Unforgettable Lover (6 page)

Nicholai glanced at Tiernan. A smirk played at the corner of his brother’s mouth. 

A surge of anger, guilt, and frustration built in Nicholai’s chest. His beast wanted to roar. 

King Monroe looked at Nicholai. “Everyone has fears, but the king must be able to protect those that can’t fight for themselves.” His attention focused on Tiernan. “A king must be trustworthy, and put his kind before himself in all things.”

Nicholai’s chest constricted. His father was a strong, fair, and just king. Losing him was a blow to everyone in the Keep. Nicholai inhaled, steeling back the hard lump in his throat.

“Between the two of you, I have a difficult decision to make. Unless you can prove me wrong in my assessments, I will make my decision based on what I know.” The old king peered between his two children. “I will announce the new king at my one thousandth birthday celebration in one week.”

The old king clapped his hands together.

The double wide wooden doors glided open, as if they weighed nothing, not several hundred pounds of carved oak. Kit stood at the entrance, his hand extended in an invitation to exit the throne room.

“Father, I’ve changed. You’ll see.” Tiernan bowed his head to the old king. He rose and strutted out the door. On the way out, with his back to their father, Tiernan winked at Nicholai.

Nicholai clenched his teeth. How could his brother be so callous? He glanced at his father. 

The elder male’s skin was drawn, as if he carried a heavy weight on his shoulders. He raised his chin, ever the king, and nodded once.

Nicholai had no words for him. His father was right, he hadn’t beaten his fear. He bowed in respect and walked through the throne room doors. 

As he wandered down the corridor, no particular destination in mind, an old, familiar memory surfaced. One he’d played over in his head many times—one that changed him—made him so rigid he followed the rules, gave him a penchant for neatness and order, and kept others at arm’s length.

Nicholai hid among the branches of an old oak tree. His best friend, Rand, hugged the trunk a few branches down. As part of the training exercises for the day, Milun, their teacher had instructed his students to hide in the trees, but not cross the river. 

Nicholai snickered. He’d convinced Rand to break the rules, and his friend had reluctantly agreed. 

The setting sun painted the clouds in shades of pink and orange. Nicholai’s chest expanded at the beauty in the sky. As newbs, they shouldn’t be out after dark, not when the Gossum roamed the forest. If caught, their disobedience would result in strict penance for the both of them. Nicholai didn’t care; the view was worth the punishment. 

Sssssnap. Sssssnap.

The hair on the back of Nicholai’s head stood on end. He’d heard stories from the warriors about the sound of a Gossum’s tongue, but in his worst nightmare, he’d never imagined a sound like this. A niggle of fear twisted in his stomach.

Rand whimpered.

Nicholai placed his finger over his lips, silencing his friend. The faint scent of astringent carried along on the breeze. Straining as far as he could reach, Nicholai offered his hand.

Rand shook his head and held on to the trunk.

Nicholai waved him on.

Rand’s foot slipped off the edge of the branch, the scrape loud in the calm forest. 

A Gossum appeared at the base of the tree. Its bald head reflected the waning sun, and the scales on the back of its neck flared. A long, wet tongue launched into the air, the spiked barb snapping with a loud crack. Dressed in dark clothing, the creature could almost pass as human, except for its black eyes, as dark as a moonless night sky.

Ronk. Ronk
. The creature called to its brothers with an eerie sound. 

Nicholai melded into the darkness of the upper branches, his body frozen with fear.

Rand shivered, horror painted on his face. 

The creature glanced into the tree, and his black orbs gave off an eerie shine. The Gossum snapped its protracted tongue, hitting Rand in the leg.

Nicholai reached for his friend, but couldn’t grasp his hand. 

Rand screamed and lost his balance, plunging to the ground.

The creature attacked.

Nicholai closed his eyes, but couldn’t stop the sounds that filtered into his ears. A tear ran over his cheek. The wetness drew a line down his face to mimic the scar he’d just etched onto his soul. 

