King's Horses

by Lana Sky

  “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  The depth of the admission unnerves me, almost as much as my reaction to it does. I stop breathing. Thinking. His heat is a trigger to a million sensations, each one more destructive than the last.

  “Yes, you did,” I find myself replying. Very slowly, I pull away from his touch, guarding my wound with the flat of my palm.

  A sharp noise cuts the air like that of teeth clicking together. Then his throat contracts around a hard swallow. “I did,” he says.

  And we ignore our plates in unison.

  Sweat drips down my back, seeping into the priceless gown. Thinking we could normally coexist in any capacity was a mistake. Too many secrets taint the air. Too many old emotions burn when disturbed. My eyes sting, but blinking hastens the tears forming. Far too quickly, they seep from their hiding places and slide down my cheeks.

  “Shit, enough.” Before I can react, he’s closer, swiping at my tears, frowning as he does so. “So much for forgiveness, huh?” he murmurs, scowling at his glistening fingers.

  I can’t find the words to argue, and he says nothing else. Neither does he remove his hand, and I don’t have the strength to pull away. In his eyes, I see a vortex of emotions impossible to decipher. A part of me wants to try anyway, anything to understand him. Guilt? Remnants of anger? Pain?

  Sighing, he tilts my chin against his thumb, observing me from the newer angle. “I’ll admit it now,” he says, his voice a rasp. “I didn’t seek you out before solely to warn you about Harlow. There’s something else. I want something from you.”

  My stomach falls. Smashes into pieces on the floor. I inhale raggedly, wary of what he could say. A real apology? Something far more sinister?

  Indigo irises search mine as his lips finally part. “I want us to start over, Snow—”

  Breaking glass and a monstrous thud add an eerily beautiful melody to his plea. Suddenly, he draws back, rising to his feet—just in time for a bulky blur to ram into him, knocking him off-balance. I blink in shock as the “blur” rapidly takes on more human characteristics: blond hair, blazing blue eyes, flying fists, striking any part of Blake they can reach.

  Oh, God.

  “Ronan!” I shout, but he doesn’t seem to hear me.

  He keeps fighting, pummeling Blake, who does his best to block every blow. Growling, Ronan catches him in the mouth with his knuckles. Blood flies, splattering the fronts of expensive suits.

  “Ronan, stop!” I stagger to my feet and paw at his shoulder. Grunting, he shrugs me off. Another of his blows lands with a thud, this time in Blake’s stomach. “Stop!”

  Maybe it’s my scream that does it, but Ronan suddenly stumbles back. At the same time, he grabs my arm, wrenching me around to face him. “What in the hell are you doing here with him?”

  I’m struck dumb as my brother glares from me to Blake.

  “I see you near her again, I’ll fucking kill you—”

  “Stop it!” I manage to break his grip, and I scramble out of his reach before he can grab me again. “Ronan, calm down.”

  I barely recognize him. Blood speckles his chin, but it’s not his. No, the only bleeding figure is the one currently watching the exchange while swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. His bottom lip is split, and redness around his left eye tells me it won’t stay any color but purple for much longer.

  “Get over here, Snowy,” my brother demands.

  My chest constricts around fragile lungs, which makes it impossible to suck in air. I only have enough breath to croak, “Ronan, it isn’t what it looks like. What the papers printed were lies. He never hurt me—”

  “Snowy.” He’s begging, something I rarely see him do—and never like this. Veins bulge against the skin of his neck as his hands clench into fists. His gaze cuts to Blake again, and I scramble to put myself between them.

  “I promise I’ll explain!” I say, placing my hand on Ronan’s chest. “Just trust me. Please. Trust me.”

  “Then come home.” He reaches for me, but I once again evade his reach.

  Why? I don’t know. If there was ever a reason to ignore Blake’s proposal, it’s this: I can’t bear to see Ronan so furious.

  “I will,” I tell him, my voice breaking. “But just give me time to explain. I promise I will.”

  “We need to go.”

  I stiffen. Blake doesn’t even have to speak in my ear for his voice to resonate through me, invading every nerve. From the corner of my eye, I see him paces back, still swiping at his bleeding mouth. The reminder is clear: I have a bargain to uphold.

