King of Me (21 page)

I cleared my throat. “I’ll take my chances, because I’d rather die here with you than live without you.”

He looked back at me, and his eyes flickered again to a bright blue. “So be it.” King went to unchain each and every slave. At first I thought it to be an act of compassion, but he quickly set me straight. Slaves without an owner were granted their freedom by law. I got the impression, however, that being a free slave in these times was like being coated in bacon grease and sent into the lion’s den. Without money or an owner to protect them, they would be scavenged upon.

“Where will they go?” I asked.

“This is not my concern.”

“Give them money,” I said. I needed to know that
he—
the good king—was still in there somewhere.

“Why would I do that?” King asked.

“So they can get the hell away from here.”

“I think you mistake me for a man who cares, a man with a soul.”

“No. I have no delusions about who and what you are.” But I hoped for a sign I could still save him.

He laughed. “Yet you ask this of me?”

I shrugged.

“Very well.” King had grabbed one of the soldiers’ horses, a big black beast, and waited for me to mount. “I will send my men here tomorrow and take care of any who have not fled.”

“That’s very kind.” And proof that the compassionate man I loved was still inside.

King glared at me.

“What did I say?”

“I am not kind. Do not mistake my interest in you for such foolish emotions.” He laced his fingers together and held out his hands. “Get on.”

I walked over and looked up at this fiercely muscular, dangerous-as-hell man, wondering what would happen next. “Am I going to wake up from this?”

He frowned. “If you woke, where would you wish to be?”

I had to think about it for a moment. “With you.”

He studied me with a peculiar grin and then boosted me onto the horse. He mounted behind me and urged the horse forward.

“You must have a death wish, woman,” he said.

Probably, yes.
“Mia. For heaven’s sake, call me Mia.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

After we started back toward Athens, I couldn’t help but lean back and savor the feel of the man behind me. Yes, King was dangerous and deadly, but in that moment, nestled in his strong, muscular arms, his warm chest against my back and his thighs squeezed around me, there wasn’t a safer place on earth. Not in a million years could I have guessed I’d feel this way about
him
. To be clear,
this
wasn’t
my
King. He was the worst possible version of the man I’d fallen for: a demon who looked like my King. But once again, I found myself questioning my true feelings. I thought about the time Vaughn had cornered me in a bathroom at a 10 Club party and tried to force himself on me. King’s brutality, his willingness to strike quickly and without mercy, had been a godsend. Then there were the multitude of occasions where I’d been losing my mind with grief or fear. It wasn’t the kind King who’d held me together, but the one without any real emotions.

So. There it was, the ugly truth: I hated the evil King I’d run from, but I loved King for more than just his “good” side. His dangerous, callous side drew me, too. It was a mess of grays where nothing was perfect, nothing made one-hundred percent sense. But it was what it was, and no amount of thinking or rationalization would change it. I was his. And he was mine. Curse and all.

Who could’ve imagined that?

Or imagined we’d be riding on a dang horse in ancient Greece, and King wearing a man-frock.
A huge departure from tailored suits and Mercedes.

“What is a suit?” he asked, reading my thoughts.

I grinned a little, feeling some strange comfort in the return of our strange mental bond.

“Well?” he prodded.

“Um…” I couldn’t possibly tell him what a suit looked like; I’d have to use words like “pants,” which would only lead to more explaining. “It’s hard to describe—maybe I’ll draw one for you later—but you look damn hot in them.”

“Why? Are they made of fur?”

I tried not to laugh. I supposed they could be, but that would be kind of weird. “No. I meant, you look extremely attractive wearing one.”

“Ah. I see. And this thing you call a Mercedes?”

“It’s a car—sort of like a horseless cart. You look hot in that, too.”

“Hmmm…I’ll try to remember that.”

Strange. King seemed so relaxed. So in control. “King?”

“Perhaps it is time you stop calling me that. Though I remain king to some, I am no longer a true king. My people have long since perished.”

