Her eyes gently close and a subtle smile curls her soft lips. I do not want her to go. I am not ready to let her die. “Mia, I will bring you back.”
Gods be cursed. I am King. I possess an ancient arsenal of the most powerful objects known to man. I have lived over three thousand years. I anticipate every outcome and prepare accordingly. Yet this…. I shake my head, cradling Mia’s head.
I’d given her a ring to ensure nothing like this ever happened. Why did she remove it?
This is the moment that my mind clicks. My darkness was in control these past days, and I remember very little. However, I know Mia would not remove her ring—a ring I spent three hundred years hunting down for her. A ring made from a stone plucked from the crown of Hammurabi.
I think for a moment, the clock ticking away, her soul slipping from her body.
He took it from her.
I slide my hand into the pocket of my black jeans and feel a small lump. Fucking hell! I pull it out and slide it on her finger.
My goddamned hands are shaking. “Please, please come back, Mia. Please return.” The ring will only function if worn at the time of death. Not after.
I place my ear over her heart and listen. There is no sound. No heart, no breath.
I shake her by the shoulders, knowing that her soul has not yet traveled far. “Use your power to come back, Mia! You are a seer. See the life waiting for you!”
I wait, but she doesn’t move.
I grit my teeth and scream toward the sky. All this wealth, all this power…I have everything one man can possibly want, but I failed at obtaining the one thing in this world I need. Her. The hunt for the Artifact was always about that. It was always about us being together.
I lie down next to Mia’s now chilling body and know I can do little more than wait for a miracle.
Suddenly, Mia sits up and begins screaming with no end in sight. She yells for me to get away from her, that I am a monster.
I hang my head and think of what he, that fucking monster, has done to her—things no woman should have to endure. Things no woman can forgive.
Fuck. It is exactly as I feared; too much has passed between us, and my curse has poisoned our future.
It’s over.
If I care for Mia, even a little, I must let her go.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
One Month Later. San Francisco.
I lay on Becca’s couch staring at the bright-white ceiling of her apartment living room, sweat covering my body, my lungs barely able to keep up with my racing heart.
“Another nightmare?” Becca groaned from the doorway, just arriving home from work, which meant I’d slept through the day again. “Get off your ass, Mia. You’re coming out with me and the girls tonight.”
I rolled over and covered my head with the quilt. “I don’t feel like it.” The fact was, I could barely eat, let alone stand and bathe or get prettied up for a night out with a bunch of Becca’s obnoxiously happy friends.
Becca pulled back the blanket and glared down at me with her big brown eyes. “We have VIP passes to a new club.”
“I don’t want to go out.”
“You can’t sleep on my couch forever.”
“Try me,” I groaned and covered my face with my hands.
“Enough, Mia!” Becca barked and flicked my exposed forehead.
I sat up. “What was that for?”
My best friend Becca was one of those women who had a sweet round face and wide innocent eyes that made you want to smile. But when she got angry, her pale face turned tomato red, and that meant you might want to consider fleeing. I knew because we’d been best friends since we were little girls, and I thought of her like a sister. Which was why I’d gone straight to her apartment the moment I’d arrived in San Francisco and hadn’t left, with the exception of Justin’s funeral. After everything that had happened, my parents needed their grieving space and so did I.
“Mia,” she sighed, “I haven’t wanted to say anything because I know you need time—time that I’m more than happy to give you. But sooner or later, you’re going to have to try to pick yourself up. Justin wouldn’t have wanted you to spend the rest of your life on my couch, crying.”
I knew she was right, but what she didn’t know was the full story. It had been a little over three weeks since we’d put Justin to rest, but I was nowhere near ready to face the toxic emotional cloud churning beneath the surface. This wasn’t just about accepting Justin’s death, but accepting I’d lost King, too. He’d left me the moment I came back to life. He never loved me. He never cared. He had only wanted his curse lifted.
I lost them both. Both. Something I’d never thought possible. So for the moment, all I could do to hold it together was lie on Becca’s couch, sleeping.
I rubbed my stinging forehead. “You’re lucky I love you.”
She sat next to me and moved the sloppy curls from my face. “Mia, I know you’re not telling me everything that happened with King. But when you’re ready, I’m here for you.” I had told her about King—well, everything leading up to the point before I learned who King really was. A cursed king. A ghost.
She squeezed my hand, and I looked into her big brown eyes. “Thank you,” I said, “but I’m not ready to talk about it.”
She sighed. “Okay, but…” She stopped, deciding to retreat. “I’m taking a shower. Think about coming out with me.”
“But I—”
“I’m not asking you,” she said lovingly, “to stop feeling sad. I’m asking you to give yourself the night off. Will you think about it?”
I nodded solemnly, and she disappeared into her room.
Alone again, I slid my laptop from the coffee table and opened it up. I clicked on my email and glanced at the message I’d received from King the day after I’d left Crete. It simply said, “You are safe now.”
He didn’t have to explain what that meant, because I knew.
