Reluctant King (Reluctant Royals Book 1)

by Montana Ash

  Unfortunately, Carlisle really wasn’t amused and Sabre soon found herself hanging from a hook in the ceiling like a slab of meat. He then proceeded to tenderise her like one. Mercy stood back and watched the show, no doubt gorging on the waves of pain emanating from her now severely abused and injured body. But the pain demon took no pleasure in it, Sabre knew. The murderous look in his eyes directed at Carlisle and Touma – who had stayed to help out – and the fisted hands demonstrated the man’s desire to put a stop to the torture. With a few small shakes of her head and a couple of microscopic finger twitches, Sabre had ordered Mercy not to interfere. Not only was she aware that Jinx and Gage would be planning a rescue attempt – nothing would stop the dynamic duo, not even Sabre’s direct orders. But she also wanted to know how deeply involved Carlisle was in the conspiracy against the throne. Unfortunately, Carlisle was lost in his rage and Sabre hadn’t been able to learn anything of value, other than the fact that the incubus was stark raving mad. The man hadn’t even asked her any questions.

  Even with her ear canals filled with blood, Sabre still heard the moment the fighting began outside. Carlisle wasn’t one to soundproof his torture chamber. Oh no, he wanted others to hear exactly what was going on inside the room. And to fear it. The abrupt noise had Carlisle turning to the door with a curse, and Sabre took the time to take stock of herself and the situation.

  Believing she was too injured to do any real damage let alone attempt an escape, Carlisle had not seen fit to bind her feet. Her arms were unfortunately still tied with titanium to a hook secured in the ceiling. But her dangling feet were blessedly – and stupidly on Carlisle’s part – free. They were also bare because Carlisle had gotten a little slap-happy with a cane to the soles of her feet. Still, Sabre rolled her eyes internally, unable to do so externally due to the heavy swelling of her orbits. She could make a kill with her little toe. Well, maybe, she amended, before swiftly following it up with, challenge accepted. Her primary issue was not the mangled state of her body but the fact that she couldn’t cause the den master bodily harm thanks to her fucking contract. Luckily for her she had a very pissed off pain demon hovering in the shadows, ready and willing to cause some agony and inhale the fumes.

  “What the fuck is that?” Carlisle yelled.

  Sabre licked her lips, “Looks like your day just went FUBAR,” she informed the piece of shit incubus. And with those magic words, Mercy sprang into action. FUBAR was their pre-agreed codeword for when Mercy – and Phaedra – would show their true colours, and their true allegiance. And that just happened to be to Sabre.

  Mercy literally jumped on the incubus, his huge weight sending them crashing to the floor, where Mercy then pummelled Carlisle with nothing more than a closed fist. As much as she wanted to enjoy the show, Sabre had a satori to kill with nothing more than her toe. Whistling sharply to gain his attention, Sabre quickly flicked her foot out, her big toe catching the side of Touma’s mouth and hooking it. Yanking, Sabre reeled him in like a fish, only releasing her toe’s grip on the inside of his mouth when he was close enough to wrap her thighs around his neck. One quick twist to the right and Touma’s neck snapped, the sound reverberating in the room with a satisfying crunch and grind.

  Mercy looked up from the prone and bloody man on the floor, and Sabre gestured him over. He made quick work of her bonds, lowering her carefully to the floor. Sabre remained on her feet – just – rubbing her sore wrists where the wire bindings had cut into the skin deep enough to need stitches. Sabre kicked at Touma with her toe, “Do you think that counts as killing somebody with my toe?” she asked Mercy.

  Mercy snorted, already moving about the room, grabbing weapons. “Not quite.”

  “Damn,” Sabre muttered, promising to try again in the future. But for now, she followed Mercy from the room.

  From the sounds of it an epic battle was taking place on the grounds at the front of the den. There were a few noises coming from various rooms but the bulk of the fighting appeared to be outside. Sabre wondered how Gage and Jinx had managed to draw the entire assassin den outside where the cavalry would have a better chance at winning. Sabre had no doubt the pair had called in some of her chips to help get her out of Carlisle’s clutches. But Sabre figured it had only been a little over six hours and the number of people who owed her within a small radius wasn’t huge. Typically, those who owed her a debt tended to move far, far away from her. Go figure.

