Chapter 3

3

PRESENT DAY

M ikhail stood in the antechamber, his eyes roaming over the familiar gilt-edged mirrors and crystal chandeliers. After so much time away, everything seemed both achingly familiar and strangely new.

The marble floors gleamed, and ornate tapestries adorned the walls. Their rich colours and intricate patterns starkly contrasted with the drab surroundings he'd grown accustomed to in the rebel camps. However, he reminded himself, they hadn’t all been as bad as the first one. That was when he was freshly ‘dead’ and believed that Gary would be the answer to his prayers.

“Na?ve idiot,” he muttered to himself, looking out at the gardens below.

One week had turned into not two or even six but seventy-seven. And although the last month had been spent in a luxury apartment in Sydney Harbour on Earth, there was no place like home.

“Are you okay?”

Mikhail turned, finding Abraxis. His heart clenched in his chest as he stared at his younger brother. Brax had grown into a formidable demon over the years, earning the rank of General of the Demon Horde fair and square. But in the time they'd been apart, Mikhail could make out new changes. And though some were welcome, like the way he looked at his mate, Sabre, others were not. Now, he seemed to carry the weight of the world, evident in broad shoulders that were constantly stiff, as if waiting for an axe to fall. Or the way his jaw was clenched, a stern expression on his face rather than the happy-go-lucky grin that was so much a part of him when they were younger.

The regret was almost enough to send Mikhail to his knees. How could he admit that the decision to fake his death and all the resulting pain now felt hollow and insignificant? “I’m fine,” he replied, lying through his teeth.

When Brax nodded once and didn’t push, Mikhail rubbed his eyes. Brax had never been one to let things go. Besides, they had always been able to read each other like a book. Yet, Brax accepted him at his word. It was another reminder of how much had changed between them.

“Are you coming into the dining room? Breakfast is ready,” Brax said.

Mikhail took one more look outside and considered jumping out of the window for a heartbeat before he forced a smile and said, “Sure. I’m starving.”

Brax regarded him for a moment, his amber eyes moving between Mikhail and the huge floor-to-ceiling window. “If we jumped together, we’d probably break the glass on the first go,” he offered.

Mikhail was startled into a laugh. Brax still knew what he was thinking, after all. Perhaps their relationship was redeemable, he thought, immediately cheered. “I have to be honest, escaping through the window instead of having a council of war is the more appealing option.”

Brax huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me about it,” he muttered. “But at least there’s food.”

Mikhail smiled, walking over to his brother and nudging his shoulder with his own. “You think food solves everything. You’re like a bottomless pit.”

“Hey!” Brax puffed out his chest. “I’m a growing demon.”

Mikhail rolled his eyes, feeling most of his tension drain away. “You haven’t grown in over sixty years. Unless you count your waistline.”

“Fuck you,” Brax growled, shoving Mikhail. “We can’t all be built dainty like you.”

Mikhail gasped, looking down at his six-foot-two, leanly muscled frame. He was three inches shorter than Brax and not as broad or bulky. But he was no lightweight. Zagan was the baby, both in birth order and size. He was six foot with a swimmer’s build. The reminder was like a bucket of icy water, and Mikhail felt his expression freeze. The look of pain on Brax’s face told him that his brother was also thinking of Z.

Clearing his throat, Mikhail said gruffly, “I’m not dainty. I’m just not a brute like you.”

Brax smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes this time. “Brute strength is needed to run an army.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Mikhail muttered, making his way out of the reception room attached to his suite and down the hallway to the formal dining room. Brax quickly followed, and they walked in silence the rest of the way. Mikhail was relieved when the silence wasn’t strained. But it wasn’t entirely comfortable either.

Patience, he reminded himself. Give it time.

He entered the large royal dining room, taking a moment to let his eyes roam. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, casting a warm glow across the room. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, their delicate prisms scattering rainbows across the rich mahogany table below. The polished surface gleamed, set with fine crockery edged in gold and adorned with an intricate floral pattern. Sterling silver cutlery flanked each place setting, their ornate handles catching the light.

It was a little too much for his taste. He appreciated the finer things in Purgatory but was also a big fan of comfort. And the polished surfaces with their hard edges were not exactly warm. But this room was a vast space, not to mention very private from the rest of the palace. Nobody entered the familial wings without being invited and passing through a lot of security. And that was more important now than ever, what with his presence still being a secret.

