Читать книгу Really Unusual Bad Boys - MaryJanice Davidson - Страница 12

“That was something,” she said, jumping off. She was panting from the adrenaline rush, but her knee didn’t so much as squeak in pain. And she took fresh delight in that. “That was really something. Hey, gorgeous, maybe we can do it again sometime?”

He popped back to human form. It was still too quick for her eye to accurately report what happened when he transformed. “I am at my lady’s command.”

“Well, isn’t that nifty. So, um—you live here?”

“Here” was the castle. When she’d seen it from the middle of the desert, it had looked like a small white castle dreaming in the distance. Up close it was, she figured, about the size of the Empire State Building. Except not as high. But it sure had the square footage of Manhattan real estate. She had to tip her head waaaaaaay back to see the top of the spires.

It looked just like the castles she’d seen pictures of back home, except it was pure, dazzling white. She assumed they had mined the stone from a nearby quarry…about a thousand years ago. The flags flying atop the spires were brightly colored and had animals on them—she spotted a puma atop all the others, but lions, leopards, and even a few house cats were also represented.

There were several people about, going to and from the castle, and every one of them was staring at her as they hurried by. She assumed it was her clothes—or her coloring, because they were, to a man, woman, and child, all blond. And they sure weren’t wearing an old workout bra and tattered gym shorts. Shit, she was practically as naked as puma-man was. Somewhere along the way, her old shirt had disappeared.

There were dozens of shades of blond represented, from the fairest platinum to what her dad had always called “dirty dishwater blond.” And while many of them had wavy locks, none of them sported a headful of wild curls, as she did.

Ah, great…dead and a freak. Perfect.

“…all my life.”

“Huh?”

“I said, in answer to your question, that I have lived in the Castle Royale all my life.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot the question. Is that why they’re staring at me instead of you? I mean, at least I’m wearing clothes.”

“I told you,” he said simply. “You are beautiful, and so they stare.”

“Uh-huh.” She changed the subject. “So, are you going to give me the nickel tour, or what? After you get dressed,” she added in a mutter.

His brow wrinkled. “Uh…yes. Might I first have your name, good lady?”

“Right! I can’t believe I forgot about that.”

“You are increasingly forgetful, it seems,” he teased.

She grinned back. As long as he was standing here, talking to her, she didn’t mind the stares so much. “Today, yes. I’m Lois Commoner.”

She stuck out her hand. He looked at it and didn’t say anything.

“Helloooooo?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “And you are?”

“Please forgive; I was waiting to hear your rank and affiliations.”

“Oh, as to that—well, up ’til yesterday, it was Detective Lois Commoner, Minneapolis Police Department.”

“That is an odd affiliation.”

“Well, it worked for me, once upon a time.”

He took her still-proffered hand, and seemed unsure of what to do with it. Finally he patted it, then let it go. “I am Damon.”

“Is that Demon or Damien? ’Cuz I got problems with both.”

“Day-MAWN.”

“Oh.” He stuck out his hand and she shook it firmly. He watched their hands pump up and down, bemused. “It’s nice to meet you. Thanks again for the ride.”

“You have but to ask if you desire another one. Come, I would like you to meet my father.”

He hadn’t let go of her hand that time; instead he pulled her through the gigantic doorway, into the castle’s, er, yard, or whatever it was called. But before they could get very far, a short blond woman wearing what looked like a leather tunic and pants came racing toward them. Lois didn’t have a chance to see what she looked like before she skidded in the dirt before them, then hit the ground with her arms stretched over her head.

“Forgive my impertinence, Prince Damon!” she cried into the dirt. “His Majesty the King has been asking for you all morning.”

“Of course. Thank you, Rejar.”

Damon charged for the inner door, pulling Lois so hard she actually lost her feet. “Whoa! Slow down. Or leggo and I’ll follow you.”

“Forgive—I will be right back. Remain here, if you please.” With that he dropped her hand and was through the door in a half second.

She rubbed her wrist—he hadn’t meant to hurt her, but the marks of his fingers remained—and stared at everyone staring at her.

