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover design by: Jennifer Munswami, J.M Rising Horse Creations

  Cover character render by: Rebecca Poole

  Formatting by: LKO Design

  Reluctant King

  Reluctant Royals, Book One

  CONTENTS PAGE

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Also by Montana Ash

  Follow Montana

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Sabre, Brax and the Reluctant Royal crew have been a long time coming and owe their inception to the infamous Max from my Elemental Paladins series. Thank you, Max!

  With thanks to the 10 min sprinting team.

  With thanks to my ‘nitpickers’.

  Dra’mon thanks Kohbi, Casey, and Lauren ;)

  CHAPTER ONE

  Brax winced in sympathy as the poor schmuck landed with a painful thud against the concrete floor. He did not get back up. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Brax hoped he had been subtle enough to make room in his pants for his inappropriate and untimely erection.

  “Please tell me this isn’t turning you on.”

  Brax rolled his eyes, of course he hadn’t been successful. Draven never missed anything when it came to him. Choosing the path of least resistance, Brax simply remained silent.

  “It is, isn’t it? You’re horny! Unbelievable. That woman is a menace – a very sick, twisted menace if that guy’s grey matter spread all over the ground is any judge. And here you are, lusting after her like some adolescent demon,” Draven shook his head, disgust over the situation plain as day on his handsome features.

  Brax cast a quick glance at the pristine angel standing next to him. Draven stuck out like a sore thumb in this environment. Well, to be fair, he pretty much stood out anywhere. He was everyone’s clichéd version of what an angel should look like; tall, built, blond-haired, blue-eyed, and stupidly handsome. And although angel wings came in all sorts of shapes, sizes, and colours, Draven’s were a pure snow white and reached from his shoulders to his ankles when they were out. It was truly a sight to behold. He was casually dressed in dark cargo pants and a t-shirt, as well as sensible running shoes, at the behest of Brax. But considering the clothing didn’t stink of garbage, contain a multitude of holes, and look like it had been run over by a truck, the angel looked like a shining star in a pile of trash. Abraxis, on the other hand, probably fit in a little better. He was wearing his old army fatigues, a plain black t-shirt, and boots that had seen better days but had saved his butt on more than one occasion. He was also carrying an array of weapons that he hadn’t bothered to conceal. But the one thing that had him fitting in with their surroundings the most? The dead look in his eyes and the rage coursing through his system, no doubt giving a whole new meaning to the term resting bitch face.

  They were standing in the middle of the old warehouse district where illegal dealings, the homeless, and the derelict frequented. Back in the day, when he had been a newbie General to the Demon Horde, one of their tasks had been to clean up the area and wipe out the rampant criminal underbelly. His father had believed the area to be depressing rather than a violent cesspool of humanity and had wanted to help the people living within the chaos. The clean-up effort had worked – for about ten minutes. Then the criminals and the desperate scurried back to do what they did best. But his father had persevered and Brax knew his efforts had not been in vain. Maliq had been a good ruler, one of the best, and he had been well-loved by the people. But he’d never understood something which Brax had learned very quickly as a young soldier; you can’t save everyone. Especially those not wanting to be saved.

  Brax reined in his wayward thoughts; thinking of his late father was not wise given his current surroundings and caused a growl to rumble in his chest. Several crowd members next to him cast him concerned looks before quickly moving out of arms-reach. As if that would save them, Brax thought, a small, unpleasant grin kicking up the corner of his mouth. Draven placed a soothing hand on his forearm and Brax immediately felt calmer. But that wasn’t what he wanted. Brax wanted to hold on to his pain and anger. He needed to.

  It was all that he had left.

  “It’s not all you have left,” Draven murmured. “You have me. You have the people.”

  Abraxis gritted his teeth, prying his arm out of the tender touch of the angel. Draven had the ability to read emotions when he was in physical contact with a person. It was a part of his angelic power of healing, including being able to calm as well as energise. After all, it paid to know what your patient was thinking and feeling as well as where and how severely they were hurt. It came in handy on the battlefield and when they were policing the supernatural population of Purgatory. But Brax more than resented it when it came to situations like now.

  “Draven, you know I love you. But you gotta cut that shit out. I hate it,” he informed his guardian harshly.

  “I know you do,” came the unflappable reply.

  Brax grunted, “And the people hate me.”

  That had a frown creasing Draven’s usually smooth brow, “They don’t hate you. They just don’t know you. You weren’t groomed for the throne, Abraxis. Not like Mikhail was. And you weren’t a notorious playboy and in the tabloids like Zagan either. Your focus was on warring, protecting, and policing the people of Purgatory. A thankless job but an important one. Besides, it is your responsibility to be there for your people, not the other way around.”