I was about to say how sorry I was, for them and him. Because he had been a good king and a good man. Instead I said, “Sorry. It’s a habit. That’s the name you use when we meet.”

“I march around calling myself ‘King’? That is odd.” He paused. “Master, Your Grace, and Draco the Lawgiver, these are all names I understand.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Well, you have—or had—some baggage about Hagne that might’ve had something to do with it.” From what I remember, King’s hang-up had been about Hagne refusing to recognize him as the true king, and about how she’d destroyed everything he loved. His name was a testament to his stubborn nature and absolute refusal to allow Hagne’s curse to break him. But that had all changed. Hadn’t it? Hagne hadn’t married King, Callias had not fallen in love—by will or by force—with her, and I ended up being the one to curse Draco because I couldn’t bear to let him go.

“Yes, well,” he said, “that witch still managed to destroy everything. Did she not?”

I gave it some thought. “Not everything.”
Callias lived. I lived. And you’re still kicking.

“Callias is dead,” King said bluntly.

“Oh…I guess he is,” I said, feeling a sense of loss. Of course, a thousand or so years had passed, but to me, it was just yesterday that I’d seen him.

“Do you know what happened to him?” I asked. “I mean—where he went?” I also wondered if he ever fell in love or had children. That would’ve been nice.

“I was not fully…” he searched for the word, “
aware
at the time, so I cannot say. I merely know that he is no longer living. I am also aware that you placed a rather harsh punishment on the Spiros family.”

Evil bastards were going to slit my throat and kill Callias.
“They deserved it.”

“Those men, yes, but their entire bloodline?”

“I wanted Callias to be looked after until his time was up.” They owed him that much after what they tried to do.

“Ah, but you did not bind them to Callias; you bound them to the king.”

“Right. Callias,” I said.

“Yes, but I returned. I am, therefore, still the king in their eyes.”

Oh my God. The Spiros are bound to King.
I rubbed my face. I simply couldn’t believe it. Everything I did seemed to recreate the future I so desperately wanted to change.

What if this is the way everything is supposed to happen?
My heart began to beat faster, and the ache inside pushed at the walls of my heart.
What if?

For example, King didn’t know about the Artifact yet. If I told him, would it be the beginning of an obsession that would trigger so many horrific events: Justin’s involvement with Vaughn, his death, my parents’ suffering, my involvement with King?

My heart sank. I didn’t know what to do.

You need to think this through, Mia. With a clear head.
It was true; I was in no shape to make any rational choices.

“What would you like me to call you now?” I asked, changing subjects to an earlier point in our conversation.

“Master will do.”

I laughed.

“You would call me King, but not Master? You are an odd woman.” I felt his chest shake a bit.

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” I turned my head and tried to see his face, but it was too dark.

“Perhaps,” he replied.

King told a joke. Shocking.

“Yes. It is, isn’t it?” he said proudly.

“Why do you seem so different right now?” He wasn’t that same evil, scary man who’d dragged me from that dark room in his basement and then fucked me like he’d die if he didn’t.

“I would say it is because my tattoo is nearly complete, but I am unsure.”

“Tattoo? You mean the collar?”

“Yes. Meketre has been working on it for quite some time. A few minutes each day for several years.”

“Who’s Meketre?” I asked.

“He is an acquisition from Egypt.”

“You
acquired
him?”

“One might say that I am a collector of sorts—of objects and of people with rare gifts that might prove useful.”

I knew this story all too well. King’s obsession became collecting “power.”
So this is how it all started.
I had to wonder if this was the beginning of the 10 Club, too.

He added. “Meketre has helped many to dispel or control their demons.”

“So the collar tattoo…” I twisted around a bit. “You’re trying to tell me that the collar will help you control the curse?”

“Not the curse, but the violent urges it produces—the curse feeds off of them.” He paused. “However, nothing is certain. Meketre has never performed such magic on someone such as myself. I will not know until it is complete, but I do feel at peace. For the moment, anyway.”

