Rise of the King (King of Prey) Read online

  Many a night she’d had dreams similar to this—where she sought out the urge to feel the wind upon her face and fought the urge to attempt flight. As she’d done hundreds of times before, in her dreams, Sabrina lifted her nightgown and proceeded to climb onto the lowest rung of the railing, unafraid of being three stories high. If anything, she was disappointed she wasn’t higher. She stood, managing to steady herself easy enough, her eyes still closed tight. She put her arms out wide, simulating flying, and tipped her head back.

  The breeze moved past her, over her face, and she smiled, thinking back to her dreams of her mysterious lover. One with wings. In her dreams they’d fly to various locations, exotic ones, in a place that wasn’t like Earth. It was better. Far better.

  The wind picked up, becoming harsher than expected. She faltered a bit, still staying upright. Her robe blew up and out, acting as a cape or even wings. Though she couldn’t actually fly, in her mind she was soaring. The wind caught hold of her robe, yanking it free of her. It took flight, and she opened her eyes in time to try to reach for it.

  A mistake.

  *

  Lazar eased back from his pursuit of the male warrior as Gardelle descended at a rapid rate. The man landed on a rooftop of a very large human dwelling, his wings receding into his back quickly, leaving no sign of having been there. With a shake of his head, Gardelle sent long waves of dark hair tumbling over his shoulders. The warrior glanced back, and Lazar spotted the long scar running from just under the man’s right eye to the man’s chin. It was the after mark of a talon. Lazar had several on his back and chest and knew what the scars they left behind looked like. He’d seen others on the faces of men. The scarring resulted from going too long without proper healing, or if tainted soil made its way into the wound and it wasn’t cleaned properly or fast enough.

  Gardelle opened a set of red doors and entered the home, obviously having been there before. The dwelling was certainly bigger than many Lazar had seen humans live within. Curious, Lazar found an old, oversized tree and perched, observing silently. A flash of movement caught his attention, something white fluttering in the breeze. Tipping his head, he spotted a woman tumbling from a balcony on another level. Something deep within, something primitive, took the lead, forcing him from his spot. He dove, his speed impressive to say the least. Without thought, he put his arms out and grabbed hold of the young woman, harder than he’d have liked.

  “Harrumph,” she gasped. Her long, nearly black hair blew up and around them, acting like a veil. As it fell backward and revealed her face to him, his entire body tensed. It was her.

  The woman he’d dreamed of.

  Her chocolate-brown eyes widened with fright as she made a strange noise. Did she squeak like a mouse?

  “I have you,” he said softly.

  He tightened his hold on her as blood rushed through his veins and straight to his cock. He inhaled her sweet scent. It had been imprinted upon him in his dreams. He’d often wake and instantly miss it.

  His mind raced with all the impossibilities. He’d always assumed he’d invented the woman he’d started dreaming of some five years prior. He’d convinced himself she was his mind’s way of coping with the loss of his mate—Sabrina. This woman he held was what he’d believed his mate would have grown to had she lived.

  Nothing made sense. The woman he’d dreamt of was real and human? He inhaled again, trying to find a discrepancy in her scent, trying hard to sense traces of shifter on her. Was she one of them? Was she a bird shifter? He found no sign of it being true, nor did he find any scent markers to indicate she had been claimed by another shifter. Her scent stirred things in him that had not been touched before during waking hours. Yes, he sought out women to fuck and suck him, but this wasn’t the same need. It was so much more. The primal need to whisk her away to a place all his own was hard to beat. His cock throbbed, and his arms naturally flexed, increasing his grip on the beauty. In his dreams he and the women shared no names, only pleasures. Endless pleasures.

  She whimpered softly. The noise cut through his haze and slammed into him, pulling the very air from his lungs. He adjusted his hold on her, careful to cause her no further pain. Still the urge to flee with the female was great. Somehow, he managed to land on the same balcony she’d fallen from. Rather than bolt with her, he kept hold of her, memorizing her delicate features. Her pale pink lips puckered into an O as she continued to stare at him with shock and wonder upon her beautiful face. His skill with the ladies had never been in question, yet for the life of him he could think of nothing suave to say or do. All he could do was simply soak in the very sight of her.

