Empire of Secrets: A New Adult Paranormal Romance with Young Adult Appeal (God of Secrets Book 2)

by L. R. W. Lee

  I give the roaches we pass a wide berth, even scraping my long coat against the rough stone walls at points as a result, because ain’t no way I’m getting close to these disgusting overgrown roaches.

  Harpoc squeezes my hand, and I’m thankful for the reinforcement that he means to protect me at all cost. It’s underscored by the muscle in his jaw that twitches in the light of one of the torches that appear every few feet, jutting from the earthen walls.

  Squirrel. I thought roaches flee from light. No idea. Don’t care.

  But the simple gesture helps me manage the angst that’s growing the deeper we descend.

  That musty smell intensifies as we wind our way down a sloped walkway from which a host of tunnels branch off to the left and right.

  My eyes go wide when we reach an ornate structural pillar in which is carved—yes, carved—the head of an ain’t-carab scarab in striped Egyptian headdress, complete with uraeus. How do I even contemplate them having dignity? They’re repugnant roaches.

  Harpoc leans over. “As I mentioned, they believe they are superior to all other winged beetles.”

  We pass more carvings, these in the walls, as well as more crazy-ass carved pillars, as the floor levels out.

  It just won’t compute—these things have a superiority complex. My brain may well fry a few circuits if I try too hard. At least they aren’t trying to compensate like Arimanius. I don’t know which is worse.

  A red carpet begins a bit further on and leads us to an ornately carved gold door guarded by four more I’d-like-to-poach-’em roach-’ems.

  “Halt,” the guard in front says, turning toward Harpoc.

  Harpoc bobs his head, remaining silent as we stop.

  Another hushed conversation between our guides and the guards ends, and one of them says, “Step back.”

  Harpoc moves the hand I’ve been clinging to, to the small of my back as we do, and two of the don’t-approach-’em roach-’ems grab a pull on the door and take flight.

  I suck in a breath and scramble back farther because they come uncomfortably close.

  What am I saying? This whole thing is uncomfortably close.

  The massive door levers open from a top hinge as the two behemoth bugs fly ever higher, and I take in an incredibly opulent room that rivals pictures I’ve seen of Versailles in its heyday.

  There’s gold everywhere, accenting the red carpet that continues to the foot of a dais, as well as the red pillars that line the path. The galleries that lie behind the pillars are empty save for a few giant ug-bugs, which I presume are guards although there’s nothing to visibly demark them as such.

  Niches in the far walls display sculptures of highfalutin-tootin’ scarabs in a variety of poses.

  But nothing makes my skin crawl more than when I take in an enormous all-white roach—like maybe five foot long, all-white roach—perched on an opulent jeweled throne, two sets of arms crossed, at the far end.

  I know without asking, that’s our destination.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Only Harpoc’s hand on my back moves my frozen feet forward.

  Hideous, disgusting, larva roach. It’s all I can think as revulsion fills me because this roach’s got not one plate, nor piece of shell, nor wings. It looks like a larva in all its grossness—the marshmallow filling in Pumba the Warthog’s snack.

  It’s absolutely hideous and the most abominable thing I’ve seen in my entire life.

  Harpoc stops me fifteen feet from the throne.

  Way too close. Way too close.

  He dips his head. “Majesty.”

  The thing hasn’t stopped staring at us with its beady eyes since we stepped into the hall.

  I want to look away, but it would no doubt send the wrong message if we’re to navigate this leaked secret with her.

  “I see I am a top priority for you, Harpocrates. It’s been what, seven days?” Sarcasm laces her words.

  If she was human, she’d no doubt be studying her nails, running a thumb over them because she’s one piece of attitude.

  Harpoc shrugs. “We’ve been busy fighting rats.”

  “Approach. You alone, god.”

  She’s bossing Harpoc around? That’s gutsy. But then again, she disrespected Aura.

  Harpoc doesn’t have a lot of options considering her secret was his responsibility, and Glass somehow leaked it. We’ll see if she knows who the responsible party is.