  Brax rolled his eyes. Draven sounded remarkably like his father and older brother. Both men perfectly suited and deserving of the title of King. Yet, here Brax was, the reluctant king, dressed in his soldiering uniform and surrounded by a cheering crowd of bloodthirsty supernaturals as they bet on who would get the shit beat out of them in the centre of the makeshift ring while his family waited to be avenged from their graves. And with that happy reminder, Brax returned his attention to his surroundings.

  It hadn’t been all that hard to track down the illegal cage fighting arena – and not because Brax was now one of the only demons of royal blood left living a
nd everyone technically had to obey him. No, Brax had used his well-established and trusted contacts from his army days. Some of his soldier buddies had scouted several locations over the past few weeks, and although they had identified many people in need of being arrested for a plethora of illegal activities, none had yielded what he desired. A woman rumoured to be pure sin.

  Focusing back on the continued death match in front of him, Brax knew that description was both figurative and literal. Not only was she an assassin, forged within the depths of the most notorious assassin den in Purgatory and therefore responsible for untold atrocities, but she was also an angel. Definitely a fallen angel with not a speck of Grace left in her tarnished wings, but an angel nonetheless. It should have been impossible for an agent of the Heavens to willingly kill in cold blood let alone submerge themselves in that life day after day. But the angel known only as Sabre certainly did. Brax had grown up hearing stories about the lethal angel, and over the course of his career had seen the result of many of her undertakings. But he had never seen her in person before, let alone met her. That was something he was intent on changing that night.

  As yet another victim fell with a nauseating crack onto the naked concrete floor, Brax was relieved her reputation was not all bullshit. Being the intelligent demon that he was, he wasn’t one to listen to rumours and tales. He had to see it to believe it. Maybe that was ironic considering he lived in a world made up of supernatural creatures. No doubt the human realm would find it laughable. But Brax could count on one hand the number of people he could still rely on for their word and when one of those people had suggested seeking out the notorious angel in order to aid his endeavour, Brax had quickly agreed. And now, he was definitely seeing the merit of his decision. Of course, he was also rapidly realising the assassin could potentially come with some unexpected problems.

  Like the fact that she is fucking sex on legs, Brax acknowledged silently, thankful Draven hadn’t caught his wayward thoughts this time. Watching the woman fight turned him on, there was no doubt about that. Sabre was dressed in tight leather from collarbone to ankles, showcasing her incredible body of subtle curves and flexing muscles. She had sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, and surprisingly full lips. Why the sight of her pummelling some poor vampire had his inner beast rumbling with approval, he wasn’t sure. He had always preferred strong women, not the tittering, lace-clad society ladies that frequented the upscale bars and parties he had been duty-bound to attend. But he had never had the privilege of witnessing anything quite like he was now. He felt his eyes flare and knew they would be reflecting the light like an animal – a gift thanks to his shared bloodline with Cerberus. Though, not a very subtle one because Draven immediately began swearing.

  “Don’t even think about it. I’m serious, Brax. That woman is more trouble than a roll beneath the sheets would be worth. Trust me. She can’t be saved.”

  Brax laughed a little at that; “Draven, that is the last woman in all the realms in need of saving. Don’t worry,” he assured his friend, “my need for information far trumps my need for sex.”

  Draven looked at him like he didn’t believe him but thankfully let it rest. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he then asked for the millionth time.

  Brax sighed, pushing his hands through his hair roughly and turning his back on the crowd who were now dispersing after the final fight. “What choice do I have, Draven? The royal family is all but eradicated, assassinated by a mysterious rogue we literally know nothing about other than the fact they have a sociopathic need to topple the line of Cerberus. Civil unrest is gaining momentum and all my months of hunting have been pointless.” Draven was kind enough not to correct his timeline – months had recently turned into a year. “My spies have found exactly nothing and anytime we get a tiny lead, it turns to shit. We’re not just one step behind this fuck – we’re light years!” He ended in a growl, the sound rumbling through his chest like the demon-beast he was.

  Training his eyes on the leather-clad, fallen angelic prize in front of him. He said decisively; “I’m doing this. I’m hiring Sabre.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was some thirty minutes later, when the majority of the crowd had left and only a handful of various creatures remained that Brax and Draven made their way over to a very relaxed-looking assassin. She was sitting at a scarred table – one of only three in the entire open area of the warehouse – with a very pretty, young-looking woman and a man who at first glance, appeared human. There was a total of six chairs in the vast space, two small round tables and one long, solid block of timber that looked a little like a bar. Unfortunately, the stains on top of it told a different story and Brax just managed to stop his nose from wrinkling in distaste. Draven had no such restraint and he pursed his lips, shaking his head in disgust. Draven was a rather fastidious angel and Brax could see him cataloguing germs even as they waited next to where Sabre was merrily telling a tale to her two companions.