  “You really do have…” She paused, her voice like silk easing over his skin. “…wings.”

  His lips twitched with the urge to smile. “Yes, I do.”

  Her tiny hand went instantly to his left wing. “I know you.”

  “You do?” It felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Had he not had hold of her he might very well have doubled over. Legends of old spoke of true mates being able to connect on a dream plane, but that would mean she was actually his mate, and that could not be. Sabrina was dead. She’d died as a child.

  “Your voice,” she responded. “I know your voice.”

  She stroked his wing, sending shock waves of pleasure through his system. For bird shifters, having one’s wings caressed in a loving manner or by a female who already stirred one’s loins was the equivalent of her hand being upon one’s sex, stroking one’s cock. Lazar nearly ejaculated where he stood. He would have had she not picked that moment to faint. Luckily, he still had hold of her or she would have fallen yet again.

  The woman, while beautiful, had no sense.

  Dipping his head, Lazar found himself inhaling her scent once more. This time his lips grazed the tender, pale skin of her neck. He knew he shouldn’t steal a kiss, but he couldn’t stop himself. He pressed his lips to hers and kept the kiss chaste but kissed her all the same.

  She stirred slightly, and her tongue darted into his mouth. He swayed, thinking he might be the one to do the fainting as fire shot through him. He tensed before dragging her against his chest. She was like a rag doll in his arms, so limp, so pliable, yet so incredibly gorgeous. His tongue eased around hers. The kiss was familiar, just as the kisses in his dreams. He wanted to go further, take what was happening between them to the next level. Dammit if he didn’t want to lower her to the ground and sink into her.

  Take her. Run with her. Claim her as your own.

  His inner voice was nearly overpowering, and he almost obeyed.

  Her tongue continued to move with his in a steady rhythm as if they were part of the same choreographed dance. Her tiny hand moved to his cheek, and Lazar pulled her even tighter against his body. He’d crush her if he wasn’t mindful of his strength and desire.

  The thought sobered him. He stopped the kiss and stared down at her. Semi-lucid, she puckered her lips sweetly. So tempting. So close.

  No more. You could harm her.

  His sensitive hearing picked up the indication someone was coming. He glanced through the open doors and into what he guessed was her bedroom. Light shone from the hallway, and a shadow appeared, growing bigger as the sound of the footsteps deepened. Knowing better than to allow himself to be seen by yet another human, Lazar entered the woman’s room and laid her gently upon the bed. She moved a touch, indicating she was close to coming to. He backed into the shadows of the room to observe. He entered a closet and kept the door propped slightly. He could not leave her presence just yet.

  Mayhap not ever, he thought.

  Sabrina stirred awake, surprised to find herself in bed. With a sigh, she bent her head and thought more about it. “I dreamed I was awake? Weird.”

  Excitement raced through her. It felt as if she’d run a marathon. For the first time, she could remember his face. Her dream lover. And what a face it was. She frowned. Why was it she continued to dream of him with wings?

  A knock sounded at he
r bedroom door before it opened partially. A pair of dark brown eyes was revealed, holding concern as was normally the case.

  “Brina?” her uncle said in the best soft tone the man was capable of mustering. “It is only seven o’clock. You’re in bed already?”

  She sat up slowly and stared at him. “Gardelle?”

  He opened the door all the way and stepped into her room. As usual, he was dressed in a suit that was partially undone, often looking like a disheveled well-to-do businessman. His long hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck. A scar marred his face, but she was used to it. It had been there her whole life, and he was still incredibly handsome even with it. He didn’t talk about how he’d gotten it, and she never pried.

  Happy to see him, Sabrina slipped from her bed and went to him, hugging him. He towered over her and chuckled, embracing her as well. He kissed the top of her head. “Ah, small one, I have missed you.”