Screeee. A warrior’s sword shrieked. Milun attacked the Gossum, his weapon glistening in the light. The creature put up a good fight, but in the end, his teacher prevailed.

 “Nicholai.” Milun glanced up at him.

Nicholai didn’t remember climbing down the tree or the return trip to the Keep, and Milun never spoke of what happened. Nicholai’s repentance came in the days and weeks ahead, in the training center and anywhere else Milun demanded. Nicholai accepted the discipline without question, eager to punish himself all the more.

Chapter Nine

The rich fragrance of pork chops and mashed potatoes filled the Grand Hall. This was one of Nicholai’s favorite meals, but he didn’t have much of an appetite. The devastating news of his father’s illness filled his stomach like a rock. Nicholai picked up a plate and stood in line behind an older male merchant, one he recognized, but didn’t know by name. The male wore a cap with the letter “T” engraved on the front, the symbol for Lemuria. 

“Good evening, Prince.” The merchant bowed his head in respect.

“To you as well,” Nicholai replied.

The spoon Nicholai gripped in his hand lightened as the lump of potatoes landed on his plate. Juice from the pork chops ran along the edge of the mound, creating a strange-looking island, one where he longed to escape. He shook his head and shuffled through the line. 

Grief and guilt were his companions and he didn’t need another, so he sat down at a table in the corner, alone. The sunstones lining the walls near him dimmed, as if the Keep sensed his somber mood. He took a bite of mashed potatoes. The warm mush tasted rancid, the bitter tang in his mouth his own doing. He placed the fork on the plate and pushed the dish away. 

The crowd filled the Grand Hall with the everyday sounds of life—silverware tinkling against plates, laughter, spirited discussions. A high-pitched giggle caught his attention. A group of females sat nearby, deep in conversation. One had her hair tied up in a chignon. She looked his way and they locked gazes. A tinge of pink colored her neck and cheeks. As if flaunting her availability, she covered her chest with her palm, exposing her bare wrist. The other females at the table noticed her display. The tittering and gawking commenced.

He glanced away without a second thought. 

At the next table, a group of males ate their fill of the evening repast. Loud chuckles and backslapping emanated from the rowdy bunch. He recognized the warriors as he’d fought alongside them many times. A part of him wanted to join the group, get to know the males, but he didn’t dare. He’d kept his distance for so long, the walls around his heart were now too high to scale.

He sat alone while the world swirled around him. His reputation as the Lone Beast was well warranted. He’d preferred it that way, until last night. In one evening, his whole world had turned upside down. 

Memories of the female he’d coupled with raced through his mind. The way she’d matched him in intensity and need had attracted him like a bee to her sweet nectar. He’d craved her, yet even as the beast ruled him, he’d been gentle. She was a treasure meant to be worshiped, not taken for granted. 

His beast responded to the rightness of that thought. An urge to jump up and search for her raced along his nerves. If he gave in to the desire, he wouldn’t stop until he found her. He ground his teeth. Deep inside, he longed for a mate and the offspring that would come from their bonding. 

He’d been with a few females for a short time, but never had a serious relationship. The females wanted him for his title and the supposed benefits that entailed. If they only knew the amount of work the queen did on a daily basis, they would run for the hills.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and searched the crowd. Which one was she? Would he recognize her? So many of the Stiyaha had blond hair and blue eyes. His job would not be easy. He sighed in frustration and pinched his fingers over the bridge of his nose. The real question though—what would he do once he found her?

“Son, you ok? You look a bit…pale.” His mother’s voice startled him. 

He straightened in his seat, the images of the carefree female still wrapped around his mind. “What? Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a bit tired.” He pasted on a smile.

She studied him, as if searching for answers, her thin lips pursed. Her green eyes dug into his soul. “You’ve talked to your father, haven’t you?”

“Mother, I’m sorry.” He stood and embraced the one female who’d loved him without question. Her soothing lavender scent eased some of his tension, and he pulled back to study her. 

