Chapter 45

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks since I watched the love of my life get beaten to a pulp by a jealous bitch.

Two weeks since I saw the life drain from her eyes a moment before they shut indefinitely.

Two weeks since I heard her lilting laugh and saw her breathtaking smile.

Two weeks since her body has slowly, gradually begun to heal itself. With anyone else, anyone human, she wouldn’t have been able to survive. Her injuries were intense, and one of her lungs had been punctured. However, Nina isn’t human.

Two fucking long weeks.

Tessa’s dead.

Ironically enough, it wasn’t any of my men who killed her. None of them—except for maybe Damien—would hurt a female, though I was sure tempted that day. Instead, we usually rely on other devices to subdue the threat. Banishment, for one.

Fortunately, we didn’t have to worry about any of that. The second the fight ended, Braelyn strolled up to Tessa and snapped her neck. It didn’t do anything to help shifter relations, but it made me feel better.

“They should’ve bonded over the fact that they liked the same dick—and I mean that in both ways. Rion is a massive dick,” she said with a twist to her lips. “You know, this world would be a better fucking place if girlfriends and exes became best friends forever. Matching friendship bracelets and late-night wine talks just to bitch about the guy. Oh, you liked that ride? Me too! Now, let’s get drunk.”

I’m grateful that Braelyn eliminated the threat, but I’m terrified of Nina’s reaction.

If she ever wakes up, that is.

Already, rumors are circulating in the prison about the new queen. The humble queen. The generous queen.

Queen.

Queen.

Queen.

It’s all I hear during those brief hours a day I’m forced to lead people. Her stand during the ring accomplished more than she expected. The people have found someone they can rally around, someone gracious and kind, with a fleet of the most dangerous supernaturals at her beck and call. They know that, by controlling her, they can control us.

Queen.

Fucking queen.

“You need to rest,” Braelyn says from where she stands sentry against the wall. There’s noticeable concern and wariness on her face whenever she glances at Nina’s prone, unconscious form.

“I’ll rest when she wakes the fuck up,” I growl, squeezing Nina’s cold hand. Some of the bruises have faded already, while others have turned yellow and light green. The scars have all but disappeared, leaving behind smooth, unblemished porcelain skin. Cain has been working around the clock to ensure she’ll wake up. The poor kid blames himself for leaving before the fight began. But I know that his appearance there wouldn’t have made any difference.

Nina’s a gentle soul, a kind one. It doesn’t make her any weaker, but it makes her strengths different. This strength, however, managed to gain her a kingdom.

A soft cough has my head whipping towards the corner of the room. Damien stands in the shadows, suit wrinkled and face covered in heavy black scruff. The man looks like shit, and coming from me, that’s saying something. He hasn’t moved from the corner since Nina was injured. Sometimes he’s sitting, sometimes he’s standing, but he’s always watching. Jenny has been bringing him food from the cafeteria. Without her, I guarantee you that the stubborn bastard wouldn’t eat. He’s too lost in his own thoughts, his own despair.

Is it healthy? Not at all. Do I dare say something? Fuck no, especially when I’m not behaving any better. I leave the room only when necessary to deal with matters of the prison, but I always come back to her. She’s a magnet. No matter where I go, she’ll always pull me back in.

Bronson has remained in his wolf form since that fateful day. Currently, his furry head is resting on the edge of the bed, eyes closed in sleep.

Abel has become a pseudo-nurse, helping his brother gather supplies and administering the necessary drugs.

Only Rion remains suspiciously absent. He claims that he has to deal with the shifters, but I know the truth: he feels guilty, even more so than Cain. It was Tessa’s obsession with him that caused Nina’s injuries. Though I know Nina doesn’t blame him, he carries the burden like steel weights on his shoulders.

Sometimes, I see his cat lurking in the rafters of my prison cell where we brought her once she was stable.

I turn her hand over and grab the nail polish I had Rebecca procure for me. Both Rebecca and Haley have been by numerous times to check on Nina and see her progress. They both feel immensely guilty for not seeing Tessa’s instability until it was too late. I worried Haley, especially, would want to seek revenge, and though the girl grieves Tessa, she doesn’t seem too distraught. If anything, she appears more worried about Nina than her dead friend. But that’s life here in the Labyrinth. People come and go every day. People die every day.

“You have to wake up soon, baby,” I say softly, painting her pinkie a pearlescent pink. I trimmed the nails down a little bit earlier today. “I need to see those beautiful eyes. I need to hear your voice.”

Damien audibly gulps, but he doesn’t say anything. He never says anything, content to hide in the shadows until his light returns.

“We all miss you,” I continue, moving to her ring finger. I pause, tracing the length, and imagine my ring adorning it. She would make a beautiful bride.