  “Your business trip lasted longer than last time,” she stated matter-of-factly. He was all the family she had, and she missed him whenever he had to be away—which seemed to be quite often as of late. The house was big and felt empty with just her in it. Wishing he could be home more didn’t work, and asking yielded similar results.

  He sighed, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. “I know. I am sorry. I came as soon as I could.” He stared past her at the other side of the room. “Brina, the night air is cold. Why would you leave your doors wide open? Anyone could fly in.”

  She blinked, sure she’d heard him wrong. “Anyone could what?”

  Gardelle loosened his tie, appearing uncomfortable. “I meant, anything could fly into your room. Insects, birds, bats, anything.”

  She glanced in the direction of the open doors and bit at her lower lip. “I had a dream about flying again.” She already knew his reaction would not be a good one.

  As expected, he huffed and stormed the doors, slamming them shut with such force she wasn’t sure how they didn’t break. He spun around and faced her. She jerked back and bumped into her dresser. A yelp tore free of her. While she knew her uncle would never harm her, denying how imposing he looked at the moment was impossible.

  Gardelle averted his gaze, composing himself. “Brina, I’m sorry. I just worry. That is all.”

  “Why would me having dreams about flying make you worry?” It was a legitimate question—one she’d asked many times before.

  He didn’t respond.

  Not that she expected him to. For as well as she knew him, he was still a mystery. So much of his life he kept private from her, hiding behind the guise of work. She knew better though. There was certainly something more than met the eye when it came to Gardelle, something off, but questioning it got her nowhere. Whenever she pushed too hard, he’d leave on extended business trips as if he planned them in order to avoid answering her questions. Questions like, for starters, why he hadn’t seemed to age a day in all the time he’d been her guardian. And he’d been as much since she was only three.

  “Was this dream as the others were?” he questioned.

  “Yes and no. This one was a little different.”

  “How so?” He pulled off his tie completely and stuffed it in his front jacket pocket. As nice as he always looked, he seemed uncomfortable in layers upon layers of clothing. It was as if he were dying to get out of it. Thankfully, he controlled himself.

  Reaching for her robe, she smiled and then stopped. Her robe was always at the foot of her bed. Now it wasn’t. She glanced around. “Odd.”

  “Brina?”

  “My robe,” she said, pointing to the end of the bed at the patterned, embroidered bedspread where her robe could normally be found. “It was there when I fell asleep. I think it grew legs and walked away.”

  Gardelle’s gaze went from the foot of her bed to the balcony doors. “Tell me of your dream, Brina.”

  With a shrug, she continued. “I dreamed that I woke up from an interesting dream,” she said, not wanting to tell him of her sex dreams, “and that I went out to the balcony to feel the breeze on my face.”

  The color drained from Gardelle’s face. He swayed slightly, looking sick to his stomach. “And?”

  “And.” She twiddled her fingers, nerves getting the better of her. “I went onto the balcony. I had my arms out, letting the night breeze sweep over me, when I lost my footing.”

  “Lost your footing?” He tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves.

  She squirmed in place. “Erm, did I forget to mention that in my dream I climbed onto the railing? Just the lower rung, but then the wind picked up and it caught my robe, and it just sort of lifted me when I reached for the robe. Then I fell.”

  His eyes widened. “What?”

  Repeating it seemed unnecessary and foolish. He was already upset enough. “I didn’t hit the ground,” she reminded, as if it would help matters any.

  Gardelle fumed as he took a step in her direction. “Have you a death wish? I have spent over twenty years protecting you only for you to leap to your death now that you’re nearly twenty-four?”

  “Spent what doing what?” she probed, confused. “And I wasn’t leaping to my death. I was dreaming. Big difference.”

  “In this dream…” He composed himself again. “Tell me how it is you managed not to hit the ground.”

  “A hot guy with wings caught me.” She flashed a wide smile thinking of her savior. The unique coloring of his eyes still made her chest tight. “Like the times I’ve had the dreams in the past and you were there, catching me before I hit the ground. But his wings were different from yours. A little anyways. My dreams really like adding those to guys. Freaky, huh?”

