Reluctant King (Reluctant Royals Book 1)

by Montana Ash

  Draven watched her in silence for a moment and Sabre met his stare levelly, “Yes. We’re done,” he finally agreed.

  “Thank fuck for that,” she muttered, turning away. Luckily she did because a swish of movement caught her eye. She didn’t have time to yell a warning, instead palming the small silver stake she had been playing with that morning, she launched it a mere centimetre over Draven’s left shoulder.

  Draven gasped and swore, grabbing her wrist in a punishing grip but Sabre quickly shook him off. She strode over to the fallen vampire, giving him a kick, and was satisfied when he didn’t move. Her aim had been true.

  “What did you do?” Draven yelled, disbelief on his face and in his voice.

  Sabre eyed the fallen vampire dispassionately, “Killed a vampire.”

  “Killed a vampire?” Draven wheezed.

  “Uh huh. Killed him dead,” she confirmed. Draven seemed to be having a hard time breathing, so Sabre cut him some slack, hoping to get on with her earlier plan of getting the fuck away from his judgemental arse. “You’re welcome,” she said.

  Draven’s crystal blue eyes widened further – a feat Sabre didn’t believe should have been physically possible. “You’re welcome? You’re welcome?!” he repeated, looking between her and the ever-increasing pool of red spreading from beneath the vamp’s chest. “You are the most disturbing person I have ever met.”

  “Really?” Sabre felt a smile light her face, taking it as the compliment she genuinely believed it was. “That is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Are you going soft on me?” she asked, wondering if perhaps they were having a bonding moment despite Draven being a hater just minutes before.

  “Soft?” Draven’s voice was incredulous.

  So, maybe not bonding, Sabre admitted with an internal shrug.

  “You’re sick!” Draven continued, the hard, cold tone of his voice snapping Sabre out of her good humour. “You just killed an innocent man!”

  “Innocent?” she burst out laughing. “There was nothing innocent about that vamp,” she assured the other angel.

  “He was just standing there. Unarmed. You didn’t even give him a warning. You truly have fallen from all Graces, haven’t you?”

  Sabre felt the familiar ice flood her system, and she scolded herself for forgetting for one moment who exactly Draven was. And who she was. She strode over to the fallen body and kicked him over. A thin, shiny blade cleverly concealed between his fingers could barely be seen in the mid-morning light, but she knew Draven’s eyes would be able to see it. “This is a skeleton blade,” she informed him. “It is the weapon of choice from the Memnar Guild. He was about to launch it into your eyeball. Like I said …” she knocked her shoulder against his on her way back past, “you’re welcome.”

  “Sabre … wait!”

  But Sabre’s patience was at an all-time low and all she could manage was a snarled, “Get fucked!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sabre was laying prone on her bed at the Blue Devil when her phone began to ring beside her. Her fingers twitched to snatch it up immediately – she recognised the ring tone she had set for Brax – but she stopped herself and let it ring out. When ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’ began to play for the fourth time in as many minutes, she finally stabbed the little green button. “What?!” she yelled in lieu of a hello.

  “And hello to you too,” Brax’s voice drawled from the other end of their connection. “I see you’re in a good mood this evening, Sabre. Could that have anything to do with a certain trip to a certain bar earlier today?”

  Sabre mimed his royal tone, pulling funny faces because he couldn’t see. “Let me guess …” she finally drawled, “Draven tattled on me.”

  “He said you walked into a bar, yelled that you were hired by me as my personal assassin and then killed a vampire in front of him.”

  “Concise,” she acknowledged. “I have nothing to add.”

  “Sabre …”

  Rubbing her temple, Sabre squeezed her eyes shut. She was terrified to learn what else Draven had said to Brax after their heated conversation. Somehow, she doubted Draven had changed his tune about her having contact with Brax just because she had saved his sanctimonious arse. “Look, I know you don’t understand the logic, but I assure you –”

  “Oh, I understand. You’re hoping some of the super-secret evil-doers get pissed enough to fuck up and start blabbing. Maybe a little, ‘Did you hear Sabre is working for the monarchy and is chasing her own arse? Well, I once got one over on her you know? I am a super awesome baddie with balls of steel,’ yada, yada, yada. Am I right?”