Two choices: hang out here and be gawked at, or follow Damon. Prince Damon. Did she say Prince?

She followed.

It wasn’t difficult to track Damon down. She followed the shouting. Two floors and five halls later, she figured out what the problem was. It seemed the king—Damon’s dad?—was as sick as a dog, and everybody was yelling at everybody else about what to do about it. From the fuss, these guys didn’t get sick very often.

She peeked through the doorway—no doors that she had seen, just large archways that led from one room to another. The archways were tall—at least seven feet high—and so wide, four of her could have gone through them at once.

She could see Damon and two other men standing around yelling. Well, they weren’t exactly yelling—they were sort of politely disagreeing with each other very loudly. At least Damon had put some clothes on—he was wearing a robe several shades lighter than his hair, with a blazing sun embroidered on the front.

“—all respect to my good lordly brother—”

“—helping our good father the king by—”

“—turn a slops bucket o’er my good lordly brother’s tiny head—”

“—try it, my good tiny brother—”

“—both of you should grow headfirst in a pile of Stinkweed, beloved princes—”

Others—she assumed they worked in the castle, as they weren’t dressed nearly as nicely as Damon’s brothers—were surrounding Damon and the men, and occasionally trying to get a word in edgewise.

She walked down to the next room and peeked inside. And gasped—what a room!

She’d seen a picture of the queen’s chambers at Buckingham Palace once. This room put Queen Elizabeth’s digs to shame.

It was enormous—the ceiling was at least twenty feet high, and the room itself was as big as the entire Homicide Department. Windows had been cut into the stone near the top of each wall, and the floor was splashed with pale lavender sunlight.

A professional football team could have comfortably slept in the bed, but there was only one person in it now—a man whose blond hair was liberally sprinkled with gray. He looked to be in his late fifties, and his complexion had a definite greenish tinge. He was huddled under richly embroidered blankets—only his head was showing—and looked as unhappy as a junkie in withdrawal.

He groaned in abject misery, which made up her mind. She cautiously approached the bed and cleared her throat.

“Hi there,” she said. His eyes—the same pale purple as Damon’s—opened wide and he stared at her, stunned. “Can I get you something? Some Pepto-Bismol? A bucket? You look like you’re gonna—”

He groaned again, lurched upright, and threw up all over her.

“—be sick,” she finished. She stood there, dripping, and contemplated him. “Something you ate?” she asked at last.

He nodded and slumped back against the filthy bedclothes. “That I should so dishonor a lady, and one who came to me out of a need to lend aid!”

“Chill out, I’ll live. You know, you’d be a lot more comfortable with clean sheets. And wouldn’t you like some soup? Like—uh—chicken broth? Do they have chickens here? Do they have broth, even? Never mind, I’ll find out. And aren’t you thirsty? If you’re gonna be this sick, you should drink a lot. Don’t go away,” she added.

She turned, and saw several people—Damon among them—standing in the huge doorway. “Yeah, there you are—listen, I’m going to need clean sheets, and some cold water—can you do ice water?—and some broth. Light stuff, nothing heavy. Maybe a little bread, if you have some. No butter…no dairy products at all. Oh, and someone better find me an old shirt or something to run around in. Don’t suppose there’s a washing machine in the basement?”

Nobody moved.

“Hey! I’m talking to you people!” She marched up to the doorway and made shooing gestures. “Get your asses in gear, the old guy’s pretty miserable.”

“You cannot be here,” one of the servants finally ventured, eyes rolling like a scared horse. “This area is for royalty and the servants of same. You—”

“—seem to be the only one doing something.”

“Do as she commands,” Damon said suddenly. Beside him, two other muscular blonds—his princely brothers?—were smiling at her.

“Well, thank you.”

“But ‘the old guy’ is His Majesty the King! She cannot—”

“I don’t give a shit if he’s the Pope. He’s hurting, and you dildos are just standing around. Now move.” She put her hand on the nearest chest—it was Damon’s—and shoved. Then she noticed the heavy curtain beside the doorway, and tugged on it. It fell into place, obscuring everyone from sight, with a satisfying flap.

