King of Me (The King Trilogy #3)(44)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“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 f**ked me like he’d die if he didn’t.

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