Holy crap.
So when Vaughn took King prisoner and removed his tattoos, he removed King’s ability to control his violent side. This was the reason King flipped out and took me to that island. It had to be.

“Can you make me a promise?” I said.

“This depends.”

“Do you remember our conversation before you died?”

“How could I forget?”

He said he’d rather die than continue on as a ghost who might one day come back to do something so heinous to me.

“Once the tattoo is done, don’t let anyone remove it. Not ever.”

“Why would you ask that?” he questioned.

“I think losing it is the reason you attack me.”

He was quiet for a very long time, which is when I noticed the eerie silence all around us, the clopping of the horse’s feet the only noise to be heard. No cars, no planes, no people. Just us.

“Have you ever considered, Mia, that had I not hurt you, you would have not traveled from the future?”

My mind did a lap, following his logic. He was right. Had he not brought me to that island, I would never have met him as a man.
Hell, I wouldn’t even be here right now.

“No. You would not,” he responded to my thoughts. “Which poses an interesting question.”

“What?”

“If you could undo the past, would you?” he said without emotion.

I had to think about that. When I’d first arrived to Minoa, I would have given anything to alter the events. But now I knew it would mean never getting the chance to meet King. Now I loved him. So would I do it all over again—go through the pain of Justin’s disappearance, which led me to King, and go through that horrible night on the island so that I’d be thrown back in time?

The answer wasn’t clear. I could say “yes” to sacrificing myself and reliving my own pain. But if that meant sacrificing the happiness of my family? No. I would only choose to do it all over again if I knew I could bring back Justin, I supposed. In any case, it felt like events were going to play out a certain way, regardless of how I felt.

“Do you think it’s possible,” I wondered aloud, “that you and I are living a story that’s already been written?”

He took a moment to respond. “Yes.”

How does it all end?

“I do not know; however, we have little choice but to continue moving forward on the path chosen for us.”

Maybe he was right. I didn’t know.

“And, as you do not know,” he said, “then your only course of action is to make the most of the present.”

He certainly was right about that.

“Rest, Mia. We have a long ride back.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?”
With you
, I added in my mind.

“For the moment.”

I felt too frazzled and hungry to question it. Most of all, I needed sleep.

I allowed my body to relax against him. King was like an indestructible war machine from ancient times that no one could touch. Not now. Not in the future. Still, there was that part of him who remained…

Him.
The king.

“I still love you,” I murmured before drifting off.

King didn’t speak but squeezed his thighs tightly around me.

When I woke, we were back in that cold, dark palace. No, I did not recognize the giant bed I was on, or the soft white furs blanketing my body, but the harrowing vibe was unmistakable.

“Mistress Mia, you are awake,” said a timid feminine voice.

I glanced over at a young woman dressed in a long flowing black dress, wearing a black headscarf. She stood next to a small table filled with bread and cheese. My mouth instantly watered.

“I am Ypirétria.” She dipped her head. “I am here to see that you eat and to help you bathe.”

Some things never changed. “That’s really kind, but I’m okay. So you are free to go.”

Her eyes filled with horror.

“What?” I asked.

“The master will be very displeased if I do not carry out his wishes.”

I rolled my eyes. “The ‘master’ can be displeased with me, then. And—”

“No. You don’t understand. Please, do not send me away.” She sounded as if she genuinely feared for her life.

Oh Lord
. I really needed to talk to King about all this.
After you eat. After.
I couldn’t remember the last time I tasted food.

A thousand years ago?

Yes, I really did need something in my stomach. I took a whiff of myself.
And a bath
.

“Okay,” I said, “but I am going to speak to him.” I would include the topic of, “What the hell are you doing to your people?”

After attacking the food and having a luxurious bath in a stone tub filled with drops of a flowery-smelling oil and warm water that piped in through the wall—dang, the Greeks really had everything—I felt like a new woman. Well, almost. I was dying for a Lady Bic. But Ypirétria did give me a little stick to chew on to clean my teeth, so that was nice.