When I’d woken up in Crete, his body stretched out by my side, all I saw was blood pouring from my neck. I screamed. I couldn’t stop screaming. It was as if my brain had unfinished business, and no matter how hard I tried, it couldn’t stop seeing what it wanted: me dying, blood everywhere.
It had taken several hours for King to calm me down with heavy sedatives, and when he did, all I saw were memories of him, the red light circling his body and pouring from his dark eyes as he tried to stab me in Athens. All I could hear was his voice as he tied me up and told me he was going to break me. All I could feel were his hands on me as he ripped away my clothes, intent on violating me.
“I can’t make it stop,” I’d screamed to him, wanting to claw out my own eyes. “Why is this happening?”
I remembered the sound of his deep voice. Sorrow. As if his entire body was saturated with it. “I do not know. However, I must leave within the hour to attend to urgent business. You will remain here in the compound with Ypirétria.”
I said nothing. Not because I didn’t care, but because my mind had been filled with so many horrible images and feelings, there was no space left for anything else.
Then after he’d left, I could breathe again. The images stopped. The living nightmares dissolved. I knew, without a doubt, that being near him was the trigger.
And it crushed my heart.
After thousands of years of his suffering, the curse had finally been broken, and I’d miraculously escaped death for a third time. But he was like poison to me.
The worst blows, however, were yet to come.
Later, Ypirétria had cleaned me up and fed me. I arranged for a ticket home, knowing my parents needed me there.
When the car for the airport pulled up, Ypirétria came running after me as I got inside. “Vasílissa!” That meant “queen.” We really needed to start using our names.
I looked at the cell phone in her hand and took it. “Hello?”
“You are leaving.” King’s voice was cold and stark.
“I have to go home. They need me.”
“
Did the nightmares stop?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m okay now.”
“Good.” His question made me start to wonder.
“Did you do something?”
“I left,” he said.
Shit. So he is the trigger. “What does all this mean, King? What happened to me?”
A long moment passed. “Miss Turner, I have very pressing business to attend to. I cannot waste valuable time discussing topics that have little impact on the present or future.”
I was back to being “Miss Turner,” which meant he wanted distance between us. I felt my heart crack wide open.
I swallowed back my tears and lifted my chin. “I have to go; the driver is waiting.”
“Keep the phone. In case I need to reach you. And you will take my private plane home—it is waiting for you at the airport.”
“Thanks, but I already have a ticket.” I was about to hang up before I started screaming or crying or something.
“Miss Turner, you will do as you are told.”
I felt speechless. I couldn’t believe King wanted our relationship to return to this—him acting as if I was his employee.
He added, “The 10 Club is being dealt with, but until then, you must stay out of sight.”
“What about the Spiros?” I asked, unsure if I cared any longer about them or anything.
“They will be dealt with as well. All of them.”
“They’ve already suffered enough. Just leave them—”
“Goodbye, Miss Turner.” The call ended, and I didn’t bother to dial him back. What was the point? King now had what he wanted: his curse lifted and his life back. Nevertheless, he’d gone back to being good old King. Not the man I’d fallen for or the out-of-control monster, but the man I’d first met who was somewhere in between.
Maybe some things couldn’t be undone. Maybe his soul had been through too much to go back to being the king of Minoa.
I’d arrived the next morning in San Francisco, feeling like there was absolutely nothing left of me. The journey had been so incredibly emotional and painful. However, fate wasn’t done with me yet.
From the moment I’d left Crete, I began to notice I no longer saw lights or felt things. My Seer gift was gone.
Completely gone.
My only clue to the reason why would later come in my nightmares—new nightmares. I was in that auditorium where Callias beheaded King, standing before those old Seer women. I begged them for my life, knowing that after everything I’d done wrong, I didn’t deserve it.
“Nothing is without a price, Mia,” said the old woman. “If you wish to return, something must be sacrificed.”
“Meaning what?”
“You must leave all of your power here. You must give up your gifts.”
That meant I would never have the chance to “see” Justin and save him. But leaving my parents to deal with my death, too? It would break them. In the end, though, it was really a decision between returning without my gifts, or nothing at all. I chose to live.
But you’re not really living, are you?
“Are you sure you don’t want to go out?” Becca stood in the doorway, wearing strappy heels, tight jeans, and a red silky top. Her brown hair was wound up on top of her head in a giant knot.
“I’m sure.”
Becca took a little purple card from her pocket and dropped it on the coffee table. “There’s a pass. In case you change your mind.”
“Have fun.”
Becca disappeared out the door, and I sat there staring at my laptop screen. I closed my eyes and flung my head back on the couch. Honestly, the only thing I wanted was to feel nothing.
Whiskey.
Yes, great choice.
I got up from the couch and dug through Becca’s cupboards, finding only a bottle of white wine. “Shit, Becca. Really?”
I looked down at my ratty tee shirt and sweats and thought it over. You can do this, Mia. You can pretend for one night that you’re not dead inside. Not to mention, they’d have real alcohol at the club.