From behind the heavy curtain, she heard a plaintive, “What is a dildo?,” and then many retreating footsteps.

“Come here,” the king said weakly.

She turned and stomped back to the bed. “Sorry about that, but Jesus! Someone had to light a fire under those guys.”

“My name is not Jesus. But you do such things very well. Sit here beside me. Ah—your clothing will be tended to, and I must again humbly implore your forgiveness for my foul and coarse behavior—”

“Don’t worry about it. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve been puked on, spit on, had shit flung at my head, not to mention bullets—seriously, this is nothing. Shoot, I’ve had dates that weren’t this pleasant.”

“The lady is too kind. If you will permit a bold query, does your striking coloring come from your sire or your dam?”

“Um…my mom’s Black Irish, if that’s what you mean.”

“I do not know that tribe. I would know all about how you came to my home.” He leaned back against the pillows and wriggled to get comfortable. He looked happy for the first time since she came into the room.

Poor guy’s probably bored to death. Not used to staying in bed, that’s for damn sure.

“Sure, I’ll talk. What do you want to know?”

“I do beg you to tell me everything, good lady.”

“Your son—Damon?—brought me. My name’s Lois, by the way.”

“I am Sekal, Lord High King of the SandLands, Ruler of the Exalted Ranges of the OnHigh Mountains, Emperor of the Snowy Islands, Maker of the—”

“So, Sekal, yeah, nice to meet you.” She automatically stuck her hand out, then cursed herself as he just looked at it. She sort of waved at him and continued. “As to how I got here…” She started to talk. She was still talking when tight-lipped servants showed up with fresh nightgowns—one for her, one for the king—sheets, blankets, and food.

While the servants bustled around, changing sheets and offering her clothes, the king beckoned and Damon was instantly at his side. He started to kneel, but the king waved weakly and Damon took his hand instead. “Ho, my son, when you said you left to go a-hunting, I did not think you should enjoy so much luck!”

“Nor I, my good father.”

“And at exactly the right time, too.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Right time for what?” Lois asked, but then she was hustled behind a changing divider, and being divested of her clothes. She slapped the servant’s hands away. “I can undress myself, thanks. What’s your name?”

“Zeka, my lady.”

Zeka—poor kid, what a moniker!—was a petite woman with curly blond hair and the greenest eyes Lois had ever seen. They were the color of a newly mown lawn, and as big as quarters. She was dressed simply in a white robe—in fact, all the servants were dressed in white, draped robes; they looked like escapees from the set of Gladiator.

“Well, Zeka, whatcha got there?”

Teeny Zeka was hefting a brimming stone jug—the thing had to weigh thirty pounds!—with one arm, and pouring bluish-purple water into a large basin. A delightful perfumed scent rose from the splashing water; a cross between roses and water lilies. Suddenly Lois wanted a bath. Very badly.

“If you would be so good as to hand me your soiled clothes, I will see them washed. In the meantime, if you approve, you may wear this.” She held up a plain white robe.

“Sure, looks great. Thanks a lot.” Lois quickly stripped down to nothing, feeling a little awkward. She would have preferred to keep her panties, but all her clothing stank. Working quickly, she sponged herself clean with the water and rough towel Zeka provided. She turned to slip into the robe when Zeka gasped.

“You—you have many, many battle marks!”

“Uh, yeah. Also known as hideous scar tissue. Thanks for noticing—and yelling about it.” Lois knew her body wasn’t exactly a candidate for a Playboy pullout. “Jeez, calm down, willya?”

But Zeka was already darting out of the small changing space. She heard urgent whispers and grabbed for the robe, about two seconds too late. Suddenly the divider was wrenched aside, and Damon and his brothers were standing there.

“Jesus Christ!”

“By the Great Lion,” one of the brothers whispered. “What a woman!”

The other brother reached out and touched the puckered bullet scar above her right breast. She smacked his hand away with her fist and clutched the robe to her chest. “Hands off, unless you want to spit out your teeth,” she snapped. The prince’s eyebrows arched as she continued. “You guys might be comfortable walking around without any clothes on, but I’m an old-fashioned girl.”