  Sabre pushed herself off the wall and picked up her pace. A handful of untrained supernaturals would be no match for Carlisle’s elite assassins and mercs. With nineteen other killers bound to the Blue Devil Den, there was often more than half there at any given time, plus another dozen guests or visitors who were just as deadly. Add in all the servants whose help could go either way, and Sabre knew her friends would be majorly outnumbered.

  The front door was conveniently open and Sabre charged through it … only to come to a surprised stop. The fight taking place was as fierce and as bloody as she expected. But it was a lot more evenly matched. For some reason, there were soldiers bearing the Horde insignia on their tactical gear. Only about a dozen, but still. What the fuck …? Sabre thought eyeing the skilled men and women facing off with some of the arseholes from the den.

  “Are those soldiers?” Mercy asked coming up behind her.

  Sabre simply shook her head. It made no sense. Why would there be – and then she heard it. A pissed off growl that seemed to rumble up from the depths of Hell itself. Sabre watched in wonder as Brax literally picked up a six-foot goblin by the hair, shook him like a ragdoll and tossed him aside like he weighed nothing at all. The goblin in question was built like a brick shithouse and judging by his shattered sword, had no doubt made the mistake of trying to stab Brax in the back – no doubt the cause of the angry growl. Harvey – said goblin – landed on top of a satyr with a nasty thump. Neither got back up. Presently, Brax’s head whipped up and his piercing amber eyes, aglow with his inner beast and battle-lust, locked onto hers. The man looked mad enough to rip off her head. She wondered if that was why he was here; to kill her himself. Well, he was going to have to get in line, because at that exact moment, Wade jumped in front of her.

  “You fucking bitch! What have you done?! This is all your fault!”

  Sabre was burned to shit, with multiple broken bones and dripping blood from a few decent cuts but she still summoned a smile, giving her usual reply; “Fuck you, Wade.”

  The response seemed to enrage the werewolf, for he lunged at her, shifting mid-leap. Sabre dodged the hairy beast easily. Werewolves were strong and fast – but when in their shifted form, their animals tended to take over. It meant human thinking and strategising went out the window, replaced with animal instincts and need. And the animal in front of her needed to chew off her arm if the look in his eyes was anything to go by.

  Obligingly, Sabre lifted her arm and waved it around, “You want this, huh? Doggie want a bone? Yeah, you do. Look at it; it’s all bloody and torn. Fresh meat …” she taunted Wade, hearing Mercy’s snort of amusement before he lunged off the deck to join the fray. Wade leapt at her and Sabre allowed the momentum from his weight to push her onto her back. She then kicked with her legs, sending Wade soaring over her head and off the porch. Pushing back with her heels, she scooted quickly on her butt until she felt a blade under her hand, thankfully left there by Mercy. Palming the small throwing knife – and cursing Mercy for not leaving something bigger – Sabre stood up before taking a running leap onto Wade’s hairy back. The werewolf snarled and snapped but couldn’t dislodge Sabre where she was stabbing the small blade repeatedly into his thick back muscles. When a clawed hand raked down her spine, Sabre swore viciously and stopped fucking around. Reaching around the front of Wade’s face, she plunged the blade straight into his eye. The werewolf screamed for a second before collapsing in a heap, Sabre sprawled out on top of him.

  “Sabre! You walking cunt! I’m going to kill you!”

  Sabre huffed but pushed
herself to her feet and whipped her head around at Carlisle’s voice – just in time to see him launch a freakin’ spear in her direction. Feeling exhausted, Sabre barely managed to bend her knees in preparation of batting the huge missile out of the way, when a blur of white appeared in front of her, effectively blocking her view and preventing the wickedly sharp object from impaling her. The white moved and Sabre realised she was staring at a wall of pristine feathers. Draven turned to her then, spear clutched in one hand and a pair of brass knuckles on the other. Sabre stared at him in shock. Of all the people to save her from a healthy disfigurement by spear, Draven would have been the last on her list. They locked eyes for a split second, neither saying anything, before Draven spun back around and raised his arm. He was clearly intent on sending it back to its owner.

  “No,” her words had Draven hesitating, “We need him.” Sabre then looked at Carlisle, who was a good distance away – the coward. “Carlisle, you piece of shit,” was all Sabre stated. But it was enough.