  “Like hell!” Ronan bares his teeth and postures as if preparing to lunge. “You aren’t taking her anywhere, you sick piece of shit—”

  “Snow.”

  “W-wait.” I glance at my brother, willing him to listen to me. “I’ll be okay. I promise.” Turning from Ronan, I extend my hand to the man behind me. “Let’s go.”

  He’s by my side in an instant. Before I realize it, we’re hurrying from the restaurant doors, with Ronan close behind. When I hear him shout, I look back and find that Blake’s bodyguards have appeared from nowhere to keep him at bay.

  “He’ll be fine,” Blake murmurs into my ear. Without giving me the time to protest, he ushers me into the back seat of the car and the driver takes off.

  Neon streetlights cast the back seat in a reddish glow. Only as my vision blurs do I finally register the moisture slicking my cheeks.

  “Do it now,” I say, my voice breaking. “Uphold your end of the bargain and put them back on the board. Do it now!”

  He already has a cell phone against his ear. After a few minutes of murmured conversation, he hangs up and tosses the phone onto the seat between us. “It’s done.”

  My shoulders slump. A sliver of power perhaps wouldn’t be enough to console any other brother, but I know mine. Intrigue alone will buy me more time to explain. What, exactly? I’m not sure.

  Perhaps how I lost my senses enough to trust Blake Lorenz for a second time.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, not recognizing this part of town where skyscrapers tower above.

  He casts me a glance that could be described as equal parts amused and irritated. “Home,” he says. “My penthouse. I took the liberty of having your things delivered.”

  Despite my having explicitly told him not to. For now, I don’t challenge him. Instead, I try to decipher every twist and turn and remember every street name, just in case I have to make my way back to the hotel on foot. Normally, I’d laugh at such a dramatic thought. However, going off the blood still dripping from the mouth of the man beside me, I think the theatrics are warranted.

  “You’re hurt.”

  He frowns and brings a hand to his bottom lip. The fingers come away red, glistening in the glow of a passing streetlamp.

  “Oh God, here.” I run a hand down the side of my gown but find nothing useful.

  Motion catches the corner of my eye, and I find him fishing a handkerchief from his pocket. He holds it awkwardly between his chin and his chest as if unsure whether to clean himself or…

  “Let me.” I snatch the cloth and shift closer, pressing it against the worst of the bleeding.

  He flinches, his eyes tracking every movement of my fingers.

  “You’ll have a scar,” I tell him, impressed by the veracity of the wound. Ronan has a vengeful streak, but I’ve never seen him attack someone before. Not even the bullies who taunted me all those years ago. No, that honor always went to another boy who once punched a bully who’d lifted my skirt in grade school to see how fat I was underneath.

  Something in my face must change, because my fingers are gently batted away.

  “I’ve got it,” Blake says, adjusting the cloth to staunch even more of the bleeding. Protocol would dictate that I apologize to him on Ronan’s behalf.

  But I don’t.

  In silence, we endure the rest of the ride until the car enters a secluded parking garage and comes to a stop near an el
evator.

  “The suite has a private entrance,” Blake explains as he exits the car, this time without reaching for my hand.

  I follow him warily, tense for reasons I can’t explain. It’s quiet here, which is an eerie contrast to the chaos of his home in the hills and the restaurant. He must keep this residence unlisted, a prospect that unnerves me more than it should. Just how many secrets is he hiding?

  Speaking of which.

  “Is Masha here?” I wonder, feigning innocence. “I’d hate to intrude.”

  Blake enters the elevator, leaving me to follow. “No,” he says without looking back. “I have her staying someplace far beyond the city.”

  Fair enough. I picture what little I can remember of the blond waif who claimed to be his sister. She’s beautiful, that much I’m sure of. And she’s young.

  “You’re doubting if I’ve told you the whole truth.”

  I jump and look up. His narrowed gaze meets mine unflinchingly.

  “She is my sister,” he reiterates without voicing my suspicion out loud. “My half-sister, but my sister nonetheless.”

  “How old is she?” I ask, watching him strike the button for the top floor.

  “She…” He hesitates as the elevator car lurches beneath us. I’m seconds from admitting defeat when he sighs. “She’s twenty.”

