Reluctant King (Reluctant Royals Book 1)

by Montana Ash

  “Brax has been happier these past few days you say?” Jinx asked, eyeing Draven shrewdly.

  Sabre tensed. Jinx may have been young and she may come across as bratty or flighty to new acquaintances, but Sabre knew that was just an act. Jinx was highly intelligent, highly intuitive, and had a maturity well beyond her years. Sabre knew Jinx could take over the world if she put her mind to it. So she was more than a little concerned by the knowing look Jinx threw her way before turning back to Draven, apparently eager to hear his reply. Sabre was too.

  Draven nodded, “Yes. He’s been on his phone almost constantly. He must be talking to friends because he is always in a good mood afterward. It’s wonderful to see.”

  Sabre suddenly found her small stake very interesting. She didn’t dare make eye contact with Jinx or Gage.

  “That’s interesting,” Gage mused, sharing an intrigued and decidedly mischievous look with Jinx. “Sabre has been receiving a lot more texts and calls than usual too. Must be something in the air.”

  Draven, completely oblivious to Gage’s innuendo, nodded his head, “I would hope she is. I understand you have been making lots of inquiries.”

  “That’s right! I have!” Sabre was quick to jump on the explanation and she shot a glare at the other two when they found her response so humorous. “And I was just about to go and make some more. So, if you’ll excuse me …”

  Draven danced with death by stepping into her path, “Allow me to come with you.”

  “I already said no,” Sabre returned, flatly.

  “How about we all come?” Gage suggested, already grabbing his jacket and walking toward the door.

  “Great idea!” Jinx clapped, joining him.

  Sabre gritted her teeth, forcefully reminding herself that it was poor form to kill known associates. “This is not a school excursion. I am going to The Dungeon,” she informed them.

  The Dungeon was a local hangout for the baddies of Purgatory to drink, shoot the shit, and have sex. It was always filled with naughty supernaturals no matter the time of day or night and was exactly the type of place she needed to implement her new plan. It was also somewhere she didn’t allow Jinx to go. With her history, Sabre didn’t want her anywhere near sexual deviants and their very public sex acts. Gage, thankfully, was on the same page as her because he stopped walking. Jinx immediately opened her mouth to argue, knowing where the conversation was headed. Surprisingly it was Draven who spoke;

  “The Dungeon? That is no place for the likes of you, young one.”

  Draven’s voice was soft and it wasn’t an order, but Jinx bristled nonetheless, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  “That may be so,” Draven allowed. “But I would feel decidedly uncomfortable if you joined us. Would you please do me this one small favour and stay here?”

  Sabre’s jaw dropped open. Firstly, since when was there an ‘us’? Secondly, Draven was actually being charming … and it was working! Jinx’s eyes softened as she looked up at Draven as if he were her new best friend. “Fine. But you be nice to my assassin, you hear?” Jinx poked Draven in the stomach.

  Draven smiled, “I will try my best.”

  “That’s all anyone can do,” Jinx conceded, before turning and trotting back into the warehouse.

  “What just happened?” Sabre asked, staring after the feisty tiger suddenly turned sweet kitten. “Did you voodoo my weretiger? Maybe use your soft and squishy, pansy empath powers on her?” she accused Draven.

  Draven’s smiling face promptly scowled, “Of course I didn’t use my powers on her without permission. And they are not pansy. My healing abilities are extremely powerful and highly sought after.”

  “Of course they are,” Sabre soothed. “Everyone loves a good mood ring. Those things have great entertainment value.”

  “My empath abilities are more than just mood detectors. I –” Draven blew out a breath. “You really get to me. You know that, right?” Sabre shrugged even as he continued to eye her thoughtfully. “What colour were your wings, anyway?”