My wife.

My fucking wife.

My heart swells at the prospect.

Shaking my head, I move to the middle finger and begin to paint that one.

“Rion and Cain blame themselves. They both love you, you know. It should bother me. I mean, technically, I had you first. I had you all to myself, and ironically enough, those years at the Compound didn’t feel like hell. Maybe because you were with me.” After finishing her pointer finger, I move to her thumb, applying long, languid strokes. “But it doesn’t bother me. Sharing you, that is. At least, with these men. Okay, maybe sharing you with Rion pisses me the fuck off, but I know he cares for you. Even Damien is mourning you in the only way the asshole knows how.” I drop her hand gently back onto the table and grab her other one. “You’re going to be okay, my beloved. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

After finishing her other hand, I press a tender kiss to her clammy forehead. Soon, those white eyes of her will stare up at me adoringly. Soon, I’ll hear that sweet laugh again. Soon. Soon. Soon.

“It’s been two weeks,” Cain murmurs, scrubbing a hand down his face. A light, scratchy beard has appeared on his jawline, and his cheeks look thinner. Nina will beat our asses if she discovers how little we’re taking care of ourselves. Beat our asses…with love and hugs.

“You don’t think we fucking know that?” Abel asks, irritated, from where he’s sitting on the ground, playing solitaire. He hasn’t so much as smiled in the two weeks that have passed. His lips are pressed into a tight, somber line.

“I’m not talking about Nina,” Cain snaps. “We’ve been so preoccupied with the fight and then Nina’s health that we haven’t had a chance to discuss what we all discovered.” He meets each of our gazes, including Rion’s in the rafters. At some point, he shifted back to his human form, lying on his stomach with his chin on his hands.

“Lionel Green is obviously lying,” Damien speaks up for the first time in…who knows how long. Those glacial eyes focus on Cain. “He claims he didn’t kill Raphael, but how do we know it’s the truth?”

“We don’t,” I agree, reaching into my back pocket to grab the two printed pictures I had my men procure for me.

The first one shows Raphael Turner. His dark hair is slicked back from his handsome, smiling face. He’s a strange combination of beautiful and terrifying. His blood-red eyes and sharp fangs give him a lethal look, despite the jubilant grin.

The second picture is the asshole Lionel Green. Fat, ugly, and insignificant in every way. He only won the council vote through fear. No one dared to run against him. I hate him with a burning intensity, especially after I learned the truth about his relationship with the twins.

They confessed the truth to us a few days ago, while we held vigil around Nina’s bed. They told us that they were once slaves to the atrocious Boris, and Lionel was a frequent customer. Abel described his encounter with the slimy man, and I know that if I were to ever see him, I would kill him on the spot. True, undiluted fear appeared on Abel’s face as he recounted the story. When he described the forced kiss, even Damien’s impassive mask cracked as raw rage flashed in his eyes.

“Do you think the client got another assassin’s guild to kill Raphael?” Abel asks Damien.

“No.” Damien shakes his head adamantly. “There aren’t any assassins who would take on such a high-profile case, especially after the last failed attempts.” He taps a finger to his chin contemplatively. “Of course, I can’t be certain, but from what I hear, the kill was too sloppy to be done by a trained individual.”

“Unless that’s what they wanted you to think,” Cain points out, and we all fall silent again.

Reluctantly, I leave Nina’s side and tape the pictures to the stone wall. Raphael Turner and Lionel Green. We know their connection, obviously—political rivals.

But we also know that they’ve been serving on the council for many, many years. What changed? Why would Lionel snap now and hire someone to kill Raphael? Damien’s right. The kill was sloppy. Was it the work of an expert or an amateur? And what does Nina have to do with any of this? Damien claims that the client discussed the Compound during the phone conversation with the assassins’ leader.

My mind continues to spin and spin like a carousel I’m unable to get off. Around and around and around…

“Cain?” a sleepy voice murmurs. “Kai? Abel? Damien? Bron? Rion?”

We all whip our heads in the direction of the bed. White eyes in a gaunt, pale face stare back at me. Or through me, is a more accurate description. As she blinks at me, I find myself igniting and burning on a pyre. Heat rushes through me, white hot.

“Baby?” I whisper, scarcely able to believe it. I feel as if I’m holding something precious in my hands, but any sudden movement will cause it to shatter.

Nina’s face, if it’s even possible, pales further. She trembles, tears filling her eyes.

“What’s the matter?” Abel demands, jumping to his feet.

Damien steps towards her with his dagger raised, searching for an invisible threat.

Her shaky finger, still wet from the nail polish, points towards the pictures I just taped on the wall.

“Why…?” She trails off, swallowing. “Why do you have a picture of Man in your cell?”