~~~
An hour later, I found myself walking past a long line of stylishly dressed people toward the entrance of the dance club. The bouncer, a large man with a shaved head, wearing a red tee and jeans, looked me over. I wore a short, backless black dress I’d borrowed from Becca’s closet and red Manolo heels. I had my blonde hair pulled back into a sleek bun at the nape of my neck and added gold hoop earrings. I’d also managed to throw on a little mascara and shimmery pink gloss. I didn’t feel human, but I looked like one again.
The bouncer took my pass and let me inside, where the loud music blissfully drowned out the sound of my own thoughts. I stood at the entrance for a few minutes, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness and flashing lights. The club was packed with wall-to-wall sweating bodies gyrating to the hypnotic, invigorating bass beat.
I felt my blood pressure shoot up. I can’t do this. I turned toward the door and felt a soft hand grip my wrist. “Mia! Ohmygod! I can’t believe it!” Becca squealed and hugged me tightly.
“I—uh…don’t think I’m staying,” I screamed over the music.
She frowned. “Like hell you’re leaving! Come on.” She dragged me through the crowd to a small table toward the back where her friends—I couldn’t remember their names—a blonde and two brunettes—sat with five guys. They were doing tequila shots and laughing.
“Everyone! Look who’s here!” Becca pushed me down into a seat. I smiled politely and made a little wave. The guy next to me, with a brown buzz cut and big blue eyes, immediately scooted closer. Becca shoved a full shot glass into my hand and said, “Mia, this is Grant. Grant, Mia!”
“Nice to meet you.” He grinned. “Come here often?”
I resisted rolling my eyes and instead threw back the shot.
“Let me get you another!” he said, speaking loudly. He handed me another drink from the full tray at the center of the table.
Becca leaned down and spoke into Grant’s ear, no doubt giving him some sort of instructions, such as, “Whatever you do, make sure she has fun and doesn’t leave.”
After five shots, I felt the weight of my anxiety lifting and the ache in my heart numb just a bit.
Bliss. I reached for another shot.
“Hey,” said Grant, “not that I’m opposed to your getting hammered or anything, but you might want to slow down.”
I was about to snap at him, but when I looked into his big blue eyes, they reminded me of King. “Do you want to dance?”
“Sure.”
I took his hand and negotiated our way to the middle of the floor. Grant wasted no time at all placing his hands on my hips and pressing his body to mine.
I lifted my arms and closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation of our bodies moving together in a primal, erotic rhythm. I couldn’t help but fantasize they were King’s large hands on my body, his muscular arms gripping me to him, grinding our hips intimately together.
When I opened my eyes, however, it wasn’t King. It was Grant, his handsome face not possessing even a tenth of the beauty.
“Miss Turner.” I heard that deep, dark voice from behind me. I whipped my head around and felt my body lock up.
Standing in front of me, angular, unshaven jaw ticking with anger, was a towering mass of lean hard muscles draped in a sleek black suit.
“King?” I gasped.
His brilliant blue eyes bored into me with utter fury.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“What. The. Fuck. Are you doing here?” His eyes flashed for a moment over to Grant.
“Uhh…” I blinked.
King leaned forward and spoke into my ear. “As usual, Miss Turner, I am wondering how I’ve managed to get myself an assistant who lacks the ability to speak.”
“Hey, is this guy bothering you?” asked Grant.
I looked at Grant and saw the irritation in his eyes. He didn’t know who the hell he was messing with. King could cut him down in a heartbeat. r />
“Um, no. This is my…” Fuck. What do I say? “This is my boss. I’ll see you over at the table in a minute.”
Grant nodded slowly and disappeared in the crowd.
King grabbed my wrist, and the moment he touched me, jarring images bombarded my mind. Memories of him and I on the beach, of the two of us in that hotel room in Edinburgh where he’d crawled inside my body, of us…lying together in his bed, surrounded by a pool of my own blood…
I tried to pull away, but King had his iron grip placed strategically over my “K” tattoo. He leaned in close and whispered something strange into my ear, but it felt like his words simply passed right through me. Then my wrist began to burn like hell. I tried to jerk it away, but King stared into my eyes and held on tight.
“You will stop fighting,” he commanded.
I couldn’t believe it. Even now, even with him back in a human body, he still had the power to control me.
Well, why the hell not? After all, it had never been his curse or his incorporeal state that had given him power. He had his abilities in spite of them, to overcome them. He’s probably more powerful now that he doesn’t have a handicap.
“There. It is done,” King snarled.
“What’s done? What’re you doing here?”
He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the back of the club, through a back door, into a dark stairwell.
I looked up at his beautiful face with thick black stubble and sensual lips.
“What are you doing here with that man?” he growled.
“You don’t own me, King. I can be here if I want.”
“I don’t own you?” He laughed that deep, sadistic chuckle into the air.
I jerked my arm away. “No. You don’t.”
His smile melted away, and a predatory gaze took over.
It was a look that made my heart race with fear. I stepped back, and fury filled his eyes.
“You are afraid of me?” he asked.
Holy shit. “Yes.”
He ran his hand through his hair.
“I thought you were cured,” I said.
“Cured? Of what? Of my torment? Of my memories, Miss Turner?”