King of Me (The King Trilogy #3)(41)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

His head snapped up. “I am not mad?”

“No, you’re not mad. You’re…” just lost. And a ghost again, I presumed. He now had the infamous sundial tattoo on his left arm. And the tattoo on his collarbone, the one that looked like an elaborate Egyptian collar in the shape of a semicircle, was partially filled in.

“How long has it been since you…” I swallowed, “died?”

“A thousand years. A thousand years of hell, waiting for you.” He rushed toward me and dropped to the floor, grabbing the nape of my neck to pull my lips to his. His tongue plunged inside my mouth with desperation, like a man dying of thirst and running from death.

His warmth and hardness, his sweet smell and chilling coldness, the sinful burn of his madness, exploded in that one kiss. I didn’t know where I was or why, but good God, I needed him as much as he seemed to need me. When he’d died, I’d missed him so much that every cell in my body cried out. So maybe, just maybe, that was why I didn’t care if the man before me was shattered, dark, and utterly mad. In that moment, the wounds of his death were so raw and fresh, I would take anything I could get.

He pulled up my dress and ripped himself free of his clothes. His c**k was large, hard, and veined with that pulsing tension I’d longed for from the second he’d left me in the tub. Only a moment of acknowledgement flickered between us as we stared into each other’s eyes. Then he lowered his h*ps and thrust sharply. I closed my eyes and cried out. It didn’t matter that it hurt; he was there. In me. He felt real, and that was all I could ask for. The wait for my drug was over.

He moved hard and fast, nuzzling his warm stubbled face into the nape of my neck while he groaned and f**ked away his anguish like an angry beast. I gripped a handful of his dark hair and held him to me. I would never be able to come like this, but I didn’t care. I just wanted his suffering to end. I just wanted him close. That would be enough.

“Mia, Mia, Mia…” he repeated underneath his breath, over and over again.

I willed myself not to fight against the ravenous pace of his animalistic-like pounding, hoping to God that whatever I could give would bring some semblance of sanity.

His one arm reached under my body and lifted my hips. He pushed his thick c**k in a deep, brutal stroke that stole my breath, then came hard, shuddering against me.

His chest contracted with each rapid breath while he lay on top of me, and my mind rolled with conflict. Even in his broken state, it was euphoric to feel this man in my arms again, tangled against my body.

I gently petted the back of his head. “I missed you. I really missed you.”

He lifted his head, looked into my eyes, and withdrew. Before I knew it, he stood over me, redressing. “Get up.”

I blinked, sat up, and straightened myself out, nervous as hell that he was going to flip out on me. This was not the cool, calm, collected King I knew from the past or the future.

No. I didn’t f**king care. I’d missed him so much it nearly killed me.

“You will leave immediately. You can’t stay here,” he said.

“What’s the matter?” Not that I knew where “here” was, or if “here” was safe, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to leave him. Not for anything.

“It is far too dangerous for you to stay.”

I stood up. “Where are we?”

“Athens.”

“Are you at war?” Dammit, dammit, dammit. Why didn’t I pay attention in World History?

“No. However…” His voice faded away. “You cannot stay. I am not—you are not safe.”

He was afraid he’d hurt me. That had to be it. “I am not leaving.”

He started mumbling to himself as if slipping away inside his head again.

“King?”

He looked at me with angry, dark eyes, and my heart jolted inside my chest.

“What happened to you?” I whispered.

Just then, two men entered: one blond and the other with red hair, both wearing similar garb—gray wool cloaks embroidered around the edges and belted tunics. They held an unconscious man who’d been beaten.

I stilled.

King looked at the men, unfazed. “Throw him down in the room.”

“The room”?

“What’s going on?” I asked.

King’s eyes warned me not to speak. He then instructed the two men to take me away, to make sure it was somewhere safe and where he could never find me.

The men had a coldness in their eyes, like they were the sort a woman should never be left alone with.

“I’m not leaving with them,” I said. “I am not leaving you.”

King was on me faster than I could blink, his trembling hands gripped tightly on my shoulders and his face filled with rage. “You will do as you are told, woman.”

“Or what?” I growled.

“Or you will die.” He released me with a sharp push, and I stumbled back. “Take her. Now.”

The two men rushed over and grabbed my arms so tightly, I felt their dirty nails digging into my skin.

I twisted away. “I’ll go. Just don’t touch me.”

The blond man didn’t speak, but I had the distinct impression he was about to slap me. I glowered, daring him to do it.

He looked away.

Good choice.

As we headed toward the large, arched doorway leading outside, I heard King repeat to himself, “Somewhere I cannot find her. Ever.”

Had he forgotten about his “K” tattoo? He could find me anywhere.

The man is mad.

~~~

Partially in shock, I went quietly with the two men, hoping that they might explain what the hell happened back there. To be clear, though, I had no intention of leaving for good. I wasn’t about to lose King again.

Passing several men in cloaks and women wearing pristine white dresses, with elaborately braided hair, we made our way down the cobblestone street stacked with perfectly square whitewashed temples. The sun was just setting, filling the sky with ominous reds, and when I looked back over my shoulder, toward the massive structure we’d just come from—King’s home, I presumed—it glared back with empty dark doorways that reminded me of his eyes. The massive white pillars surrounding the palace looked like giant wicked teeth that wanted to chew me up and spit me out.

“Who is he?” I wondered aloud.

The blond man glanced at me, but kept quiet.

“Do you not know who he is?” said the man with red hair.

“No,” I answered. Of course, that wasn’t entirely true.