  Harpoc runs his hand across the small of my back—I pretend he’s saying, everything will be fine—then ambles forward, arms loose at his sides, the picture of confidence. It takes everything I have to stand tall, spread my feet slightly apart, and clasp my hands behind my back.

  It’s my one-tough-bitch pose.

  I pray it works on disgusting, crawly queens because four overlarge dung beetles flank me as Harpoc moves half the distance to the throne.

  His frown when he glances back doesn’t fill me with warm fuzzies.

  Gold eye, silver eye.

  “You’ll pardon my appearance, I just molted,” the *cough* queen says.

  Harpoc doesn’t respond.

  I wouldn’t either because what’s he gonna say? No majesty, you look ravishing as always?

  He crosses his arms and leans back, mirroring her posture. No doubt he’s going to force her to make the first move. At least, it’s what I’d do, because you commit to the direction the conversation will take once you do.

  The obscene queen uncrosses one set of arms and starts drumming her appendages on the jeweled arm of her throne. Seems she doesn’t want to go first either.

  I don’t move a muscle, making like a statue.

  I am statue, statue is me.

  How long are we all going to stand here watching this pissing contest?

  After a very long wait, the monarch raises her head high. “You awarded the contract to Arimanius’s rats.” There’s venom in her tone.

  Harpoc pulls his shoulders back. “So word reached you.”

  It’s a pity roaches don’t have ears because steam would be billowing out of hers.

  I want to interject a taunt, cheaters never prosper, but refrain. I’m just glad Harpoc made good on my promise to Arimanius. I feel good about righting one wrong that secret magic created. I haven’t yet figured out how to fix more, but I will. And I won’t put the empire in jeopardy when I do. There has to be a way to do both.

  “That’s not why you asked me to come.” Harpoc crosses his arms, leaning back.

  The queen flexes those gross white feet of hers, clearly livid, but finally regains composure. “I had an illuminating conversation with Dyster.”

  Harpoc bobs his head. “Did you now?”

  Who’s Dyster?

  “I did. Your lead sanitation engineer swears he didn’t leak our secret.”

  Harpoc forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, I suppose you can be very convincing.”

  Her voice turns saccharine. “It leaves me to ask you the same question I asked him.”

  Harpoc starts tapping his chin. “And what’s that?”

  He’s going to make her spit it out. I gotta hand it to him, he’s got balls.

  “How might Arimanius have discovered our little arrangement?” The queen nods and the guards around me scuttle closer, hooking onto my long coat with a front leg.

  Four oversize creepy beetles, four disgusting hairy legs—yes, these things have hair on their legs. I barely squelch a scream.

  Breathe, Pell, breathe.

  It takes everything in me to not lose it.

  Gold eye, silver eye.

  A muscle in Harpoc’s neck bulges, but he doesn’t look back. He can’t or he’ll lose any advantage.

  Harpoc casually turns palms up, smiling. “My dear queen, I won’t pretend to know Arimanius’s mind. Perhaps you should ask him.”

  He didn’t answer her question. No surprise there. If I wasn’t so wigged out, I’d appreciate his finesse since it’s not at my expense.

  “As it hap
pens, I did.” The queen stands.

  Interesting. I’m surprised the strutting pervert didn’t mention it.

  Harpoc’s smile doesn’t waver. “Impressive. Conferring with the enemy.”

  “Care to know what he told me?”

  This is old news, but he’s never going to volunteer that.

  “It doesn’t seem you were satisfied, so no. No need,” Harpoc replies, shrugging.

  The queen crawls down the two steps, her bulbous, segmented white body dragging behind—it’s so disgusting—“Oh, but I insist.”

  “Very well, then. Why don’t you tell me since you’re burning to share?” He stands with his chest out, projecting confidence.

  “Arimanius told me that a messenger from Glass brought news of our little secret. Seeing that Glass is committed to transparency, I have to believe they told the truth.”

