Reluctant King (Reluctant Royals Book 1) Page 3

  “Just be careful,” Gage warned her, presently. He was a smart man and knew when he wasn’t going to win a fight. Which, when against her, was never. He continued, “If he finds out your secret, he’ll rip you to shreds.”

  Oh, Sabre had no doubt about that at all. The new king wasn’t like his predecessors, groomed and educated from birth to ascend to the throne. He was the ‘spare heir’ and had thrown himself into the hands-on work of policing their people. It was no easy task, considering their people could tear each other limb from limb or drain each other dry. It was also messy and Sabre knew Abraxis would have no problem getting his hands dirty. She recognised a warrior when she saw one. And a beast. The broody new king was both.

  Ignoring the delightful little tingle that knowledge wrought, Sabre exhaled roughly, “And with that happy thought …” she uncrossed her ankles and drew herself up straight from where she had been leaning on the bar. Standing, she stretched her back, over-worked muscles from the evening’s matches making themselves known.

  “Where are you going?” Jinx asked, frowning.

  “Back to the Blue Devil,” Sabre replied, already turning and walking away from the inevitable argument to follow her statement.

  “Why? Sabre, why don’t you stay in your studio? Or better yet, come home with me for the night,” Jinx implored from behind her.

  Sabre sighed, pausing in her tracks but not turning around. The last thing – the very last thing she wanted to do was return to the Blue Devil. The Blue Devil Den was the most notorious assassin den in all of Purgatory for all the wrong reasons. The assassins who called the Blue Devil home were known for their cruelty and ruthlessness, willing to do anything to get the job done. And since the age of eight, Sabre had been one of them. The proprietor – or the pimp in Sabre’s mind – of the Blue Devil had the nasty habit of stealing children from the most powerful supernatural races and training them from childhood. The term training was as loose as the term proprietor and was more like conditioning young, vulnerable and malleable minds and bodies until the lines between right and wrong were not just blurred; they were erased. Endless days and nights of torture, schooling, and training resulted in mercenaries with poor impulse control and a thirst for blood. There were no exceptions; not even angels. Of course, angels were probably the only supernatural race never to have succumbed to the harsh, yet effective, training regime of the assassin den. Until Sabre of course. She had been taken before her true path had been laid, thus derailing her angelic purpose. Now, one hundred and ten years later, her angelic purpose was nothing more than an annoying buzz in her head as she carried out the demands of her employers.

  Sabre might have been resigned to her fate. Hell, she might even enjoy it some of the time. Okay, most of the time, she admitted. But one thing she absolutely loathed with every fibre of her being was the mansion that was the Blue Devil Den. The only thing she despised more was the owner – her owner – Carlisle. Although she had never said anything out loud – she was really fucking good at keeping secrets – Jinx and Gage knew she hated going back there. Unfortunately, it was as inevitable as the sun rising in the North. She could spend days and even weeks away from the Den, checking in with sporadic messages and phone calls. But she couldn’t stay away forever. No matter how much she wanted to. Her sense of responsibility and deep-seated work ethic guaranteed her continued acquiescence to the brutal life of an assassin. The fact that she was once supposed to sport feathers on her back didn’t mean jack-shit. Sabre was a killer now. It wasn’t just something she did; it was something she was. One death, let alone hundreds, had been enough to seal her fate.

  “I haven’t been back for over a week,” Sabre finally pointed out. She turned around only to be confronted with a five-foot nothing tiger cub and a zombie-man looking pissed and as unmovable as granite. “Guys, I’m serious. I’m beginning to feel itchy.” And she was. The bond with the den and the den’s master was soul-deep. “Look, I agreed to meet with our esteemed king and his stuck-up guardian tomorrow to get more details. I’ll only be there one night.” It was a compromise and the best she could do under the circumstances.

  “Fine,” Jinx grumbled before leaning in for a hug.