  “Excuse me?” The abrupt – and extremely rude question to Sabre’s reasoning – took her completely by surprise. Angels were highly protective of their wings. And though it wasn’t a faux pas to have their wings out in public – it wasn’t like walking around with your dick out or anything – wings were still highly personal as well as special. And very, very revealing. Because an angel’s wings were a direct reflection of their powers. She knew Draven’s would be white because he was a healer, but they could also have a mixture of silver feathers or even gold feathers if he were powerful enough. Angels born in Purgatory – or Earth, because that happened every so often – never grew feathers of silver or gold. But those created in Heaven, who performed their duties faithfully and righteously and whose powers were extreme were sometimes known to sprout the pretty, metallic primary feathers.

  As for her own feathery situation, she knew Draven had used past tense to ask her about her wings because he assumed she no longer had them, what with her being fallen and no longer having any Grace. It didn’t matter that Sabre had been off the angelic path since she was a child, questions about her wings still scraped her raw.

  “Wow. Rude much?” Gage’s snarky voice broke into Sabre’s musings. “I haven’t even asked about Sabre’s wings. And I know her. And like her. And she likes me back. You – she hates.”

  “Thank you, Gage,” Sabre patted him on the arm. It was good to have people in your life who understood you. She turned back to Draven, “That’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”

  Draven rolled his shoulders as if uncomfortable, “It’s not like I was going to ask you to show me, but …”

  “You’re lucky I can’t do that. You might have been in for a shock,” Sabre pointed out. Then she scoffed, “I mean, hell, why didn’t you just go ahead and ask to see my vagina?”

  Draven choked and turned an alarming purple colour, “Sick. So sick …” he mumbled.

  Sabre wasn’t sure if he was talking about her statement or the thought of her vagina, or that he was literally feeling sick – at the thought of her vagina. Either way, she was feeling better about the whole situation. A little violence over at The Dungeon would round out her mood and smooth away the last of the ragged edges, she knew.

  “Don’t listen to the angel, my love. You have a great vagina,” Gage suddenly said, winking in her direction.

  Then it was Sabre’s turn to choke on her own spit.

  Draven turned wide eyes to Gage, looking back and forth between him and Sabre, “You’ve had sex with …? What are you again?” he questioned Gage.

  “None of your business,” Gage and Sabre answered at the same time.

  “Just know I’m something that eats flesh. So if I say Sabre has a nice vagina …” Gage leaned in close to Draven and whispered salaciously in his ear, “take my word for it.”

  Draven gagged, “Definitely going to be sick.”

  Gage laughed, turning back to Sabre, “If you and the rude-slash-charming angel here can handle it, I’ll leave you to The Dungeon and I’ll go check on Jinx.”

  “I can handle it,” Sabre promised him. She shook her head at him in a scolding manner, knowing he would simply ignore her and continue to do and say what he liked. It was a trait she, Jinx, and Gage all shared and didn’t seem so annoying when she acted on her own impulses. She had never had sex with Gage and never intended to. He was good-looking and also one of the best men she knew, but there was no sexual spark between them. Thankfully, Sabre added, because Gage had not been kidding. He really did eat flesh and although he was fucking around, she didn’t want him anywhere near her goodies.

  CHAPTER TEN

  As soon as she walked into the room, the entire atmosphere became tense for a whole different reason other than the large number of supernaturals currently fighting, gambling or having sex. It was because Sabre had a habit of spilling blood whenever she made an appearance at The Dungeon. She just couldn’t seem to help h
erself. The clientele were always so mouthy, and she always had a hard time ignoring their words. Besides, why would she bother to ignore them when it was simply easier to cut out a few tongues? On this particular occasion though, she had vowed to herself to behave – despite her need for a good fight. She was there for one reason and one reason only; to stir some shit up on behalf of the King. Although, with her wingman in tow, she wasn’t sure if violence was going to be avoided, because if there was one thing the riffraff hated more than her, it was a goody-two-shoes angel.

  “You’re not welcome here, angel-bitch,” a gravelly voice said from behind her.

  Looking over her shoulder, Sabre saw that it was Ox. Ox was a troll – a very smelly troll – and the owner of the establishment. He was also scared of her and Sabre knew it. “Now, is that any way to talk about my new friend?” she asked, sternly.