  Carlisle spat on the ground and made a gesture with his hands, calling in his troops. More than half of those who were still conscious moved to stand next to him. But Sabre was pleasantly surprised to see a couple of fellow assassins and about a dozen household staff slowly began to make their way in her direction instead. Not being an idiot, Sabre kept a wary eye on them, nodding in thanks as Gage, Jinx and a few other familiar faces converged on them. Carlisle was all but vibrating in rage, pretty blue eyes now bloodshot, taking in the scene. Sabre saw his eyes widen when he also began to pick out some familiar faces and she felt herself smile from the realisation on his face. She was sure it wasn’t a pleasant look.

  “You know, I always hoped I would be able to see your face when the truth finally came out,” Sabre taunted. She could feel the heavy weight of Brax’s stare as he came to stand by Draven, who was still at her side. Ignoring the love of her life was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. But the events of the day had set wheels in motion that couldn’t be undone. And if she were being honest, she didn’t want them undone. She had been working behind the scenes for years and she was tired. Bone-weary exhausted actually. So, she was going to seize the day and take the bull by the horns and all those other wonderful clichés.

  “What … what the hell?!” Carlisle yelled. “Is that Sampson? And Rory? And that’s motherfucking Shiloh! Lieutenant of the Demon Horde!”

  Sabre saw Brax jolt upon hearing that last name but she continued to ignore him for now, “Why yes, Carlisle. It is. I gotta hand it to you, you never forget the face of a hit.”

  “But they’re all dead!” The incubus screamed. “They all had contracts taken out on them and they were killed by –” he broke off mid-sentence.

  Sabre grinned, ignoring the sting in her split lip, “Me. They were all by killed me. That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t understand,” was Carlisle’s reply. And damn if he didn’t sound like a whiny little bitch.

  For some reason, his words caused over one hundred years of suppressed rage to bubble up and Sabre felt herself step forward, hands clenched, “You don’t understand? Really? It’s not that hard, you stupid fuck! I am an angel. I don’t kill; I protect!” Sabre screamed so loud her throat hurt. And though it may have not been completely accurate – she had indeed killed hundreds of people – she had only killed the guilty. Only those deserving of her wrath.

  “But …” Carlisle looked around at the dozens of faces she had been hired to kill over the years. “You did kill them. I saw proof of death.”

  Sabre had no doubt Carlisle had sent spotters after her whenever she had a mission. And although she knew it wasn’t every single time, it must have been enough that the den master was satisfied with the authenticity of her kills. She also knew that the bodies of her hits were found and all the proper funerary arrangements made. Yes, there was certainly a lot of proof of death. But death didn’t have the same meaning to her that it did for others. Death was merely a pause – not an end. If she so chose it to be, that was. The itch in her back that had been making itself known since laying her eyes on Draven’s, admittedly amazing wings, was getting worse. Seeing no need to continue hiding and knowing it would make her point like nothing else would, Sabre allowed her wings to unfold.

  Stunned gasps and curses filled her ears as her massive three-metre wings emerged from her back, ripping their way past her battered shirt. She allowed them to expand, going so far as to give them a couple of flaps before she tucked them back against her spine. Because her primary feathers brushed the ground and arched over the back of her head, Sabre had no doubt she made a heavenly picture of red and gold.

  “But you’re fallen. You shouldn’t have wings. You have no Grace!” Carlisle yelled, but he was beginning to look panicked.

  “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with my Grace, I assure you. I am not fallen.” Sabre raised her chin, her wings flexing out behind her as she levelled her eyes on her tormentor, “You didn’t break me, Carlisle.”

  The incubus’s face twisted in rage, all hints of beauty eradicated. He went to take a step forward, only to be stopped by Bevin. Carlisle hissed in frustration but the sphinx whispered something harshly in his ear that had him gritting his teeth and nodding his head. Before Sabre could do no more than swear, the whole group winked out of existence. As a sphinx Bevin was capable of teleporting on a mass scale. Sabre was going to have to hunt the prick down. But not today, she thought. Today, she was going to go and have a very long nap.

  “Sabre! Are you okay?” Jinx cried, suddenly petting an unblemished spot on her arm.