She was as elegant as ever. Her pale green dress accented the color of her eyes. The bun at the back of her neck captured her long blond hair. The few wisps that escaped were the only sign she wasn’t quite as put together as she portrayed. She quirked a smile at him. “I’m going with him, you know…your father.” 

A sharp pain radiated from his chest. “Mother, no—” 

Shhhhhh.
She placed her finger over her lips. Her smile lit up her face despite the sadness in her eyes. “Although some females stay behind after the death of their mate, it is my wish to be with him. I don’t expect you to understand, not yet, anyway. Someday, when you bond to a female,
then
you will understand.”

“I have no intention of bonding to a female.” He’d be damned if he’d allow himself to get close enough where he’d freeze if she were ever threatened. She’d be hurt or worse, and that would be his fault. His chest tightened. Despite his longing, he’d never put a female at risk by bonding to him. 

She laughed. The gentle chuckle made her smile all the more endearing. “Well, we’ll see. You know, our bonding binds us together, even in death.” 

He glanced at her left arm, where two black bands circled her wrist. Each had a small triangle on either side, one pointing down her hand, the other pointing up her arm. These were an exact replica of his father’s, except his was on his right arm. Once they’d bonded, she’d received the mirror image of his markings. The lines marked her as his mate to warn other Stiyaha males to stay away from her.

“Your father and I will meet up again on Lemuria.” 

Lemuria—their home planet. At death, spirits returned back to the source, back to the place from which they all came. Nicholai held his breath, afraid if he spoke his voice would waver.

“Your father’s birthday is next week. Have you found a gift?” She smiled, but the usual glow in her eyes was missing.

Craya
. He clenched his hand. “Not…yet.” How could he think about something as trivial as a birthday present when his father had such a devastating disease? 

“Let’s make your father’s birthday extraordinary. As special as we can, anyway.” A wisp of her blond hair caught his attention. The shine and softness brought back a fond memory of his childhood when she’d read stories to him. Sitting in her lap, he’d tangled his fingers in her hair with childlike innocence. She was the only female allowed into his inner circle. He loved her deeply. 

He nodded, unwilling to let his mother down. He wasn’t sure he’d be successful in finding the perfect gift, if there even was such a thing given the circumstances. 

“I know you’ll find something wonderful. I believe in you, my son.”

If only he could believe in himself. 

Chapter Ten

Leonna sat on the stool in front of her easel. Her legs shook.
I’m qithan.
The thought sent a chill over her arms and a knot formed in her stomach. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing.

Brushes swishing against canvas caught her attention. Someone coughed. A chair squeaked against the stone floor. The scent of paint and thinner, along with glue filled the room. Tension drained from her shoulders with the familiarity of it all. The artistry chamber was the one place she could come and feel at ease, not pressured to please anyone but herself. This was her little corner in the Keep. In her soul, her paintings were what defined her.

After her disastrous afternoon, she’d fled the confines of the honey cart as soon as she could. As she ran through the stalls and carts, dodging the last of the patrons, she’d heard her mother’s call.
Lea, you forgot to—

Leonna couldn’t go back and face one more task. The burning need to free herself from her confining responsibilities just about broke her will. She’d kept going until she’d ended up here.

She opened her eyes and stared at the canvas. The partial painting, a young mother nursing her newborn, remained as she’d left it. The strokes were long and full, the details just beginning to take shape. Half finished, the painting reminded her of the babe she’d seen in the arms of the female she’d brushed past in the market. A longing pulled at something undefined inside her. 

How long had it been since she’d come here? Weeks? She touched the dried paint, tracing the brush strokes, remembering the peace and sense of freedom that would course through her veins whenever she painted. 

She picked a brush from her cylinder of painting supplies. The fine, supple goat hairs tingled her fingers and eased the ache in her chest. 

“It’s been a while.” A low male voice broke through her thoughts.

She looked at her neighbor seated a few yard away, his own paints and brushes strewn about his feet. A toe poked through a hole in his shoe. He moved his foot and placed it around one of the stool legs. She flashed her gaze to his face.