  Sabre pulled the phone from her ear and looked at it in surprise. Though she would like to see the expression on his face right then, she was glad he couldn’t see hers. She was shocked he was able to read her so well and more than a little turned on that they apparently thought along the same wavelength. Abraxis was a man of many talents. Clearing her throat, she muttered, “Maybe a little …”

  “Then how about this; you’re even hoping that the person behind the killings gets pissed enough and bold enough that he comes after you next. Am I getting warmer?”

  Sabre sat up. Brax wasn’t just getting warmer, he was scorching. That had been the next stage of her plan, but one she hadn’t given more than a passing thought to, even in her own head yet. How did Brax understand her so well?

  “I don’t approve of your actions,” Brax informed her, sounding every inch the King he proclaimed he didn’t want to be.

  “Are you firing me?” she held her breath.

  “What? Firing you? Of course not!” Brax sounded genuinely surprised over the notion. “But I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

  Sabre felt herself melt back against the mattress. Other than a small handful of people, there had been very little concern over whether she was hurt or not. Sabre relished the warmth that spread through her system for a few precious seconds, knowing a few simple words from Draven could take that concern away. Why the angel hadn’t used his influence to get Brax to dump her like a tonne of bricks she didn’t know. But for now, she could only assume Draven had kept his feelings of hate and embarrassment to himself because Brax’s voice was tinged with warmth.

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself,” she finally responded.

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that. But just because you can doesn’t mean you should always have to.”

  Sabre bit her lip, remaining silent until she trusted herself to speak, “I have to go. It’s late and I have things to kill and stuff.”

  Brax’s sigh held a note of disappointment, “Fine. Go kill. But, Sabre? Thank you for saving Draven today. And thank you for not killing him yourself.”

  A dial tone met her ear and Sabre clutched the phone to her chest. The man understood her, that was for sure. How did someone – who had only heard the worst of her by reputation – and was raised in such an opposing environment, possibly understand her on such a fundamental level? Especially the not killing the angel part, Sabre thought, because it had definitely been touch and go. Maybe it was because he was so sexy? Yeah, that had to be it. Because he was –

  A tentative knock on her door interrupted her crazy, lustful thoughts. Jumping from the bed and palming her favourite sig sauger, Sabre flattened her back against the wall next to the door before flicking the safety off with her thumb. Aiming the muzzle of the gun through the drafty crack in the door, knowing from experience she would hit some part of the person standing on the other side, she looked through the peep hole. Sabre immediately relaxed, putting the safety back on and tucking the gun away in the rear waistband of her leather pants. Undoing the series of locks – which were largely useless given who she lived with – she was pleasantly surprised to see Phaedra on the other side.

  Phaedra was a pixie – tiny in stature but mighty in nature, she had a delicate constitution at direct odds with where she lived. She was in Carlisle’s mansion as an indentured servant, paying off family debt
s for the next seventy years. She had already been there close to two hundred. The pixie was also one of two people in the entire den who Sabre trusted implicitly, so she didn’t hesitate to usher her inside.

  “Phaedra, how are you?” Sabre immediately asked, running critical eyes over the small, pretty woman. It wasn’t uncommon for Phaedra to visit her covered in bruises from where other residents had gotten too handsy. In those instances, Sabre paid them a visit and taught them a lesson they didn’t soon forget. She may not be able to physically harm Carlisle, but the same rule did not apply to the other assassins and mercenaries.

  Phaedra smiled, straight white teeth flashing in her dark, pretty face, “I’m good.”

  “Uh huh,” Sabre moved closer and lifted the pixie’s pointy chin, “Are you hurt?” Phaedra shook her head. “Are you in trouble?”

  This time Phaedra rolled her eyes, moving out of Sabre’s grip, “No, Sabre. I’m not in trouble. I’ve just been minding my own business and doing my job. Same old, same old.”