  Sabre allowed herself the brief moment of affectionate contact, breathing in deep and hoping some of the goodness within the small body plastered against hers rubbed off on her. A fruitless endeavour, but one Sabre continually attempted. The young weretiger was goodness personified with the heart and constitution of a queen. One of the best things Sabre had done out of the million terrible things was rescuing Jinx four years ago when she had been just fifteen years old. She had been sold as a sex slave into the harem of a particularly disgusting lust demon who coveted beauty.

  The lovely Jinx never stood a chance against him with her delicate Asian features, unique striped hair that mimicked her tiger form and unusual eyes of one blue and one green. Although Jinx was capable of shapeshifting into a 200 kilogram, nearly three-metre long white Bengal tiger, she had been a mere child of thirteen when her parents had sold her to Asmodeus for the cost of their next hit of Hype – the drug of choice in Purgatory. As such, Asmodeus had been able to collar Jinx before she could even think to shift and defend herself. Sabre had happened upon the demon’s sex-nest by accident when she had been tracking a target. It had taken her all of five seconds to judge the clichéd harem-style tent for what it was; a lust demon’s wet dream and a place of evil acts against the unwilling. Sabre had slaughtered everyone there except the sex slaves before emptying her stomach in a nearby bush. She had given Jinx the opportunity to exact her own vengeance on her captor before the young weretiger had somehow bonded to Sabre, declaring her a part of her Tribe. That Tribe had grown to encompass Gage as soon as the man had laid eyes on the malnourished and horribly treated teen. Now, five years later at nineteen, the shadows in Jinx’s eyes were all but gone, but her gratitude for Sabre remained. Even as corrupt and criminally inclined as Sabre was, she didn’t have it in her to chase the girl away. Not that Jinx, nor Gage, would let her.

  Finally pulling back, Sabre mock-punched Jinx in the shoulder, “Later, tiger.” She nodded at Gage, “See ya ‘round, dead-man-walking.” This time she didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sabre steeled herself before looking up at the mansion which housed around twenty assassins and mercenaries, perhaps double that in staff, one truly horrible incubus owner, and the resident torturer – a pain demon by the name of Mercy. From the outside, the building was a thing of beauty, with curved balconies, a wrap-around porch, and three-stories of pristine, white render. Dozens of windows and a double door at the end of a horseshoe driveway created the illusion of welcome. But there was nothing welcoming about what was inside those ornate doors with the crystal handles. Inside, a nightmare awaited – one she couldn’t wake up from. A nightmare she wasn’t allowed to wake up from. A simple promise made as a child was as binding as a pact with the Devil himself. Such was the curse of her race.

  Angels were either born or created. Those born had more options and were free to choose their own righteous paths. Though, their word, when given freely, was still binding. But those who were created in the Heavenly plane, designed to guide and guard those with important destinies, had to be even more careful with their words. Sucking up her instinctive hesitation, Sabre gave herself a mental chiding as she trudged up the long driveway, reminding herself that it didn’t matter how her innocent words were intended. All that mattered was what they had wrought – the first ever angel assassin in the history of the four realms. Leaning into the retina scanner, Sabre waited for the light above the door to turn from red to green before she then placed her right hand onto the palm plate next to the door handle. A second later, a happy little beep followed by a click of the door lock finally allowed her to enter. The sounds that afflicted her ears had her wincing and focusing her gaze on the floor in front of her, not even tempted to look at what the ‘family’ of killers found so damn entertaining.r />
  “The prodigal daughter returns!”

  The snarled, resentment-filled voice coming from the great room to her left didn’t cause her even a moment of pause. She simply flipped off the surly werewolf, following it up with a; “Fuck you, Wade,” as she climbed the stairs to her room. The alpha wolf growled behind her, no doubt upset about her lack of fear and respect. But Wade was a sadistic arsehole, much like the vast majority of the mercs and killers under the employ of Carlisle, completely undeserving of her respect. She was also completely and wholly unafraid of the seven-foot, muscle-bound creature, knowing she could take him with one hand tied behind her back.

