Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Tags: #Romance, #Fantasy, #Fiction, #Adult, #General
"I will give you one more chance to discharge your duty to the Brotherhood. I will not ask you again. If
you do not pay your debt to us, you will live to regret it."
Conar slowly lifted his head to Tolkan Coure’s face. "How the hell did you get in my keep?"
"I go where I wish to go, young one. I have powers you will never match. What is your answer? Do you
come with us or do you stay and reap the consequences?"
In a voice thick with murder, Conar whispered into the chilling wind. "I told you to leave me alone. I
kept all the bargain I am ever going to keep, you son-of-a-bitch." His mouth turned ugly with rage. He
came to his feet. "You and that bastard Tohre keep the hell away from me."
Tolkan smiled. "People will one day know you for what you are. They will see what we have made of
you."
Conar turned, his heart pounding with sudden fear. He headed for the opening of the outside staircase
spiraling down a corner turret.
"Your people will hate you when they find out, McGregor!" Tolkan screamed. "They will cast you
away!"
Once inside the staircase, Conar leaned against the cold stone wall. Tolkan’s mocking laughter drifted
down to him on a frigid blast of air. He brought his hands to his ears to shut out the ugly sound.
"You are Ours, Conar McGregor!" the wind seemed to warn.
He reached inside his jacket pocket for the flask of warm milk and brandy Sadie had left for him on her
kitchen table. His fingers trembled as he uncorked the flask and brought the biting liquor to his lips. Tilting
back his head, he drained it, and the flash of instant arousal surged through him like molten lava.
* * *
doorway. "Has she gone, Milord?"
He stepped into her room and closed the door. He came toward her, his face expressionless.
"Milord?" she questioned, suddenly wary of the rigid posture and loosely held hands whose fingers
twitched with each step he took toward her. He stared intently at her. She backed away from what she
saw on his hard face. "What is it, Milord?" Her voice trembled with sudden understanding.
He cupped her neck, drew her toward him. His gaze was intent on hers.
"No, Milord," she whimpered, her head turning to one side as he pulled her face closer. "You can’t. You
promised."
A slow, malicious smile spread over his full lips. "I can do whatever pleases me, Mam’selle."
She put her hands on his chest and pushed, but the rock-solid wall was unmoving as he dipped his head
and brought her lips to his, covering her mouth with his own, holding her face to his as she tried to pull
away. She managed to tear her mouth free of the deepening kiss.
"Her Grace, Milord, she will—"
"Never know. Not that it makes any difference to me if she does." He locked her in his arms.
Gezelle shook her head. "No, Milord. I will not do this."
"I want you, woman, and I intend to have you."
"I will not let you…" she began on a wavering breath, but he cut her off.
"I’m not asking, bitch! I’m telling you!"
She tried to get out of his embrace, squirming against the hard bulge in his breeches. "You promised.
You promised you wouldn’t take me against my will. You can’t do this!"
"I will take you any gods-be-damned way I please!" he bellowed, pulling her to the floor. He was over
her in one lithe movement.
"
No
!" she whimpered.
"Fight me," he whispered as he dragged up her skirts. "Go ahead and fight me, Gezelle," he ordered as
his fingers found their way inside her shriveling flesh. His other hand anchored her head. "Claw me. Bite
me. Spit at me. Scar me for all I care. It’ll do no good. You are as much mine as she is." He thrust his
fingers so deeply inside her, she moaned with pain. "If I can’t have her, I’ll take you!"
His hard mouth descended upon hers and her whimpers were lost in the hard creases of his lips.
PART II:
Conar didn’t glance up when Legion came to stand beside him in the garden. As Legion continued to
stand and stare, a muscle jumped in the Serenian prince’s lean jaw, but he would be damned before he
opened the conversation with A’Lex. After all, he hadn’t sought out the man.
Blowing a disgusted breath from his nostrils, Legion put his hands on his hips and snarled in contempt.
"Papa wants you in the study."