  Sabre merely grunted, causing Phaedra to smile wider – and Sabre to roll her eyes. Pixie’s were a cute, mischievous bunch. They were non-violent and their magic was delightfully playful. But they were also sneaky and they could do a lot of harm if they were cornered.

  “I came because I heard the new king hired you for some merc work,” Phaedra announced.

  “You heard that, huh?” Even if Sabre hadn’t just announced it to the world Phaedra would still have known. She heard nearly every damn thing. Not only was she a cook in the kitchen but she also served food in the dining hall, allowing her to hear all kinds of useful – and dangerous – things.

  The pixie nodded her head, sending her dark curls bouncing everywhere. “Yep. I also heard you’re looking for information about the deaths of anyone from the royal line.”

  “That’s right. Our esteemed king wants to find those responsible for killing his family. Which is probably fair enough, I guess. I hear they were nice,” Sabre conceded.

  “Yes. Most people take exception to their entire family being systematically wiped out,” Phaedra acknowledged.

  Hearing a tone in the other woman’s voice, Sabre eyed her suspiciously. Sure enough, Phaedra’s hazel eyes were twinkling and she was fighting heroically to hold back a smile. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Mock my social ineptitude why don’t you?” Phaedra finally released a giggle, the sound tinkling in the room and turning up the corners of Sabre’s mouth as well.

  “Sorry, but Sabre … you crack me up,” Phaedra laughed one more time.

  Sabre shook her head at that. She thought she was the least funny person on the planet. Scratch that; on all four planets, well, planes. There was nothing funny about gutting people for a living. Okay, she thought gutting people was often funny as fuck. But Sabre knew most people didn’t. And they certainly didn’t laugh when she did it to them, or when they saw her do it to others. They usually cried. Or screamed. Or ran away crying and screaming. Annnd, I’m monologuing, Sabre thought in annoyance. It was a bad habit of hers, and one that had gotten her cut more than once because she hadn’t been paying attention like she should have been.

  “Sabre? You talking to yourself again or what?” Phaedra broke the silence – and the monologuing.

  She managed to restrain her pout. There was nothing appealing about a pouting assassin. “I was planning strategies. Death strategies.”

  “Uh huh,” Phaedra sounded sceptical but thankfully chose not to tease. “Anyway, I came to talk to you because I may or may not have some information about the assassination of King Maliq.”

  Now that had Sabre focusing in on the pixie with laser focus, “What sort of information?”

  Phaedra bit her bottom lip in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. It had been a long time since she had feared Sabre in any way, shape, or form. “Well … I was the spotter.”

  “What?!” Sabre hadn’t meant to yell, but that was just about the last thing she had expected to hear.

  In the world of snipers, spotters were the teammate who made sure the shooter had the greatest chance for making a successful shot by calculating distance, tracking the trajectory of the bullet, and making the wind call. In the world of assassins, however, a spotter was a witness. It may be seen as counterproductive to have a witness to a murder, but there were some contracts where it was unavoidable. Like when the assassin holding the contract employed a third party to help fulfil the mission. Or if a slow acting poison was used. A spotter would be used to witness the actual death and then report back in order to attest to the validity of the assassination. A spotter was always secret, with the contract holder not knowing who would be following and watching. Carlisle was the only one who could send out a spotter and the only one they then reported to. Sabre knew the controlling, distrustful incubus often sent spotters to spy on regular contracts randomly as well – even if they didn’t meet the criteria. Carlisle was a real arsehole.

  Learning Phaedra was used as a spotter was new. Sabre had never considered it before and she cursed herself for being ignorant and naïve. After all, the little pixie with earthen magic and the ability to shrink in size would be the perfect spy. Couple that with her sweet disposition and guileless eyes and no one would suspect the strong, independent, intelligent woman that lurked within. Sabre knew Phaedra was simply biding her time and paying off her family’s debt so she could one day raze the Blue Devil to the ground. And when that day came, Sabre was going to be there to strike the match.