  It wasn’t arrogance that had Sabre trusting her skills and powers, it was experience. In all her one-hundred-and-eighteen years, she was yet to come up against an opponent she couldn’t beat – one way or another. As she trudged up the clichéd mahogany-carpeted staircase, Sabre acknowledged that it was also her biology that allowed her to flirt with danger and death so much. As an angel she could heal from practically anything – though she wasn’t immune to pain. She was stronger, faster and had more endurance than nearly any other supernatural creature because the power that flowed in her veins was gifted from the Heavens.

  Grace was the very essence of an angel and was what their powers were made of – as well as their wings. The more Grace bestowed on an angel from the Gods, the more powerful the angel was and the more incredible their unique abilities were. The other side to that, of course, was when an angel became fallen, whether it be on the human plane, in Hell or in Purgatory, their wings slowly lost their Grace. And with it, their powers, essentially making them nothing more than glorified humans. Although, a fallen angel still retained what their genetics decreed; strength and longevity. But their Heaven-gifted magic was denied to them as their Grace diminished and their wings eroded one feather at a time. The number of times fellow mercenaries and victims had asked her what colour her feathers used to be was ridiculous. It was also annoying as fuck and highly private. She always made sure to get in a few extra stabs whenever one of her hits asked.

  Once at the top of the stairway, Sabre turned left and made her way down the long hallway. She had her own room right at the end of the hallway, and as a result thankfully only shared one wall with another assassin. The noises that echoed along the hallways, not to mention through the thin walls of her room, were enough to make her shudder. At least she wasn’t subjected to surround-sound like most of the others. Using her microchipped keycard, she swiped it through the lock, pausing in her doorway to make sure nothing had been disturbed in her absence. The single bed was still neatly made, dresser drawers and wardrobe door shut tight, and the rough rug looked like it hadn’t been walked on. Determining no one had been inside, Sabre stepped in, turning and immediately locking the door. She began stripping off her clothes as she walked straight into the attached tiny bathroom. A small, free-standing sink, toilet and corner shower stall were the only things in the florid green bathroom. Still, the water pressure was decent and Sabre more than needed the hot spray to help wash away the invisible ick she felt all over her skin.

  Sabre enjoyed the hell out of the fight-nights at Gage’s warehouse. She was a frequent contender in the matches and Gage always raked in the money whenever she showed up to fight. Usually because some fucking idiots who thought they were Superman reincarnated believed they could beat her in a fight and bet against her. Gage and Jinx knew better than that but often encouraged such moronic lines of thinking in order to hike up the bets. Gage then bet on Sabre and, boom, Gage had a month’s worth of income from one night. Sabre also used the warehouse arena for work, often luring her hits in with a challenge; if they could beat her in a fight, Sabre wouldn’t kill them. Of course, that never happened either. Like the Djinn from that evening.

  She had been tracking the Djinn for a week before she was able to capture him and issue her challenge. Seeing his grey matter spread all over the concrete floor had been more than satisfying, considering he’d had the nasty habit of making children’s nightmares come true. Djinn were one of a handful of supernatural creatures who could cross the veil into the human realm, and this particular arsehole had already killed two human children as a result of his sick games before Sabre was able to track and kill him. Sure, she could have killed him elsewhere, but she liked to help out Gage when she could. Because the fights served multiple purposes; money, catharsis, work … and food. Djinn were a particularly rare delicacy and she was more than happy to ensure Gage was well fed.

  After three full-body scrubs and washing her hair twice, Sabre stayed under the spray until the water began to cool. Finally stepping out of the shower, she felt the shift in the air immediately and knew someone was invading her personal space. Not that her room was really hers. Nothing in the Den belonged to her, as Carlisle liked to remind them all. Like I give two shits, Sabre snarked internally. She wouldn’t claim anything at the Blue Devil even if her life depended on it. Maybe two somethings, Sabre corrected, thinking of two other residents of the mansion whom she considered trustworthy.

  “Where have you been?”