There was dispassionate expression in the cold blue of Conar’s narrowed eyes. "So?"
Legion looked down his nose at his younger brother. "You’d better not keep him waiting. He’s not too
happy with you right now."
The wide shoulders lifted in an unconcerned shrug. "I couldn’t care less."
The Vice-Commander of the Serenian Forces didn’t think before he moved. One moment he was
staring down at his brother, the next instant Conar was nose to nose with him, Legion’s strong fingers
tangled in the front of the man’s jacket.
"I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you lately, and I don’t particularly care! I do know that you’d
better not think of starting something with me, boy. You’ve got enough problems without having me on
your ass! Papa wants to see you—see how fast you can get your ass in there to him!" He shook his
brother for good measure.
Conar jerked away, shoving Legion as hard as he could. "Touch me like that again, A’Lex, and I
promise, I’ll make you sorry you did!"
Legion brought his arms under Conar and locking his hands together behind his neck so that the prince’s
head was bent forward. "I’ll beat the crap out of you if you say one more word!"
"Get your hands off me, A’Lex!" came the stony reply through clenched teeth.
"Let him go, Legion," King Gerren called from the library door. When Legion hesitated, pushing Conar’s
neck forward even more, Gerren repeated his command.
Conar took a swing as soon as Legion’s hands were off him, but the bigger man stepped back and
lashed out with the open palm of his right hand, smacking Conar smartly on the cheek.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" Conar shouted, his cheek red and stinging. "I ought to…"
Gerren sighed, his watery blue eyes going to the heavens.
"Come on," Legion taunted, risking a side-glance at the king. Encouraged when he saw no anger lurking
on their father’s bland face, he jutted his chin forward and crooked his second and third fingers in
invitation. "Just try it!"
Conar lunged, skidded on the icy walkway, and went down on his belly, sliding forward until he came up
against the fountain’s rim. He let out a string of vulgarities that turned the air blue; he used words neither
his brother nor father had heard him use before. They stared in amazement as he came to his feet and
turned to glare at them. There was a long bloody scrape under his chin where a dead twig had gouged his
flesh. He wiped at the trickle of blood and then looked at the bright splash of color on his gloved fingers.
"Are you satisfied now?" he whispered to Legion. "Now that you’ve hurt me?"
"You caused that yourself," his father reminded.
Conar nodded with spite. "Everything that happens to me is my own fault."
"Fools deserve what they get," Legion prophesied.
Conar dusted the snow off his breeches and plopped down on the fountain ledge. He lowered his head
so his father would not see the murderous intent aimed A’Lex’s way.
"You wanted me, Majesty." His teeth were grinding as he spoke.
"What’s happening to you, Conar?" his father demanded. "You act like you’re angry at the entire world.
You show me no respect whatsoever." The King’s mouth turned bitter. "
Stand up when I’m talking to
you
!"
Conar fixed his father with a look that said more than any words could express. With studied
indifference, he stood, folded his arms across his chest. His body was as rigid as steel.
Gerren was shocked that his son stared at him with an expression filled with unadulterated hatred—no
warmth, no honor, no respect, not even a semblance of love. Only mocking attention.
The King saw the same confusion registering on Legion’s face. "Leave us, Legion. I will speak to your
brother alone.
"Aye, Majesty," Legion growled.
When the library door closed behind Legion, the King walked calmly toward his firstborn legal heir and
glared. Blue eyes clashed with blue, and the two men made no move to speak. If the King had thought to
intimidate this son by his continued silence, it wasn’t working. Conar glared back with as much concern
as if he were looking at the man’s portrait.
Red-hot anger shot through Gerren. He leaned forward, his face in Conar’s. "You are treading on thin
ice. Very thin ice, indeed."
The sensual mouth stretched into a firm, unconcerned line. "Meaning what?"
"Meaning if you don’t start behaving in a manner more suited to the heir of the throne, I will have to
seriously consider abrogating your succession in favor of your brother, Dyllon." The King was pleased at
the flare of uncertainty that came over his son’s face.