  “Did you witness the death of King Maliq?” Sabre asked, getting right to the point.

  Phaedra nodded quickly, “Yes. BUT –” she quickly raised her voice when Sabre began cursing and asking who it was. “But I didn’t see who it was. Or rather, what it was behind the scenes.”

  “Third party?” Sabre guessed.

  “Yes. And I never knew who was hired to take the hit in the first place,” Phaedra quickly added.

  Sabre grunted. That wasn’t unexpected. The person – or persons – behind the death of several members of the royal family, including King Maliq, were the best kept secret in Purgatory. Well, almost, Sabre amended, knowing full well her secrets were the best kept. And possibly the most toxic. “Maliq was killed with poison,” Sabre stated. “So, not only was it a long-distance kill, a third party was hired as well? Damn, this guy is a real fucking coward.”

  Sabre, herself, had never once killed a single soul with poison. When she killed, she killed face to face. Or face to back. Or face to side. Whatever. The point was, she never took the easy way out and she never hired someone else to do the dirty work for her. She might have a fucked-up job description, but she took pride in it.

  “Right,” Phaedra agreed. “Whoever this guy is, they wanted double the protection from possible detection.”

  Sabre scrubbed a hand over her face, expelling a harsh breath, “Okay. You said you didn’t see who or what killed Maliq. What did you mean by that?”

  Phaedra walked over and sat on the end of Sabre’s bed, tucking her small feet underneath her. Sabre very deliberately had no chairs in the room because she didn’t want visitors to think they could stay and chat. Usually, they rarely made it through the door. Unless you were a pervy incubus den master or a rare trusted companion of course. Sabre remained standing so she could pace off some nervous energy should she need to, but she gestured toward the pixie to start talking.

  “I think Maliq knew he was dying,” Phaedra revealed. “I mean, more than just feeling like shit because he thought he was sick or something. I think he knew. He had this … resigned look about him. Like he knew his death was inevitable, so he didn’t bother trying to call his guards or anything.”

  Sabre closed her eyes briefly, remaining silent and not agreeing one way or the other. She had no doubt the former king did know. He was rumoured to be clairvoyant – a gift from his maternal side way back when one of Delphi’s Oracles had married into the royal line thousands of years ago. It wasn’t common knowledge and Sabre onl
y knew because of the stalking she did of all things royal. And then there was that one day when … She quickly halted her thoughts. That was something she didn’t dare replay even in the safety of her own mind. She was highly adept at blocking those with mental powers, but she wouldn’t put it past Carlisle to try to tap into the minds of his assassins regularly.

  “Anyway, I was only there for ten minutes max. Just long enough to see the look of resigned sadness on the king’s face before he started to convulse. But … I wasn’t the only one there. There was something else. I couldn’t make out what it was but it was low to the ground and it had red eyes,” Phaedra announced in a rush.

  Sabre froze in mid-step, “Red eyes?”

  “Yes. Red, glowing eyes from the shadows,” Phaedra described further.

  Despite what the humans on the Earth plane liked to think, there were an extremely limited number of supernatural beings who could boast having red irises. And vampires weren’t one of them. The only creatures with red eyes came straight out of Hell. Literally. Sabre felt her heart begin to pound as endorphins flooded her system. She had a lead. She finally had a solid lead she could start investigating. “Phaedra, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  Phaedra looked contrite, “I’m sorry, Sabre. But I didn’t even consider it. Why would I? I didn’t know you had any interest in who killed the King from two successions ago. I mean, why would you?”

  The other female had a point. All of Sabre’s previous investigations had been on the down-low so as to not arouse suspicion. As such, she had effectively tied her own hands and limited how much she could find. Exactly nothing, as it turned out. But not now. Now she had something. Maybe even more than something. She walked over to the bed and gave Phaedra a big smackaroo right on her forehead.

  Phaedra’s eyes twinkled, “Please tell me that wasn’t the kiss of death?”

  Sabre laughed, “Never. Thank you. You may have just helped crack the case.”