  “So, anyway, I knocked on his door and I hear this scared little voice from the other side say, ‘who’s there?’” Sabre was explaining.

  The young woman snickered before asking, “What did you say?”

  Sabre’s grin was decidedly evil as she answered, apparently completely unaware of their presence behind her. But Brax wasn’t fooled. He knew the dangerous woman was well aware of her surroundings. No, Brax thought, she just didn’t give a shit they were there. Why he found such irreverence appealing, he really had no clue. Usually, such casual disregard would piss him off. His demonic nature was all alpha and demanded respect and acknowledgment. Yet, the leather-clad, blood-covered female currently ignoring him in favour of continuing her chat with her companions was causing his beast to purr instead of growl. It was disconcerting to say the least. He managed to catch her answer and it had his eyebrows rising.

  “I said ‘Destiny, motherfucker!’ Then I bashed the door in and gutted him from back to front as he attempted to run away, screaming like a banshee the entire time. No easy feat, I assure you,” she shook her head.

  The two people with her laughed uproariously as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Draven shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, and Brax wasn’t sure what to think. Was Sabre telling an exaggerated barroom tale? Or did she truly find humour in killing someone from behind?

  “You really said it was Destiny at the door?” The other female asked between giggles.

  “You bet your stripes I did,” Sabre confirmed.

  The dark-haired man with them simply shook his head, a smile lighting his face – but not his obsidian eyes. “Classic,” he said.

  Apparently, Draven had reached his limit on patience – and no doubt tolerance as well. He stalked forward, practically yelling; “Are you being serious right now?!”

  The trio finally deigned to give them the time of day, and Brax was faced with three sets of hardened, judgemental eyes.

  “Excuse me?” The odd human man asked.

  “Do you really think that tale is humorous?” Draven asked, voice incredulous. “And do you really think such a story is appropriate for one so young?” he added, pointing to the black-and-white-haired young woman in their midst.

  The teen in question rounded her eyes in surprise – one a startling blue and the other a bright green – before looking back at Sabre. She coughed, covering her smiling mouth with her hand, “Yeah, do you really think that is appropriate for my innocent ears?”

  She was clearly being sarcastic, and Draven realised it too, for his hands clenched by his sides. Brax brushed against him subtly, knowing such a tiny movement would be enough to have him stand down. As an angel, it was a part of Draven’s innate nature to care for and protect the young. The young adult he saw sitting in front of them looked fragile enough but Brax had a feeling it had been a long time since she was innocent. Or had the chance to be a child. If she ever had, Brax tacked on silently. If she was hanging out with the likes of the notorious Sabre at an underground cage fighting facili
ty, then she was very likely to have just as much blood on her hands as the deadly woman sitting next to her.

  “To answer your question; yes, I think it’s funny. You see, it works on multiple levels. Because this –” Sabre quickly whipped out a knife the size of her forearm causing both Brax and Draven to take a defensive stance and pull out their own weapons. “This blade is called Destiny,” Sabre continued, completely unconcerned by their arsenal, as if they weren’t true threats. “Plus, his death by my hands was also his destiny. Get it?” she asked.

  Draven blew air out of his nostrils in a rush and Brax was surprised there was no accompanying fire. The woman in front of them was the very epitome of everything Draven scorned. “Oh, I get it,” the angel promised. “I get that you’re a travesty to every angel alive! You’re sick! A disgusting example of –”

  Sabre looked bored as she held up a hand for silence, “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

  Draven drew himself up to his full height of six-foot-five inches – a good two inches taller than Brax’s own solid frame. Draven was also well-muscled with broad shoulders and bulging biceps. He might act and sound like a British butler most of the time, but he was a warrior and a guardian to his core. Brax knew that Draven could throw down with the best of them and had, in fact, witnessed him doing so many times. As a royal guardian angel to the General of the Demon Horde of Purgatory, the angel really didn’t have a choice. Not that the man wanted one, Brax knew. Being Brax’s guardian, his mentor, his best friend, and his advisor was more than Draven’s job. It was his calling, his purpose. It was the reason why his Grace was bestowed upon him and why he found himself on one of the middle planes instead of remaining in Heaven.

  “I am Draven, Guardian Angel to Abraxis, King of Purgatory.”