  The queen makes a hissing noise that I can only assume parallels laughter because she continues her march to Harpoc, rises up on hind feet, and runs a foot up and down the front of his duster—I’ll seriously freak if she tries this shit with me.

  “My question then is, how did Glass find out?” She stares into his eyes.

  How he doesn’t so much as flinch, I’ve no idea, but we’re in a whole dung heap of trouble.

  Harpoc holds her gaze without saying a word until she looks my way.

  Holy crapolas.

  Her guards with their mitts on me haven’t moved, but I can’t weather her first step toward me. I abandon my tough-bitch pose and draw my arms in front of me, clasping my hands, trying not to squeeze so hard my knuckles turn white.

  Another hiss, another laugh.

  My heart starts to race as she takes another very slow step my way.

  And then eight guards surround Harpoc.

  I swallow, hard.

  “Well, well. Your new associate seems to be a bit uncomfortable.” She takes another slow step.

  I swear I’ll bolt if she so much as starts to get in my face.

  Another slow step. “Tell me about yourself, new associate. How did you come to be in the god of secret’s employ?”

  I want to lock eyes with Harpoc as I try to slow my breathing, but I can’t give anything away.

  Gold eye, silver eye.

  The queen takes another step. “Now, now, didn’t he teach you that it’s impolite to not speak when spoken to? At least tell me your name, new associate.”

  I don’t care that she’s doing her best to belittle me. I stare ahead. Her disgusting white larva body is just five steps away, and I’m seriously losing it.

  “Majesty, as much as you are enjoying tormenting my companion, it is irrelevant to getting answers.” Harpoc crosses his arms.

  Thank you, Harpoc. It’s a whimper in my head.

  “Oh, I think not. It seems she may well spill all if I just cozy up to her. Not everyone appreciates newly molted beauty.” She hisses again and takes another step. “Would you like me to do that, cozy up to you, dear?”

  She moves forward. She’s serious.

  I hold up both hands. “Don’t. Stop. Please.”

  I survived torture at Zeki’s hands, but this thing has him beat in spades.

  “Ah, she can speak.” She rises on her back legs and looks into my eyes. I look away, but the second I do she scoots closer.

  Harpoc stares me down, but I don’t care. I can’t handle any more.

  My eyes find her again. “Your secret leaked somehow. We don’t know how. We’ve been trying to figure it out.”

  She draws a foot to her face and starts tapping, considering my words. After a pause that’s long enough to build a pyramid, she makes that disgusting hiss/laugh and says, “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Seems she believes me.

  She leans forward, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming as she brushes my face with that foot. “A pity I won’t be seeing you again.”

  My stomach plummets. Not that I want to, but why?

  She turns back toward Harpoc. “So much more helpful than Nuria or Idris, not to mention that shifter of yours.”

  Harpoc’s expression remains neutral as she turns back toward him.

  I exhale.

  He can rail at me all he wants, I regret nothing.

  “So you have a leak, god of secrets. My, what a problem that could become.” She makes some sort of tsking sound as she shakes her head.

  I don’t care about the imperious highfalutin heinie wiggle she adds to her strut. All I care is that she’s retreating.

  “I am prepared to offer you a refund.” Harpoc rubs his chin, his rings making a dull clicking sound as he does.

  “Well, I should hope so, after the trouble you’ve caused me and my realm. A refund is a mere pittance considering you awarded my competitor the contract, not to mention the number of my subjects who have died as a result of… your leak.”

  She’s come even with Harpoc, but surrounded by her guards as he is, she just looks him up and down, clearly doing her best to intimidate.

  Harpoc raises a finger. “Might I remind you, Majesty, that without secret magic, your offspring would not inhabit the worlds they do.”

  Harpoc just told me as much, but it still gives me pause.

  “Without it, you and your realm would not enjoy the strength and privilege you do.”

  The queen hiss/laughs. “I don’t believe there’s any going back on that one, god of secrets.”