  Gardelle pivoted, assuring the French doors were locked. He gazed intensely out the windows before pulling the curtains. When he faced her, there was no mistaking the fear in his eyes. “Tell me more of this man. What did he look like? Do you know him? Tell me it was not Latravis.”

  She tensed at the mention of Latravis’s name. Her uncle held no love for the man, but to assume she’d dreamed of him was a bit much. Though he did fit the hot-guy description for sure. She scrunched up her face. “Why in the world would I dream about him with wings?”

  Gardelle pinched the bridge of his nose, an annoyed breath leaving his body. “Latravis is not a man to toy with, Brina. Do you remember what I told you to do if he found you again?”

  “Avoid open spaces, yell for help and try to be somewhere crowded,” she said, ticking off his rules on her fingers as she went. It wasn’t as if she actually did anything her uncle suggested in regards to Latravis. He was harmless. “I don’t understand why. You don’t think he’d hurt me, do you? I don’t think he’d ever—”

  “He’d do far more than hurt you.” Gardelle approached slowly. His body language said he still struggled with his temper. “He’d take you far from here, Brina. You’d be his captive. A pawn in a game as old as time.”

  She couldn’t help but giggle. It was small but there. “Right.”

  Going to her closet, she stopped, the weight of someone’s stare upon her. She glanced to the side, half expecting someone to actually be there. Nothing but darkness greeted her.

  Gardelle raised a hand politely. “Brina, I’ve told you time and time again that you’re special. So is Latravis. Do not make his mission easier. He and his kind are cruel. He is a madman just as his father was before him. Power and riches long ago went to his head, taking with them his sanity.”

  She grabbed a new robe from the closet and slipped it on before going to Gardelle. Putting a hand on his forearm, she offered a warm smile. “Have you ever listened to yourself? At times, you talk like you just stepped out of the pages of a history book. All prim and proper.”

  “Brina, please. This is important.” He bent slightly but was still too tall to see eye to eye with her. “Look me in the eyes and swear to me that if Latravis finds you, you’ll obey my wishes.”

  Going to her tiptoes, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. He needed to he
ar the words even if they were a lie. She knew as much. “I promise.”

  He exhaled and nodded, patting her hand. If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn he was tearing up. “Thank you.” He kissed her forehead and headed for the door. “I’m going to have a look around outside.”

  “Why? Think there is a guy with wings lurking?” she asked, attempting to be funny. It fell flat.

  “One never knows.” Gardelle exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Chapter Three

  Lazar remained in the shadows. He watched as Gardelle left. The warrior had been attentive to the woman, doting on her in a manner an older brother or even a father might. Had Gardelle treated her in any other manner, especially one of a lover, Lazar wasn’t sure he’d have been able to maintain his hiding spot. His palms already itched to touch the female again, his body tense with longing. The idea of another male touching her in the same manner he desired left Lazar beside himself with pent-up rage.

  He wasn’t a man to be pushed, and anything to do with the woman would certainly be considered pushing.

  Talk of Latravis had aided in keeping Lazar in his place. When his half-brother’s name had first come up, he’d nearly gasped. Gardelle had never once mentioned knowing Latravis before, at least not to Lazar. Then again, Lazar didn’t exactly advertise he was the illegitimate son of the past king and rightful heir to the throne of his people either. Latravis, nearly twenty cycles less than Lazar’s two hundred plus cycles, currently sat upon the throne, leading the Falcons. He was cruel and abused his power, but then again, the power was his to abuse.

  It was not Lazar’s as had once been promised.

  A strange beeping noise came from the tiny black box on the woman’s side table. She approached it and opened it. Lazar had been to the human realm enough to recognize a computer but was surprised to see how tiny they were becoming.

  Humans and their belief that smaller is better.

  He shook his head, adjusting his cock through his loincloth. Bigger was better, and to date, not one wench had claimed otherwise.