Rise of the Lost Prince (8 page)

Bell nodded. “You are Illia’s
son, Petúr. You are Fae. You are a prince and you will be our king.”

****

Petúr’s heartbeat sped up,
listening to Bell. He took a breath, willing the beat to slow. He had so many
questions about his origins. His home. His mother.

“Bell, do you know why I am here
and not in our homeland?” Her shoulders hunched, then she winced. “I’m sorry
you’re in pain.” he said. “Since painkillers don’t work on me, I told Byte not
to bother giving them to you.”

“Don’t worry.” She waved her hand
dismissively. “You’re right. Human painkillers don’t work on us.” Her green
eyes saddened. “I do know why you’re here.”

“Then I must know. Please, tell
me.”

“Your mother, the only child of
Queen Serbian, fell in love with the queen’s consort, Stryn the Bold. And, he,
I do believe, fell in love with your mother.”

“You knew them?” Petúr asked.

“Yes.” Bell glanced down. “I was
friends with your mother.”

“So you knew her well?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s okay, my prince.” She
smiled. His brow crinkled. Strange to be called a prince. “Of course, for Stryn
and Illia, maintaining a relationship was almost impossible,” Bell continued.
“Dangerous even, if the queen were to find out, so the two of them would sneak
away, meet here, in this land.” Bell paused, looking far away in thought.
“Illia said loving Stryn was worth the trouble of sneaking around under her
mother’s nose, because he made her happy. And she really was happy. She
practically glowed.”

“You’ve not mentioned her father,
the king.”

“Your grandfather, Kelten the
Great was killed, fighting in the demon wars, which came as a result of
banishing Grapple the Dark for his association with Ariette.”

Petúr balled his fist at the
mention of the bastard, yet he settled his fury, pushing it back into the place
he allowed all his own personal darkness to go. One day. And one day soon, he
and Grapple would have a reckoning, and when that day came, he’d take more than
the asshole’s hand this time.

“Please, continue to tell me
about my mother.”

Bell inclined her head. “When
Illia knew she was with child, she and Stryn planned to sneak away one final
time.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “They intended to stay in the
world of man, except your grandmother found out about them and their plans.”

“How?”

“I never knew.” She sniffed, as
if holding back tears. “I always assumed one of your grandmother’s many spies
found out about them somehow, and passed on the information.” He nodded. “Stryn
was taken by the queen’s guard and immediately put to death, and Illia was to
be confined until the birth. Only, Illia made her way through the portal,
coming here. The queen flew into a rage, sent out the elite guard to find
Illia, and eventually they did.” Bell closed her eyes for a moment. “When they
brought her back, she was no longer with child. She told the queen she’d lost
the baby before her time. Your grandmother didn’t believe her. She used her
magic.”

“She wielded magic?”

“She’d bonded with the king. He
was of the order of Delphi.”

“What’s the order of Delphi?”

“The keepers of fairy magic.”

He was processing everything as
best he could, however much of the particulars of being Fae, eluded him.

“So….”

“So, when the king was killed,
his magic passed to her, understand?”

He nodded. “I think I do.”

“The queen used that magic and
ordered the portal between our worlds sealed. When she did, she declared any
Fae remaining within the land of man would not remember from whence they came.”
Bell placed her small hand overtop his. “It was said, after the portal was
sealed, six boys who were known to frequent this world were gone. Since they
were never found, everyone assumed they were stuck here. And due to the queen’s
magical decree, they would never know home. They would become the lost boys.”

Petúr rubbed his chin. This made
a lot of sense as to why none of them knew of home. Knew what they really were.

“Bell. If you were there when the
portal was sealed, how did you cross over?”

A single tear overflowed,
streaked down Bell’s cheek, turning into glittering dust. “As time passed, your
mother weakened, and finally took to her bed. I stayed with her, hoping to
bring her some joy. I tried everything.” She sighed. “Leaving you here, and she
unable to return to you, was the cause of her continuing weakness.” Glancing
down she said, “I’m afraid there’s no cure for a broken heart.”

“She died?” he asked, feeling a
wrenching pain stab at his chest, only he somehow knew the answer Bell would
give.

She nodded. “Her last breaths
were for you. ‘Petúr the Just, my heir and beloved son. I bind my love to you,
and will this love with all that still dwells within me to find you. You, who
shall find a darling woman of heart, will rise up within the world of man
knowing who you are, and claim your birthright. In doing this, you shall sit
upon the throne, alongside your chosen queen, to rule justly, fairly, guiding
and protecting our people. You shall, my son, claim what has always been
rightfully yours.’ With that wish,” Bell said, “Illia held onto the symbol of
her royalty, sending her words out into the ether.” Petúr touched his chest and
remembered the searing pain which struck the instant the symbol appeared upon
him. He was ten human years old. “Her love for you was so powerful it cracked the
seal.”

His eyebrows rose. “Is that how
you came through?”

“Yes. I transformed into a
butterfly and flew through.”

“Then you can take me there, go
back through? Maybe we can break the seal from both sides.”

Shaking her head, Bell said, “I
can’t. As soon as I crossed over, the portal completely vanished as if it never
existed.”

“Wait.” His head was reeling.
What had she said about his mother’s wish and a woman? “Tell me what my mother
said again about finding a woman.”

“You shall find a darling woman
of…”
 
Bell and Petúr stared at each
other, eyes wide. “Heart.”

He recalled Grappling Hook
yelling something about he’d never claim the human woman.
Grapple knows.

“We’ll find the portal.”

Petúr jerked around to see Wyndi
sitting on the edge of her seat, hair mussed, bee stung lips red and pursed,
with tears streaming down her face. The sight of her, his
Darlingheart,
along with the sound of her sweet voice, set his
heart to pound in his chest double time.