  “Oh.” I swallow hard. So she is young. “And she grew up in Germany?”

  “Exclusively,” he says, eyeing the doors, his jaw rigid. “I met her there when she was still a child. Twelve, I think.”

  Which makes for a two-year gap between his supposed death as Brandt Lloyd and his rebirth as Blake Lorenz. In the end, I decide against commenting on that point. Instead, I tilt my chin, observing him as closely as I dare.

  He’s different when he speaks of Masha versus anyone else, even me. There’s a softness about him. A wariness, as if he isn’t sure just what his face might reveal.

  “Speaking of Masha…” He surges forward, leaving me to catch up. “She helped me design this place. I hope you don’t mind the décor.”

  We follow a short hallway that leads directly into a spacious foyer.

  And my mouth drops open.

  Once upon a time, I used to babble to Brandt Lloyd about my hopes and dreams. I told him that I aspired to be an astronaut; in space, no one would give a damn about my weight. I told him about my dream home: a high-rise overlooking the heart of the city. Like a castle for a princess, I used to quip. One decorated in shades of emerald and gold, our favorite colors. But not gaudily, of course. Natural. Like a snapshot of a forest taken the split second before winter sets in. When everything is that silvery hue of stillness, and the air smells so clean that you can taste it. When greens never look greener, and the earth still holds that summery warmth.

  “Masha” must have been there to overhear all of those silly daydreams, because the interior of this room feels ripped right from my fantasies. Gray marble floors add contrast to earth-colored walls. Black accents and silver fixtures cast a warm yet chilling atmosphere that demands any occupant to curl up with a book in one of the welcoming nooks. So many books line the shelves along a wall that opens onto a sitting room with floor-to-ceiling windows.

  It’s breathtaking. Literally. My hand flutters to my chest as if aiming to force air into it.

  “I… It’s beautiful.” I don’t mean to sound so damn awestruck. Neither can I stop myself from approaching the view and bracing my hands against the glass.

  Something nearby catches my attention: a red leather chair angled toward the incredible swath of the city laid bare. Ice runs through my veins, displacing some of the wonder. “I’d want a throne, of course,” I boasted once. “Red, placed perfectly to take in my servants…”

  “I had a feeling you’d enjoy this.” Blake seems unaware of my sudden realization as he comes to stand by my side. A rare smile shapes his mouth, visible in his reflection off the glass. Smug. “It’s yours.”

  A watery laugh trickles from my throat. “Thank you, but I can’t afford it.”

  “I’m serious.” A sudden shift in his stance draws my attention a second time. He’s standing rigidly, surveying the world glittering down below. “If you need a reason to trust me, then here: It’s yours.”

  “Stop it!” I push back from the window and turn on my heel. The unfamiliar layout looms before me—so much for the hysterics. If I were to make a dramatic exit, I wouldn’t even know which way to go. With my shoulders back and my breaths ragged, I settle on the next best thing and march toward the mouth of the foyer. “You don’t have to ply me with expensive gifts or favors.” Then a cruel thought strikes me, drawing a gasp from my lips. “I’m not the same selfish little girl I was—”

  “And I don’t want to hate that girl anymore.” He seizes my arm from behind, yanking me against a body made of steel.

  “D-don’t!” Agony strikes a wounding blow on my heart. “Stop… Stop mocking me—”

  “I’m not.” His arm cinches my waist before I can run—and something keeps me from resisting. Perhaps it’s how he sounds? Ragged breaths rake the air near my ear, betraying fracturing control I doubt he ever had a full grasp on. “I hurt you. I know I did,” he rasps. “And I… We’ll do this your way. Retribution. An eye for an eye. Tell me what you want from me. I’ll give it to you. Anything—”

  “All I want is the truth!” I sag against him as my voice echoes in the cavernous space, high-pitched and thready.

  Rather than laughing, he nods, sliding his nose against the groove in my neck. “And you’ll have it,” he promises. “You will. I swear it. But I need something from you, Snow.” He sounds like a drowning man begging for a lifeline. Rope. A bullet to the brain. Anything to ease his misery. Slowly, he loosens his grip on my waist but doesn’t draw back. “I need five fucking minutes. That’s all. Show me what I’ve lost. What I need to earn back.”

