His grandson, Axel’s son, is too young to harvest an organ from his little body, so the devil bargained with Sire; if he gave him his kidney, Sire could bring Axel’s son home. Katya, with her twisted mother’s heart, didn’t like that plan. Secretly, she sabotaged Sire’s surgery. He almost died from sepsis.
But Fate intervened again.
My brother lived to bring his nephew home.
And we, the king and queens, were left with questions.
Why would Ruslan Kholodov give up his grandson so easily? Why are we still alive today when his reach is far and fatal?
“Come on.” I shake it off, taking Alena’s ringed hand. “Enough of his shit for the day, I have a wedding 2.0 to plan.”
We pack up our picnic, and I keep cherishing Alena’s smile. Pretty fucking overwhelmed with the confidence that if I drowned in that ocean, Alena would be strong enough to save me.
Like I wouldn’t die to save my Babygirl.
Tossing our sandy blanket into the back of my truck, I tuck away our picnic basket while Alena kneels, using baby powder to get the sand off Mutt’s paws.
We have a day of shopping I won’t hate; we need a sofa for our beach condo we use when we’re home visiting family.
And a giant flatscreen.
It makes me smile…
Before the hairs on my neck rise, sensing danger. Wicked energy snakes through the briny air, coiling around my throat. I glance over my right shoulder as instinct taps it again, my glare clocking a gleaming black Mercedes with tinted windows creeping into the empty sandy lot.
It stops, feet from my truck, idling, ominous and concealing the threat within.
“Loch?” Alena senses it, too, securing Mutt inside the truck’s cabin as I reach, unsnapping my gun holstered to my back.
“Cover your six, Babygirl.”
Alena’s no damsel in distress. She’s trained. She’s armed. She’s getting her gun, secured under the passenger seat.
The sedan’s back window slides down.
Lurking close enough for me to recognize who it is.
Though I’ve never laid eyes on him before.
Shocking my soul to its core.
“Lyov, my youngest prince.”
My father says my name, his accent eerily familiar yet bitter, betraying the lie and the claim it’s had over me for so long. It doesn’t race my heart; it hardens it.
I’m not his.
Perfume wafts from his open window. I lift my glare from him to the stench, to Katya sitting beside him. Her legs crossed. Cleavage pronounced. Voice mocking. “My, my, how the youngest lion has grown solarge.”
I lift my Glock, aiming the muzzle at them. “What the fuck do you want?”
Ruslan flits his hand, his skin ashen and bruised. “Bring me the girl. I’m here for her.”
“She’s no one’s fucking girl; she’s my queen.”
Alena appears beside me with her gun drawn. “Damn,Katya,” she mocks back. “It’s true. Beauty is skin deep, but ugly is to the bone.”
Ruslan huffs, maliciously amused by Alena. “You are not the girl I want. Though clearly, you are the queen for Lyov.”