  Ain’t that the truth. Those things have existed forever, and I don’t see them ever dying; they’re practically indestructible.

  “Perhaps not reclaim them, but secret magic could well exterminate them.” He shrugs.

  It could? Is he kidding? Where do I sign up?

  “I just need to ask it to. It’s not a problem, really.”

  The queen shakes her head.

  “So then,” Harpoc continues. “In exchange for a refund plus interest for your trouble, we seal the secret of the leak.”

  The queen hisses. “I think not.”

  She nods, and her guards force me to the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The guards hold me down, pincers poised to strike if I so much as flinch.

  “Harpoc!”

  I hear the sounds of struggle but can’t see a thing around the disgusting, hairy beetle bodies that are on top of me.

  “Pe—”

  My stomach plummets as my name cuts off and doesn’t come again. It’s all it takes to move me into action.

  “Harpoc!”

  I punch and kick like a banshee. Their armor plates feel like steel every time I land a hit, but I can’t stop. I only pray they don’t chop off my arm or leg with those pincers.

  There’s no time to think. Good thing because having these things on me… Nope. Can’t go there.

  Kick. Punch. Kick.

  “Harpoc!”

  Didn’t know I had a move I’ve only seen in movies in me, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I roll back onto my shoulders, butt in the air, a kicking tornado, then unwind, rolling so my behind hits the floor and I spring up, onto my feet.

  In a single bound, I leap over the enemy that hem me in.

  I can’t see Harpoc, just a cluster of beetles eight feet away. He has to be in the middle of it.

  “Harpoc!” My voice is shrill.

  He doesn’t answer.

  I’m almost to him when…

  I grunt, straining to move.

  Panic nearly consumes me and my chest, my neck, head, arms, and legs. They all lock. I’m frozen in place, all but my eyes.

  The queen’s got magic. We’re screwed.

  My eyes dart this way and that as I continue struggling, but it’s no use. The dung beetles are nearly on me again. I’ve got to get to Harpoc.

  The queen hisses and her guards… what? What’s going on?

  They’re standing down.

  I strain for all I’m worth, but her power’s too strong.

  Her guards move away from both of us.

>   But my heart doesn’t stop racing, because Harpoc’s lying there just feet away not moving. Is he frozen, too?

  Gold eye, silver eye.

  She takes one, then another slow step toward me, looking me up and down, sniffing the air.

  She’s still as disgusting—cream filling insides, indeed—as ever, and now she’s gonna what, what’s she going to do to us?

  I feel something click, lock into place, and I can move again.

  She releases me.

  But Harpoc’s still not moving.

  She raises up on hind legs.

  What’d those guards do to him? Hysteria’s consuming me. They can’t have killed him. He’s a god. Gods don’t die, right?

  I’ve got to get him out of here.

  The exit’s behind me. How many mongo creepy crawlies are between me and the door after I grab him?

  Wait, no. I can trip. I can trip us out of here.

  You can do it, Pell.

  The quack queen hisses again, a laugh. “What an intriguing surprise.” She runs her gaze up and down me again, then glances at Harpoc’s still form.

  I could give a beetle’s ass about what she finds intriguing.

  “Unbelievable.” She hisses, laughing again. “Bond mates.”

  I furrow my brow. It’s the last thing I expect her to say. It’s a made-up term in trashy fiction. I’ve always loved the concept of being so closely… I suck in a breath.

  No. No, wait. What?

  “Your magic—” I struggle for words.

  “I have no magic.” She rubs her front feet together as if giddy. “What a perfect gift. Who would have thought a god would have a bond mate.”

  She’s as crazy as she is ugly, but I don’t care what she believes. I need to get Harpoc out of here, not chew the fat with the marshmallow roach queen all day because he’s still not moving.

  What did they do to him?

  She falls forward, back on all six feet, and I take the opening, doing my best impression of sliding into home plate, my long coat tails adding flair.

  The instant I reach him, I grab hold of Harpoc’s duster and bring the image of Aimil and the infirmary to the front of my mind.