King of Me (The King Trilogy #3)(27)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“I’m saying that there is nothing I can say to convince a man who refuses to accept the truth.”

He rose from the table, fury pouring from his eyes. “You will sit, Seer. Or I will have my guards tie you to that chair.”

I hesitantly sat back down. “What do you want from me?”

He poured himself another cup of wine, drank it down, and then returned his sharp gaze to me. “The truth.”

“About what?”

“Prove that you are not trying to manipulate me.”

“What do you want?” I barked.

“The truth!” He slammed his fist onto the table, causing the plates of food to jump.

“I don’t know what that is,” I yelled. “That’s the truth. I go to you for help. You claim me as your property. I find out you’re cursed and looking for a way out. You manipulate me, use me, and try to hurt me. Then poof, I’m here.”

“So you are saying you fear me. Completely.”

“Yes.”

He reached across the table and grabbed my wrist with the tattoo. “Remove your clothes.”

“What?” I said.

“Silence. Do it.”

Without giving my body permission, I rose from the table, fearing why he would ask this. Sheer panic took over as my brain began recalling the horrible memories of the future.

King’s intense blue gaze focused on my angry horrified face as I slipped the dress off my shoulder and allowed it to fall to the floor.

His eyes looked me over hungrily for several moments before he stood, gripped my wrist and leaned in. At first, I thought he might kiss my neck or touch me, but he didn’t. Instead he placed his nose at my nape and smelled me.

What the hell?

Still gripping my wrist, he whispered, “Tell me you love me. Tell me to make love to you.”

The nightmares of his private island came crashing down. I could taste the fear on my tongue.

“I love you. I want you to make love to me,” I said unwillingly.

King released my wrist and stared deeply into my eyes. I could feel his wine-scented breath on my face and hear my own heart pounding away.

I began to pray I’d find the strength to release myself from his command as I’d done once before in a state of panic.

“I believe you.” He turned and sat back down at the table. “You may get dressed.”

I blinked and then reached for my dress. The moment I was covered, my eyes became glued to a sharp knife on the table. I’m going to kill him.

“Go ahead,” he said, also staring at the knife. “If it will make you feel better.”

“What the hell was that?” I fumed.

He poured another glass with a cool, calm, and steady hand. “I smelled the fear on you, saw it in your eyes. You really do hate me.”

“Your f**king point?”

“Emotions like that cannot be faked. You truly believed I would hurt you, which means I’ve hurt you before.”

He rose from the table and glanced at the food. “Enjoy your meal.”

He was leaving? Before I had the chance to stab him? How ungentlemanly.

“Where are you going?” I seethed, expecting him to say it was none of my goddamned business.

“I do not wish you any further distress this evening, and I have some difficult decisions to make. I will return later. Rest. You will be safe here.”

He stopped halfway out the door. “By the way, Mia. I would never take a woman against her will. But I did enjoy seeing your body. The gods will surely give the people a plentiful harvest next season.”

Completely shocked, my mouth hung open. Who is this guy?

I sat at the table for the next hour pondering that question. More precisely, I pondered how he made me feel. Angry, overwhelmed, crazy.

I couldn’t deny that being around him was like a highly addictive narcotic I couldn’t get enough of.

And that little move of his hadn’t been simply about proving I feared him. It was also about making me trust him. He’d put me in a position where I felt exposed, where he could do anything he liked. Yet he hadn’t, and made a point of it as if he felt the need to win my trust.

Staring at the food and unable to eat, the cool breeze drifting through the open doorway finally got the best of me. I nestled into King’s bed and covered myself with the soft silky red blanket. His delicious masculine scent—a sort of citrus and musk—enveloped me, and I closed my eyes, thinking of him. This King was seductively strong and fearless. He was human, yet somehow bigger than life—utterly powerful, but kind, too. He was that part of future-King who left me breathless and speechless with his brutal honesty and beauty. That was the man who’d saved my mother. He’d held me when I felt like my life was ending. Yes, now my mind clearly saw two completely different people living inside that future version. One I hated and wanted to kill. The other was this man…

Goose bumps broke out over my body thinking of him—shirtless with that long black hair—and those vivid blue eyes. And that body. Holy Christ, did that man have abs. And thick muscled arms and legs. And…

The tension pooled between my legs, and I shook my head. How f**ked up am I? There was no possible scenario resulting in a happy ending for me. Regardless, I couldn’t help wanting this untainted version of him. He was the entire package without the baggage.

Except…he lives in 1500 BC, give or take a few centuries as I wasn’t sure about the exact year. Care to think these feelings over?

I won’t fall for him. I just…I sighed. He was magnetic, that was the best way to describe him.

Unable to resist the numbing oasis of sleep, I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else. An image of a perfect future popped into my mind: everyone gathered at my parents’ Victorian home on Knob Hill in San Francisco. Justin and his girlfriend, Jamie, holding their beautiful baby while sitting on that floral, overstuffed couch in the living room. Becca and her mother squabbling over some random fact about an actor they both loved. “No, he’s dating that model,” one would say. “No. They broke up,” the other would respond. Then there would be my parents sneaking kisses in the kitchen while they prepared the finishing touches on the meal. Me, well, I was there, too. Somewhere. Although, I couldn’t see any details. Maybe because I was still in ancient Minoa, beginning to wonder if I ever wanted to leave.

Could I do that to my poor parents? Because their losing a daughter would be just as bad as losing my brother. And losing us both? I shuddered. I couldn’t begin to imagine the grief.