  His heated tone sends blood rushing to my cheeks. “You think… You really think you can ask me for sex—”

  “Of course not.” He scoffs, offended by the idea. “But I need… Show me what I’ve lost.”

  What he’s lost? I pull away from him and find myself backing toward the window. Cool glass braces my spine, drawing my attention to just how thin this dress is. How fragile. Even so, it’s thicker than my skin when it comes to him.

  He wants to know what he’s lost?

  The moment I reach for a strap, he sucks in a breath. My thoughts run together, jumbled and incoherent. Lowering part of my dress is a foolish, stupid act. But it’s all I have. The words won’t come. Just tears. Just this pain contorting my features in ways I can’t control. Slowly, I loosen the second strap and let the gown slide down my arms. I’m thin enough now that it falls without resistance and pools at my feet.

  He told me once that he’d only want me while broken. While ugly. His. Apparently, he never lied in that respect. His jaw goes slack around a guttural groan, and he eyes me openly without shame, raking his gaze over my heaving chest and my trembling limbs.

  I start to cover myself only to freeze when he shakes his head. Bitten-out words reverberate like thunder.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful…”

  My cheeks heat at the raw tone. If only beauty weren’t pain when it came to him. It’s wrong, but I do it: I compare them. Brandt cherished and coddled sweet, lovely, beautiful things. Blake crushes them—something he seems inclined to do to me. I don’t miss how his fingers twitch at his sides before he wrestles them against his hips.

  “I won’t touch you,” he warns before surging forward, swallowing the distance between us.

  My breath stills in my chest as I watch him advance, quivering on my heels. His eyes meet mine, the pupils dilated, while his body cages me against the glass. With our chests separated by just a fragile inch of space, he inhales me, bracing one hand against the glass near my head.

  “Show me what I’ve damaged, Snow,” he begs, his voice hollow. “Show me. I swear I won’t touch you. I kn
ow I’ve hurt you. Tormented you…” Warm breath tickles my cheek, sending a ripple through my entire body, down to my toes. “Torment me.”

  My eyes shut, blocking his expression out as tension floods the air, soaking into every pore. Torment him? He desolated me. Not because of what he’s said, or done, or inflicted. But because…

  I’m weak.

  I can’t stop aching for what I’ll never have, and I tell myself the brutal truth over and over. I’ll never hear his voice reach that familiar, warm cadence. I’ll never hear his laugh again, not like it was: soft and freeing. I’ll never taste that innocent, sweet flavor that used to linger on his skin. I’ll never taste Brandt Lloyd again. I’ll never hear him groan…

  Like the sound rumbling near my ear now. He’d sound softer, Brandt—never so hard. So empty. So hungry. Brandt Lloyd never lusted after me. He’d never watch me slide my fingers beneath the waistband of my panties just to test his response—explosive. Curses meet their doom, ground between clenched teeth.

  I’ve never touched myself in front of anyone, not even him. Sweat slicks my skin, making it easier to follow the invisible trail down my stomach, toward the cleft between my legs. My cheeks catch fire at a sudden thought. How pathetic. This is as close as I’ll ever get to my beautiful boy: a twisted reflection of who he used to be breathing his taint into my skin.

  “Fuck,” he rasps. “You’re killing me.”

  Good. Some sick, vengeful part of me latches onto the genuine pain in his voice. I rock my hips against my fingers, biting my lip at the feeling. Hot. Wet. Then I stiffen in shock and draw my fingers away, the cold air licking at the moisture, raising goosebumps.

  “Fuck.” Something slams against the glass, rattling it, but he doesn’t touch me. He keeps his promise, and I fight to uphold mine.

  Torment him.

  After what he’s done to me, I want to take him up on his whispered exaggeration: I want to kill him. But I’m not sure how. Only that he groans again as I peel my panties down my legs. He’s even closer now. His ragged breaths form a disjointed melody, counting the seconds down. With my bare ass against the window, I arch my hips, ensuring he can see every inch of the heated flesh. Torment him? With that goal in mind, I lazily flick my fingers along the heavy folds, relishing in the sensation he’s denied himself. A low moan rips from my chest before I can swallow it down. My eyelids flutter, but I refuse to let them open. Not yet.