  Ox’s beady eyes darted to Draven for a split second before returning to her, “I was talking to you.”

  “Oh, my mistake. That’s what I call him, so I got confused for a second there,” Sabre explained.

  Beside her, Draven huffed but remained silent. She really had no idea why he was intent on following her around. Sure, Brax had said he wanted Draven to help multiple times during their correspondence over the last few days. But he had also said he wanted to chat with Sabre in person again too. She had taken both statements with a grain of salt because both were just as ridiculous as each other. Yet, here she was, with a plus one. Did that mean the other wasn’t outside the realm of possibility too? Shaking off the strangely appealing notion, she addressed Ox once more;

  “I just need two minutes, then I’ll be out of here. I won’t even break any bones or set anything on fire this time. Pinky swear …” Sabre held up her little finger, but Ox rudely ignored it, wordlessly snarling at her before retreating to a dark corner.

  “Do you piss off everyone you meet?”

  The sardonic question came from next to her and Sabre turned to Draven, “Most of the time,” Sabre admitted. “It’s a gift.”

  “Some gift,” Draven muttered, eyes scanning the room but face remaining surprisingly neutral.

  “Not your usual haunt, huh?” Sabre guessed.

  “No. A fact I’m ever grateful for. Is it yours?” he then asked, blue eyes latching onto hers and seeming to search for something.

  Sabre had no idea what the angel could possibly be looking to find but he wouldn’t find it in her eyes. She had learned to shut down her expressions long ago and knew she now no longer had any tells. Thank you, Carlisle’s training. As for Draven’s question, establishments like The Dungeon were a necessary and inevitable part of her job and Sabre found herself frequenting them enough that she was on a first name basis with the owners like Ox. But did she like it? That would be a resounding fuck no! If she had a choice, she would burn the place to the ground. Still, her answer was; “I have my own table reserved. What does that tell you?”

  Draven’s mouth tightened and he looked less than pleased. Still he followed her to the table she had been gesturing to and watched impassively as she tipped the fornicating pair of nymphs onto the floor. Eyeing the dirty tabletop, Sabre idly wondered how much DNA was permanently ingrained into the wood before stepping onto it. “I hope I don’t get pregnant from this,” she muttered. Then she whistled loudly between her teeth; “Right! Listen up, fuckers! King Abraxis has officially hired me to identify and hunt down the tosser – or tossers – who have been picking off his fam-fam. I am very invested in this and you all know what that means …” Sabre scanned the room, taking note of expressions and body language and storing it all away in her brain to process later. “It means when I find the culprit, Imma cut a bitch. So if any of you have any information for me, I kindly suggest you offer it up willingly.” The room was dangerously quiet and she didn’t so much as get a ‘fuck you’ in response. Sabre looked down at Draven, “Wow. Tough crowd.”

  Draven looked appalled as Sabre jumped down from the table and dusted off her hands. She then strolled through the silent room and out the door as if nothing were amiss. Studying her hands, she scrunched up her nose; “Ick. I feel dirty in all the non-fun ways. You don’t happen to have any hand sanitiser on you, do you?”

  Her innocent question was met with a very big, angry frown, “That’s it? You walk in, threaten to … cut a bitch … and then walk out? What did that achieve?”

  Sabre stopped walking, giving half her attention to Draven but keeping vigil on The Dungeon as well. They were only about twenty metres away – not nearly far enough to be having a chat. Still, Sabre replied; “That just achieved more than years and years of subterfuge and quietly seeking answers under the table, I promise you. Look,” she motioned with her chin at the handful of supernatural beings slowly making their way out of the dingy interior of the bar. “Like rats fleeing a sinking ship,” she murmured, feeling excited to see the results of her loud and public statement in the coming days. She had no doubt word would spread that she was working for the king. She also had no doubt that fact would piss off a lot of people. And pissed off people were her favourite kind. Because pissed off people made mistakes. She would glean new information from today’s brief outing, Sabre was sure of it. The angel next to her though, clearly didn’t think so.