Chapter Seven

Wyndi lost her breath when Petúr
grabbed her up from the chair, clutching her to his chest as if he’d never let
her go. Although, before she could make the point she needed air, he bounced
her into the cradle of his strong arms, and carried her out of Bell’s room.

“Vibe,” he said, passing him in
haste. “Make sure Bell gets something to eat for breakfast, and have Byte check
on the progress of the nano when he goes to change her bandages.”

“Uh. Okay,” said Vibe.

“Where are we going?” Wyndi
asked.

“My room.” Five rapid heartbeats
later, they were inside his bedroom with Petúr kicking the door closed behind
them. “I need to know something,” he said in his honey tones.

Wyndi glanced up at him from
under her lashes, and shivered. He was staring at her with eyes glinting gold.
The braid he wore in his hair dangled down the right side of his cheek,
tickling her.

“What do you want to know?”

“This.”

Petúr bent his head, slanted his
mouth over hers, tongue tasting the line of her lips until she parted them on
an intake of breath. When their flesh met, she closed her eyes. Fireworks
exploded inside her head, the luminous sparks floating, then falling, falling,
and transitioning into a force crashing down over her—a title wave of longing.
She moaned, tasting the summer sky, morning dew, the sweetness of rainbows,
sultry nights, and rain storms.

Mind whirling, her body shifting,
she was lying on her back, fingers tangled into the nape of Petúr’s satiny
hair, the other hand pressed against the steely strength of his shirt-covered
chest. Every part of her became aware of him on some sort of molecular level.
Yet nothing could have prepared her for what she experienced when he tucked
himself between her thighs and groaned. Heat slammed into her core. Her stomach
quivered. Her panties dampened. An inferno. Yes, surely it must be an inferno
which lapped at her skin while their tongues tangled into infinity.

****

 
Petúr was lost in an ocean of sensation, wave
after wave, pulling him under. The connection to this woman beneath him was
undeniable. Everything about Wyndi filled him up until there was nothing but
her. Her taste. Her touch. Her scent. His chest expanded.

Damn,
her scent
.
She tasted better than the cotton candy fragrance that wafted from her skin.
Skin. Oh, yes, skin
. That’s what he
needed, to feel her soft skin against his.

“Wyndi.” He breathed, saddened to
break the kiss, reaching over his shoulder, yanking the material of his shirt,
lifting up with the other hand, and pulling the garment from over his head. “I
must feel your flesh against mine.”

Her tongue darted out, licking
her lips. Was she nervous? Well, he’d be the balm to soothe those nerves. He
focused on her mouth. Those delicious lips were kiss swollen and moist, making
his cock strain even more against the constraint of his pants.

“Okay,” she said in a small,
breathy voice, the lids covering her blue eyes at half-mast.

He reached for the hem of the too
big nightshirt covering the body he had to see, lifting until he revealed her
little white panties and lacy bra covered breasts. Blood raced through his
veins. He wanted to do everything with her. To her. Touch all over. Taste every
inch of her. Put his fingers and cock into the tight, warm sheath he knew was
awaiting him.

Take
her.
Hell yeah. Those two words became a chant within his mind. He wanted to take
his woman in every position he could imagine and then some.
His woman?
Yes. Yes she was his, or
would be.
Slow your roll. You don’t want
to scare her.
He had to maintain. He couldn’t go at her like some out of
control beast.

Leaning down, he kissed between
the creamy mounds of her cleavage, skimmed his cheek across the apex of her
right breast, watching goose bumps scatter across her flesh in a wanton
invitation. Unable to stop himself from licking her, he lapped at her in one,
long, lingering stroke, from the top edge of the bra, up her collarbone, only
stopping because the material he’d lifted hindered his progress being bunched
around her neck.

“Oh, hell,” he muttered. “You
taste so good.”
 

She shook, and he wanted her
shakes.

“I do?”

“Yes,” he answered, feeling her
warm palms slide down his biceps. Even that tantalized him. “I’m already
addicted.” He went to his elbows, slid his hands under her shoulder blades,
arching her up, dropped his head, grabbed the flimsy middle of her bra with his
teeth, bit, and tugged, ripping it free.

“Oh!” she uttered.

Moving the material aside with
his nose, he pulled back enough to see her, soaking every bit of her pink and
white flesh in with his eyes, before flicking a rosebud nipple with the tip of
his tongue.

“Petúr.” He reveled in the sound
of his name falling from her lips, and sucked the nipple he’d been teasing into
his mouth. “Mm…We should stop.” He lightly bit. Swirled his tongue around the
aroused nub. “Oh…Never mind. Don’t stop,” she uttered, as she wrapped her legs
around his waist.

“Never stop. No.” He sounded like
a Neanderthal, but just then, when Wyndi pressed herself into his erection, he
didn’t care.

 
Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Someone’s pounding on the door,”
Wyndi said.

Petúr kissed her other breast.
“Ignore them. They’ll go away.”

“Wait.” The delicate hands roving
over his shoulders pressed. “It might be about Bell.”

“Big guy,” Dash called through
the door. “I hate to interrupt, but Tera and Byte say we have visitors this
morning.” A pause. “Visitors in the way of surveyors over by the ticket booth.”

Petúr stiffened, and not in a
good way. “Coming!” he shouted, and again, he wasn’t coming in a good way
either.

He stared down into Wyndi’s face.
“I’ve got to go handle this.”

“Dash said ‘surveyors.’ As in,
land surveyors?”

Extricating himself from her was
one of the hardest things he’d ever done. “Yes.”

He stood and glanced over his
shoulder at her, wanting to whimper when she yanked the shirt down over her
torso, covering her delectable breasts.