Looking around, Mikhail could see his mother’s touches everywhere. His father, King Maliq, had been of the same mind as himself and Brax. Whereas Zagan and his mother were more alike. Shaking off his thoughts before he spiralled again, he took in the large table in the centre of the room. A magnificent bouquet of fresh-cut flowers from the palace gardens filled a priceless seraphim vase, their soft petals bringing a touch of nature's beauty indoors. Next to it, a silver teapot sat. Its curved spout and elegant handle had been a favourite of their mothers.

“How about next time we eat in my rooms?” Brax suggested, frowning as he stared at the teapot.

“Good plan,” Mikhail agreed, offering his brother a smile, which was reciprocated.

Before Mikhail could greet the room's occupants, his guardian angel strolled in, looking happy and healthy.

“Good morning, fuckers!” Sabre greeted everyone jubilantly.

Draven paused from pouring himself a coffee. He glared at Sabre. “Must you be so crude?”

Sabre sneered at the angel. “Must your face always look like that?”

“Better my face than yours,” Draven shot back.

Sabre palmed a blade in an instant, holding it up. “I can remove yours if you like. One slice to the forehead, and the skin strips right off. Just like peeling an apple.”

As the pair continued to bicker, Mikhail inquired of his brother. “Are they always like this?”

Brax snorted, rocking back on his heels. “This is nothing. They’ve been in the same room for two minutes now, and no blood has been shed. They’re on their best behaviour for you.”

“Great,” Mikhail murmured with a shake of his head. “Just what we need. Two squabbling angels. One with borderline personality disorder and the other in serious need of a good lay.”

Brax burst into laughter, wrapping an arm around Mikhail’s shoulders affectionately. “It's good to have you back, brother.”

Mikhail heard the truth in the words and was forced to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak. “It’s good to be back,” he promised as Brax gave him a final squeeze.

“Children, not before breakfast,” his brother said mildly, moving in front of Sabre when she took an aggressive step in Draven’s direction.

Brax led her to the table, and Mikhail watched as she stuck her middle finger in the air. He felt amused, grateful, and humbled. He’d nearly lost this. He had lost it for over a year. All that time away from my friends and family for what? he thought bitterly. He’d made sweet fuck-all progress while Brax and Sabre were left carrying the load. At least progress had finally been made. It just wasn’t in the direction he wanted it to be. Not in a million years did he think Zagan would be the mastermind behind the eradication of their family line.

He moved away from the happy chaos at the table, leaning against the wall instead. Even now, almost three weeks after learning the truth, his mind reeled as he tried to process the devastating facts. His baby brother, the one he had grown up with, shared secrets with and trusted implicitly, had been behind the murders of his family, including their own father. The betrayal cut deeper than any assassin's blade ever could.

His hand unconsciously went to his left ribcage. The tattoo of a wolf’s head had been a gift from Z on his coronation day. Now, it felt like it was burning him from the outside in.

As he listened to the murmur of voices, both familiar and new, memories flashed through his mind. Memories of childhood adventures exploring the secret passageways of the palace, of whispered confidences under starlit skies, of standing shoulder-to-shoulder as they faced the weighty responsibilities thrust upon them as royalty. Had it all been a lie? Had Z always been a sociopath?

“It’s not your fault.”

Mikhail jumped. He hadn’t noticed Sabre move. “Huh?”

“X,” Sabre said, leaning her back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with Mikhail. “Or Z. Whatever you want to call him. It’s not your fault he is the way he is.”

Mikhail grunted. When you were King, everything was your fault. But he didn’t say that. “Reading my mind?”

“Don’t have to,” Sabre replied. “You’ve got those wrinkles happening between your eyes. That only happens when you feel guilty. Most often misplaced guilt.”

“How could I not have known, Sabre?” He kept his voice low, not wanting the others to overhear. It was only Brax, Draven, and Sabre’s good friend, Gage, but he didn’t want to be caught feeling vulnerable.

Sabre turned her head, stating softly, “Because he didn’t want you to know. He’s an Ace, Mikhail. His psycho abilities are pretty much limitless. Toss in the fact that his legacy is a skinwalker, and you have an extremely dangerous demon who can literally become anything he wants. Including a murdering bastard.”