“Things are different here,” Damon said mildly, his gaze riveted to the rope burn on her shoulder.

“Thanks for the news flash. Now buzz off so I can get dressed!”

“What is it?” the king called weakly. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing, Father,” Damon said. “Our visitor is simply more beautiful than any of us had imagined.”

“Lord, what has that boy been smoking?” Lois muttered. One of the brothers edged forward, staring at the knife scar near her belly button, but she kicked out at him, effectively herding him back. The other brother laughed. “Get lost. Go find some other woman to ogle.”

“Oooh-gull?”

“Stare at. Gape. Gawk.”

“I must beg a lady’s pardon, but your beauty robbed us of—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“—our good manners. I am Maltese, second in line to the throne of the SandLands, Prince of the—”

“Fine, I’m Lois, nice to meet you.”

The other blond—they were as alike as twins, except this one had eyes the deep green of wet leaves, while Maltese’s eyes were the color of the sea after a winter storm. “I am Shakar, third in line to the—”

“Meetcha. You mind turning around while I put this on?”

“I do mind, yes.”

“I also.”

She almost grinned. They hadn’t sounded like sarcastic jerks, just honest. “Fine, I’ll turn.” She did, and heard an exhalation of breath come from someone. What now? Were they admiring the dimples on her ass? Christ!

“How did my lady come here?”

“To make a long story short, Damon gave me a ride.”

Zeka gasped. “But the royal family never—”

“Zeka,” Maltese said reprovingly. “What our good brother does is none of our concern…usually.”

“Forgive, my good prince.”

When she turned back, Damon was shooing his brothers away with helpful punches to their shoulders. She opened her mouth but he cupped her chin in one hand, effortlessly stifling her outburst. “I believe I requested you stay in the courtyard,” he said solemnly, but his eyes crinkled at the corners in a friendly way.

“What am I, your dog? ‘Sit, Lois. Stay.’ Shyeah! Besides, I don’t like being left by myself,” she added in a grumble.

“Then I shall endeavor to be at your side at all times.”

“Uh—that’s not exactly what I—”

“Lois! My good son!”

“Just a minute, we’re talking. Jeez, sick people, I swear to God. Now, listen, Damon, I gotta figure out about a zillion things, here, like where I’m gonna stay, and—”

“With me.”

“Uh. Okay, that’s very nice and all, but—”

“Put her in the chambers beside mine,” the king called.

Lois thought that was awfully nice of him, but the effect on Damon was dramatic: his eyes went narrow and flinty and he actually snarled, snarled, like one big pissed-off cat. Puma. Whatever.

He spun around and stalked back to the king’s bed. “What be you thinking, my good king who will be my dead king if he tries to take my prize?”

“Peace, my son. The lady needs a chamber appropriate to her station…whatever that will be. And we have agreed those rooms would suit that station, yes?”

“Uh…yes.”

“Those rooms have been empty too long. As to the other matter,” the old king added coolly, a tone that caused Damon to flush and drop his eyes, “I have not decided.”

“What? What does that mean? What’s everyone talking about? Can I get a translator or something? Hey, get your ass back in bed!” She walked over and gave the king a gentle push. He seized her arm with surprising strength, and Lois found herself pulled forward onto the king’s giant bed, with an old man who was as strong as an ox staring right into her eyes. “Listen, buster, I’m all for respecting your elders, but you’ve got about half a second to—”

“Peace, Lady Lois. I only wished to catch the full effect of your scent.” He sniffed her hair. “Feh! You smell much like my yetch, despite your washup. Damon, see that she gets a proper bath. Lois, when you are clean, come back and tell me more of your world. I wish to hear more about ‘the IA pricks and the dumb-ass political games.’”

“After you eat your soup,” she said firmly.

“The child knows our station and yet dares to give the king orders! Well, ’twould not kill me to obey, instead of being obeyed. It will be as you wish, Lois. But you must stay for a long time and tell many stories.”

Despite Damon’s frown, she agreed.