King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(33)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

I don’t know how I’d managed to dress, wash my face, brush my teeth, and make my way outside the hotel because I didn’t remember doing it. My thoughts had been wrapped around King. How had he disappeared like that? And last night, the way he’d gotten inside my head and chewed me up from the inside out, the way he tracked me down using the mark on my arm, and the way he possessed my body with insatiable lust. Who or what was King besides a dangerous enigma? My brain was stuck, trying to answer the question, but I kept landing on the exact same spot: I didn’t know.

Was it really possible for ordinary people to acquire extraordinary powers, as King said he had? Was there more to the world than what one simply saw on the surface?

Yes.

I’d seen the proof with my own eyes when I saw Brian, my brother’s dead roommate, along with the red swirling light above his grave. The existence of something else was real.

So what did that make me? I’d been so horrified and frantic, I hadn’t really been given the chance to let the last few days sink into my bones.

I was a Seer of Light. What did that mean?

“Miss Turner, we need to leave.”

Huh?

King’s voice emanated from a black Mercedes with tinted windows. He was in the driver’s seat, waiting.

Damn. I felt like I was in a walking coma.

“What the hell is taking you so long? I’ve been calling you for an entire minute,” he fumed.

I noticed how King looked exceptionally intimidating today in his dark blue suit, royal blue tie, and dark sunglasses.

I slipped into the sleek car and closed the door.

“Where’s Arno?” I asked, realizing I’d never seen King drive.

He rubbed his beard. “Taking care of some business for me today.”

“Oh.” I watched the trees zoom by as King floored it down the wet lane. The drizzle of rain hadn’t stopped.

He turned onto the main avenue, unworried about his speed or crashing, weaving effortlessly in and out of traffic.

“Could you slow down?” I whispered. One more ounce of stress might shatter me into a million pieces.

“I’m not slowing down because you have a hangover,” he said coldly. “We’ve already lost too much time because of your impudence.”

“Impudence? My impudence? You took off my clothes last night!” I said.

He grumbled a curse. “You threw up all over yourself. Too much scotch. You threw up on me as well while I assisted you in removing your clothes and brushing your teeth. And, unfortunately, as I was in a hurry to get to Edinburgh to find you and didn’t have a chance to pack additional clothes, I had to remove mine for cleaning, as well. And before you ask, my c**k and balls prefer a more liberated lifestyle, which is why I wore nothing to bed.”

Did he mean he liked to go commando?

“Thanks for that extra info.”

As for the throwing up, I didn’t remember that, but I realized last night was one giant blur. I remembered the pain, though. I would never forget. It felt like being injected with a horrific concoction of every bad emotion a human being could experience—sorrow, loneliness, and despair.

How he’d done it, I didn’t know. But I was pretty darn certain I’d be taking some form of revenge on King just as soon as the opportunity arose.

“So where did you go after,” I swallowed, “this morning?”

“I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and left. Why?”

I never saw him leave. And hadn’t the door been locked from the inside when the maid brought my clothes? Maybe I was mistaken. After all, I’d been in shock.

“I, uhhhh.” My head began to swirl again. I winced and pressed the heels of my palms to my temples.

“Miss Turner, I understand that you’re not accustomed to all this, that you’ve led a small, sheltered little life. But you are in my world now. It’s not pretty. It’s not right. It’s survival. And if you really want to save your brother, then you will need to adapt. You will need to accept that reality is simply different than you believed it to be. This will relieve the pain in your head.”

I dropped my hands. “So you’re saying that I should accept that you’ll hurt me if I don’t do what you say? You think I should accept that you think you own me? Or that you have the right to get in bed with me in all your commando glory or use my body when your dick gets hard?”

“Yes. Yes. No—that last one was a mistake.” He shrugged. “I am male. My dick gets hard. I’m not always choosy as to who helps me relieve the pressure.”

I guess that explained why I went from not being his type to being his type: I had a vagina and was at the right place at the right time.

“Classy.” I looked out the window at the wet, gray day, trying to ignore the pounding inside my head.

“I see no need to hide behind pretenses,” he said. “I am far too old for that.”

Prick. Besides, how old was he? Thirty-two? Thirty-five? “So where are we going?”

“As I told you last night, I found Justin. He is here in Edinburgh with the Artifact.”

“What? You didn’t tell me that last night!” I yelled.

“I promise you, I did. You simply forgot.”

I returned to rubbing my temples. “Not possible.” I couldn’t forget something so important.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, perhaps you were a bit preoccupied at the time.” A smirk flickered across his perfect face.

“You think what you did to me was funny?” I seethed.

“Not in the least. In fact, I think it hurt me more than it hurt you.”

My jaw dropped. How could he say that?

“Asshole.”

“Yes. But this ass**le is attempting to keep you alive. Which he will. If you obey me. And since obedience appears to be a challenge for you, Miss Turner, I had to take measures. I hope the next time you have the sudden urge to defy my instructions, you’ll think twice.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed. “Perhaps next time. There’s no better means to put a woman in her place.”

My head whipped in his direction. “Not even you can believe that. Forcing yourself on a woman is barbaric.”

“I never said I’d force you. However, I agree; rape is vile and savage, a coward’s crime worthy of death.”

He was implying that I might sleep with him willingly. Not a chance. That said, it was a strange relief to know that even King had his limits. And yet…“But apparently torture is okay, in your book?”