She made a good point. But it didn’t lessen the betrayal or the pain. “What are we going to do?” he asked, resting his head against Sabre’s.

“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Sabre reminded him, making no move to dislodge him. “We’re just waiting on Jinx.”

Mikhail did his best not to react to the mention of Sabre’s charge. He had met Jinx numerous times over the past few months. But only as Hound. He and Sabre were used to being so careful about their relationship that their personal lives never overlapped. Sabre hadn’t even met Brax in person until recently. Plus, when Jinx had been so young and so hurt from her time as a sex slave, Sabre had been highly protective of her— including when it came to him. It was a fact he was grateful for. Nobody could possibly be in better hands.

He was looking forward to meeting Jinx with his own face. The fae glamour that concealed his true appearance and voice had been a necessity, allowing him to become a rebel and move about with ease. He hadn’t cared what he looked like as long as it did the job. But when Jinx flirted outrageously with him, he wished she knew his true face. Jinx was beautiful.

She’s also firmly off limits, he reminded himself sternly, for too many reasons to count. He just hoped he could remain professional and keep his inner beast at bay. Because, for some reason, his demonic soul wanted the white tiger shifter. Bad.

“She’s late,” Sabre said presently. “She’s not usually.”

“These rooms are on the opposite side of Brax’s, where you usually congregate. She likely didn’t factor that in,” Mikhail offered. “It’s not a problem.”

“I guess,” Sabre said with a shrug, causing Mikhail’s head to bop where it was still resting on her.

He sighed, kissing the top of her choppy, dark hair before straightening once more. “I should greet Gage and Draven properly. They’re going to think I have no manners at all.”

“As if Gage gives a crap,” Sabre said lightly. She scowled at Draven. “Golden boy, on the other hand …”

“Sabre …” Mikhail warned with a laugh. She simply tossed him a cheeky grin. “I care what your friends think of me. I want them to like me,” he admitted.

“Why wouldn’t they like you?” Sabre wanted to know. “Besides, you’ve met them all before.”

“I know. But I haven’t really had a chance to get to know them well. Or just hang out.” He’d spent the last two weeks practically trapped in his rooms. Nobody was ready to reveal his return yet. They had too much to plan. Only his, Sabre’s, and Brax’s closest friends knew.

Others would be included in their plans once they figured out what the fuck they were. Preternaturals who had proven themselves trustworthy, like Mercy and Phaedra, the royal guards, and a handful of rebels with whom he had become friends. Plus, there was the new edition of the young vampire, Eric. Mikhail had spoken to him a handful of times, and he seemed like a good guy. It was easy to see the affection Sabre and Brax held for Eric. Mikhail hadn’t wanted to be rude but had opted for Eric to be absent in the initial discussion.

Draven approached, holding onto his mug like a lifeline. He dipped his head respectfully. “Greetings, My King.”

Mikhail screwed up his nose. “Draven, don’t start that again. How many times have I told you to call me Mikhail?”

The blond angel smiled. “A few.”

“Exactly,” Mikhail stated. He really liked Brax’s guardian. Although not the personality type he would have pictured for his easy-going brother, the pair worked perfectly together. And their bond was one of the tightest he’d ever seen between guardian and charge.

“If you’re finished talking,” Draven addressed Sabre. “I would like to talk to you about your daily schedule now that Mikhail is back.”

Sabre frowned. “Why?”

Draven pursed his lips. “Because it would be good to know where you will be and when whilst overseeing your duties as guardian.”

“Why?” Sabre repeated petulantly.

Draven’s free hand clenched, and he began to go red in the face. But before he could retort, Brax stepped between them. “Sabre …” he said, shaking his head.

“Fine,” Sabre huffed with a roll of her eyes. She then pinned them on Draven. “But my patience is like a gift voucher. You never know how much is left. We can give a discussion a try, though.”

Mikhail bit his lip, trying to withhold his snicker. But the moment he made eye contact with Brax, he lost it.

Sabre patted his left cheek sweetly, saying, “I’ve missed that sound.” Then she patted it a little harder. In fact, it was more like a slap. “Don’t leave me again. Or else.”

Mikhail stopped laughing because the look in her eye was pure assassin. He nodded frantically, only breathing easily when she went off with Draven. He looked at his brother. “You sleep with that every night. You’re a braver man than me.”

Brax grinned. “You bet your kingly arse I am.”