  The voice was like honey, sweet and dripping with promises of pleasure. The sound caressed Sabre’s naked skin, causing goosebumps to flare to life. Sabre ignored her body’s automatic and forced reaction with practiced ease, throwing off all hints of arousal before they even began. Taking her time, she wrapped herself in the plain white robe she had thrown over the sink prior to stepping into the shower before looking up at the trespasser standing at the foot of her bed and staring openly at what was her naked form just seconds ago. The man was as beautiful as his voice; deep brown eyes, messy blond hair, square jawline, and a body to die for. Sabre smirked, knowing that hundreds had in fact died for just such a treat. Sabre had never been one of them and never would be. She would sooner cut off her own arms than voluntarily touch Carlisle.

  Her employer.

  Her owner.

  Her worst nightmare … and greatest desire.

  Not desire to fuck, no matter how much sexual charisma the incubus seeped from his pores. Oh no, Sabre wanted to gut the sex demon and dance in his entrails. Literally. He had been the one to find her when she was eight, his good looks and soft voice garnering her trust with the illusion of safety and warmth. That illusion had lasted only as long as her first night spent in the mansion. But by then it had been too late. A deal had been made.

  “I’ve been busy,” Sabre finally replied to the Den Master’s question.

  “Doing what?” The silky voice asked.

  Sabre gave Carlisle a droll look, “Killing people. What do you think?”

  “You only had two contracts in the last ten days and you fulfilled one five days ago. I understand the other was completed tonight,” he said. Carlisle always knew when a contract was completed. “What have you been doing in between?”

  Sabre ran her tongue along her teeth, curbing her impulse to tell the sociopath in front of her to jump off the nearest bridge onto a pile of jagged rocks covered in acid. Lots and lots of acid, Sabre thought, gleefully picturing the golden Adonis’s screams of pain as he writhed and burned from the outside in.

  “What are you smiling at? You never smile at me,” Carlisle added, sounding intrigued and pissed off at the same time.

  “Was I smiling?” Sabre deflected, giving herself a stern warning to dial back her fantasies.

  Carlisle grunted, walking to within arms-length of her position near the open bathroom door. “You haven’t answered me, Sabre.”

  Sabre unclenched her teeth, loathe to follow any orders from him – even if it was answering a simple question. But she did – just like always, “I’ve been travelling around and then staying with a source. It took some time to find that damn Djinn. He was in the human realm. I had to wait for him to get back.”

  “And you couldn’t just kill him when you caught him?” Carlisle inquired, looking suspicious.

  Sabre grinned once more, “You know me; I like to
play with my prey first.”

  Stepping into her personal space, Carlisle crooned as he stroked a patch of skin on Sabre’s vulnerable neck, “That you do. You know, you really are my greatest success story. Angel turned assassin. Agent of Heaven turned merciless killer. It makes me hard just thinking about it.” Sabre kept her mouth shut, not reacting to the man’s touch – or his words – in the slightest. The incubus finally sighed, “Well, I have a new contract for you.”

  “Sorry. Can’t. I’ve already got a new job,” Sabre was quick to say.

  Carlisle pulled back abruptly, “What? What the fuck are you talking about, my pet?”

  “Private deal.” Sabre knew she was on shaky ground and reminded the impulse control section of her brain to take it easy and not let her viper tongue run away with her. Sabre was one of the only assassins in the employ of the Blue Devil who was permitted to take on private contracts. The contract she had renegotiated when she had reached one hundred years of service had included a clause which enabled her to accept private offers. As long as the Blue Devil Den and Carlisle received a large percentage of the commission of course. She had fought long and hard for the irreversible clause, knowing it was an integral part of her long-term plan. The end game depended on it.

  “Private deal? Another one?! You’re getting dangerously close to your quota,” he reminded her, a growl falling from his pink lips.

  “I’m aware,” Sabre said simply. She was allowed four private commissions a year. Just one per quarter. This was her last available spot. Thankfully, she had been leaving it open for just such an opportunity. It was the only reason she had been able to say yes to Abraxis.