  “You’re certifiable!”

  “I’m really not,” Sabre countered. Draven didn’t fire anything back, which she found odd and she looked at his handsome face only to find him shaking his head and looking disappointed of all things. “What’s with the look?” And then it hit her – the whole ‘wanting to help her deal’? It had been about him the entire time. “Why did you come with me today?” she asked, icily.

  Draven shook his head, “Truthfully? I wanted to see who you really were. I know what you do for a living but I wanted to see if there was more to you. If perhaps there was more than a sarcastic killing machine, intent on adding to the crime statistics of Purgatory,” Draven admitted. “Because I have this insane speculation that Brax, my Brax, believes there is a decent, genuine person under all the leather and he’s somehow getting sucked in.”

  Sabre lifted her chin, ignoring the pitty-pat of her heart over the last part of info, “And what did you determine?”

  “That you are irredeemable.”

  Draven’s flat assessment of her made her flinch and Sabre actually took a step back. “Wow. And you’ve come to that conclusion after just three meetings with me.” Sabre shook her head, “You really hate me, don’t you?”

  “I’m an angel. We don’t hate anyone,” was Draven’s prompt reply.

  “Please,” Sabre sneered. “Don’t give me that holier-than-thou bullshit. You’re talking to another angel here. We can hate. Very easily.”

  “Fine. Yes, I hate you,” Draven finally hissed. “I hate everything you stand for because it is against everything I stand for. Angels are good. We are good beings, Sabre. You are a betrayal to everything we are and it’s shameful and embarrassing. I find you embarrassing. And the last thing – the very last thing in all the realms I want is you in close proximity to my charge. Brax is everything that is good and right in the world. He is strong and capable and so very noble – though he doesn’t see it. But he is vulnerable at the moment and I won’t see him taken advantage of. I see the way he looks at you and I see the way you watch him. You can’t have him, Sabre.”

  Sabre had a hard time wrapping her head around everything Draven was saying. Her gut clutched hearing his words of hate – nobody liked hearing that. But it was the promise of taking Brax away that really made her sweat. Not that he was with her at the moment or anything, but the hope growing in her heart was a small blessing she never thought she would have – even if it was useless. Sabre was sure Draven was the only person in the entire world whom Brax would never deny anything. Including her. Sabre opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out on the first try. Trying again, she was annoyed to find her voice weak and thin;

  “I have no intention of takin
g advantage of Abraxis. Despite what you think of me – which is to say less than nothing – I can assure you I am no threat to the King. As for the rest …” Sabre raised her chin, eyes suddenly blazing, “I’m a betrayal against our kind? Easy for you to say, you weren’t raised in an assassin den. You fell to Purgatory and fell into the royal house of Cerberus. A hundred odd years of daily torture from the age of eight and I’d like to see how quickly you changed your tune.”

  “There is no amount of torture that would cause me to betray my duty. None,” Draven snapped his reply.

  Sabre snorted, knowing how very wrong he was but unable to prove it unless they swapped places. “Well, luckily for me I didn’t have a duty to betray,” she said instead.

  “That just makes you even more pathetic,” Draven shook his head once again. “Never. Never would I do what you do.”

  Sabre squeezed the bridge of her nose, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I know you think you really mean that, Draven. But you don’t. You see, when you say never, you actually mean until.”

  “What?” he asked, looking confused.

  “People always say never but what they really mean is until. You would never cheat on your wife until you have ten shots of bourbon at the work Christmas party and Mary shakes her stockinged arse at you. You would never steal anything until you’re starving and cold and have nowhere else to go.” Sabre cocked an eyebrow at Draven, “You would never betray your birthright until …”

  “No,” the stubborn angel shook his head hard. “I don’t believe that.”

  “Believe what you want,” Sabre told him. “But I used to say never a lot too and look at me now. Are we done?”