"You wouldn’t dare."
Gerren’s lip curled. "This isn’t one of your brothers you’re talking to. I would, and I will."
"You won’t."
"Try me!"
For a long moment Conar stared at the angry face and realized, with a pang, the man would do as he
threatened. Fury raced through Conar as surely as the ache of betrayal ran through his heart. He couldn’t
stand seeing himself mirrored in his father’s eyes and started to walk way. But he felt his arm caught in a
steely grip that made him flinch. He was jerked around to face towering rage on the aged face of, not his
father, but his sovereign King.
"You
ever
do that again, and I will have you clapped in irons so fast you’ll wonder what the hell you did
to piss me off!"
"Why don’t you people just leave me the hell alone?" Conar shouted. He struggled to control his temper,
for he had a great, burgeoning desire to hit his father. "Haven’t you hurt me enough?"
Gerren’s mouth dropped open. "Hurt you? What are you talking about?"
"I want to be left alone!" Conar screamed, trying to jerk free.
"What is wrong with you?" Gerren growled, tightening his grip on his son’s forearm. "You have
responsibilities, boy! Duties you’ve ignored ever since you came back to the keep from wherever the hell
you were those six weeks. Left alone? You have obligations!" His face was as red as blood. "Left alone,
indeed! I will not have this foolishness from you, Conar Aleksandro. If I have told you once, I have told
you a thousand times—"
"If I didn’t listen the first time, what makes you think I’ll listen to your stupid shit now?"
His father’s hand caught him full across the mouth. The blow staggered him. He stumbled and crashed
into the trunk of a tall redbud and had to clutch a low-hanging branch to keep from falling. He put a
trembling hand to his injured lip.
"You had to do it, too, didn’t you?" the prince asked in a strained voice. "You had to hurt me, too." He
raised his chin. "Do it again, Majesty. I didn’t bleed that time."
"You want bloodshed, Conar?" The king raised his hand again, but Conar stood his ground, never
looking away from the fury, never trying to stop the blow. When it came, he barely flinched, even though
his lower lip gushed crimson.
It had now gone far beyond the quarrel of father and son. Beyond the chastisement of parent to child.
Conar’s sneer of contempt for Gerren’s authority had put it on a level between King and subject. Neither
man would dare lose face by walking away. Male egos wouldn’t permit it.
"Do you want to spend the night in the dungeon?" Gerren asked in a matter-of-fact tone. When Conar
didn’t answer, Gerren nodded. "I didn’t think so."
The King folded his arms and regarded his silent son.
"I have business that needs to be taken care of in Ciona. You will leave at the end of the month and act
as my representative. Until then, I neither want to see your face, nor hear your vulgar voice. Pack your
things and go to Ivor. Stay there until I send word that the time has come for you to go to Ciona."
"Do I get down on my knees to thank you for dismissing me from my home, or do I just smile and act
like a servant?" Conar replied tartly.
The King’s hands clenched into fists as he glowered at the smug face. He knew he should hit the young
man again. The look on Conar’s face was bringing the boy one step closer to spending a few cold nights
in the filthiest cell Boreas Dungeon had to offer; but something painful lurked in the prince’s eyes as well.
A spark of loneliness that shined brighter than the disrespect and sarcasm. Gerren thought he knew what
had caused it.
"Your brothers and I have discussed this thing between you and Liza."
Conar turned away. He didn’t want to talk about Liza with anyone. Especially now. The effects of the
tenerse-laced ale he had consumed at supper were wearing off and he was beginning to feel the same
doubt, uncertainty, and bewilderment that flooded him every night. The anger was being replaced with
acute shame.
Gerren could almost feel the boy’s self-confidence collapsing. Conar’s shoulders sagged; some of the
rigidity left his spine.
"I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but it has affected you in a way that is not
acceptable. How you live your life directly influences the state of this monarchy. You can not be allowed
to behave as though you can do whatever you want. As heir to this throne, you are liable to me for what