  Sabre felt like roadkill, but she simply said, “I’ll be fine, Jinx. Thanks for the rescue.”

  Gage came up behind the weretiger, handsome face grinning, “As if you really needed us.”

  Sabre shook her head, making eye contact with her two closest companions, “I will always need you.”

  Jinx sniffed, blinking quickly, “Aww, blood loss always makes you sappy.”

  Sabre laughed, turning to the throng of creatures watching wide-eyed and confused, “Thank you. I appreciate your help more than I can say.” She received a few murmurs and smiles, and a lot more stunned looks at her wings, before Sabre bit the bullet and turned to Brax and Draven; “Thank you. For, you know, coming here. And stuff,” she kicked at the ground with her toe. Jeez, could she be any more lame?

  Draven was eyeing her wings with something akin to awe. “You … you’re a resurrection angel.”

  Sabre winced, hunching her shoulders a little. Yes, she was a resurrection angel. The crimson feathers that looked like they had been dipped in gold were a dead giveaway. Despite what the entire population of Purgatory believed, her wings had not sickened and eroded away with the passing of time. Instead, they were healthy, shiny, and feathery. Sabre sighed, the feeling of having her wings on display for the first time in a hundred years was something akin to an orgasm. Well, she amended, maybe not an orgasm with Brax. They were all kinds of awesome.

  Movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention and the next thing she knew her sight was blocked by one very pissed off, yellow-eyed demon. Brax had his claws out – which were dripping in blood – and somehow his shirt had gotten ripped off. The man was now magnificently and conveniently bare from the waist up. His corrugated abs moved harshly as the breath sawed in and out of his chest in angry bursts and his lips started moving as if he were speaking. But Sabre couldn’t focus on the words because there were rivulets of sweat dripping down the dips and valleys of his eight-pack like her own personal river. She wanted to follow their path, especially when their journey ended in the waistband of his pants.

  “Golly, Sabre. You’ve been fucking that? No wonder you thought you were in love with him and his magic dick.”

  Jinx’s awe-filled voice snapped Sabre from her lust-induced haze, and she promptly elbowed her younger friend in the ribs. Sabre smiled in satisfaction when Jinx oompfed loudly; clearly her rib
s were tender from the fight. Brax took a single step closer and Sabre was forced to raise her chin to see his face. It was blemish free – the man didn’t have a single scratch on him thanks to his gift from Cerberus. But his handsome face was carved into an angry network of lines. Sabre wondered if he was going to let her explain or if he was just going to behead her where she stood. To be honest, the endorphins from the fight and her wing reveal were rapidly leaving her and her injuries from the torture session were making themselves known once again. She wasn’t sure she could even lift a feather to defend herself. Not that she would, she knew. She would give everything she was – even her life – to the demon standing in front of her. Her heart hurt just looking at him.

  “When you said, the King lives …” Brax’s voice was rough with emotion. “You really meant …?”

  Sabre nodded her head slowly, “That he is alive,” she stated, boldly. Sabre then looked Brax straight in the eye; “Yes, I killed your brother … but I also brought him back.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Brax paced, Styx whining at his side, trying to understand his master’s agitation. At a loss for anything else to do, Brax reached a hand down to pat the hell hound. Styx leaned his considerable weight against Brax’s leg, causing him to grunt and brace himself. The hound really was a huge beast, “She’ll be okay, boy. Don’t worry.” Brax wondered who he was trying to convince; himself or the hound. Still, Styx gave a rumble as if in agreement before his dark blue tongue licked over the back of Brax’s hand.

  “Brax …”

  Draven’s soft call had his head whipping up and he looked behind the angel frantically, his eyes seeking out even a small glimpse of the woman bruised and battered within the room. It had been Draven rather than Jinx, Gage – or any number of other supernatural creatures currently awaiting news in the living area of the palace – who had gently pushed Brax outside one of the guest rooms so he could heal Sabre from her terrible wounds using his angelic gift. Draven had been in there a long time. At least it felt that way to Brax. It was unusual. Draven’s ability was usually very fast – sometimes instantaneous – thanks to his Grace. The minutes ticking by was why his hall rug would be worn out down the centre thanks to his incessant pacing.