Prince of Darkness

Chapter One

In modern vernacular, or rather, the human vernacular, today fucking sucked.

Vero Phoenix sat behind an ancient iron-and-oak desk, his body screaming for action. For anything. He’d even climb an ice-covered tree if that meant moving his legs.

“Mr., ah, Phoenix?” A petite, dark-haired female, who looked around twenty but was actually only seventeen years old, hovered hesitantly in the doorway of his office.

He had a damn office—as well as a surname. He somewhat understood the reasoning of creating family units by employing surnames, but adjusting took time. Just a month before, he’d discovered he had a brother named Paxton Phoenix, so when Pax became the king, Vero had figured he should adopt the surname. If nothing else, it showed their enemies where his allegiance lay. “Yes?”

The female paled. “Sir, I mean, um, Mr. Phoenix?”

He bit back a snarl. Smiling was too much for him right now, so he tried to keep his brows from slashing down. Apparently that looked frightening—for some fucking reason. “Genevieve, you can call me Vero. Remember?” He couldn’t do anything about the hoarseness of his low voice, so he didn’t try.

She flushed from her chest to her hairline, her bluish-green gaze darting away. “Yes, sir. I mean, I’m sorry, sir.”

Jesus. “It’s okay.” He had to find somebody else to work as his secretary. Or administrative assistant. How in the hell did he have an administrative assistant? “What?” His voice sounded rusty because he rarely spoke.

She hovered, her shoulders down. “Um, Miss, I mean Ms., ah, Lyrica is here to see you.”

Well, double fuck. “Fine. Please send her in.” Now he sounded like some human stockbroker. Or worse, an attorney. If he had half a brain, he’d take off for the Himalayas and live by himself in a cabin blanketed with snow. Maybe he could make friends with a bear.

Screw that. He’d never had a real friend. Sure, he’d thought he had, but Hunter had ended up being a two-faced, lying, spying asshole. If Vero made friends with a bear, it would eat him.

That would be preferable to his current situation.

Fuck his life.

Lyrica Graves swept inside, somehow looking both regal and indignant while wearing jeans and a scarlet sweater that fit her curvy body perfectly, her cheeks red from the cold. She’d apparently ditched her coat in the outer office but still wore thick blue snow boots.

If he asked her to just shoot him, would she?

Her pretty eyes sparked. “You are totally screwing all this up.”

Yep. She’d definitely shoot him. He considered making the request for all of five seconds, then decided he didn’t want to give her that much satisfaction. In the saddle of life, she was a burr biting his skin, and she had been for the past three weeks as they’d tried to bring the Kurjan nation into modern times. “What do you want now?”

She drew to her full and unimpressive height of about five foot six inches and tossed her head in a way only angry females could achieve.

His body reacted instantly, going hard as a rock, head to toe—and worse yet, everywhere in between.

An unholy, feminine, and unreal peach bloomed beneath her smooth skin. “I heard you told Eudokia Guavras she could stay with her mate.”

If he had an emotion, he’d blink. Instead, he kept his voice level and forced himself to talk. “I spoke with her—alone—for more than an hour. She wants to remain with her mate. I thought that allowing females to do as they wish was your goal?”

She put both hands on her voluptuous hips, her eyes sparking like a dark disco ball. “Allow? Did you say allow?”

Damn it. That was one of the expressions he was supposed to banish. But the word fit the situation. He had allowed the female to stay with her mate of more than five hundred years. She’d begged and pleaded to do so. He shoved down irritation. “Yes. She loves her mate. They’ve been together since the Byzantine Empire, and she has borne him three sons. Good ones.” All three were, in fact, excellent soldiers.

Lyrica lifted her face to the ceiling as if he was just too stupid to deal with at the moment. “Eudokia doesn’t know what she wants. It has been centuries, man. She has no clue about the life that could be hers out in the world.”

Yet her mate and her sons would remain with the Kurjan nation. A headache loomed at the base of Vero’s skull, and he allowed his jaw to firm. Now wasn’t the time to once again correct her that he wasn’t a man. Not human. Not even close. “Perhaps Eudokia doesn’t care about the outside world.”

Lyrica’s chin lowered. With her dark hair curling over her shoulders and her smooth skin begging for a kiss, she looked far more appealing than dangerous. Like a kitten hissing at a cobra, clueless to the dangerous bite about to strike her. “That’s because she’s had no exposure to freedom.”

He stood, unable to sit any longer. “We are not having this argument again.”

She took a step toward him. Completely misunderstanding the moment, as usual. How did she not see the killer lurking beneath his black uniform? The animal, barely leashed, that heated his very soul?

“We are not arguing,” she said through gritted teeth. “We are discussing the situation.”

Discussing? The female had no right to smell like fresh juniper berries while challenging him with every movement. No right at all. “What do you want, Lyrica?” he asked, curling his fingers into fists and resting them on the innocuous desktop.

For the first time, she faltered. “I—I’m not sure. I guess I want to show her the world. The possibilities available to her.”

“Why?” He truly didn’t understand. Eudokia had mated a high-ranking Kurjan soldier, which gave her status. She’d given birth to three strong and able-bodied sons who adored her. She also routinely won the pie bake off every autumn during the fall season, when life calmed down. What more could a female want?

Lyrica rolled her eyes this time. “How do you know what you’re missing if you have no clue what’s out there? These females? They’re like three-dimensional beings who’ve been forced to live in a two-dimensional world for centuries. They can’t remotely comprehend that third dimension…until they actually look up.”

If he shot himself, he’d just take too long to heal. The only way to truly end his torment was to cut off his head today—and fuck him. He couldn’t do it. His loyalty to a nation that had wronged him—to a brother who didn’t understand him—to a friend who’d betrayed him…was absolute. He didn’t make a bit of sense, and yet, he wouldn’t abandon those who’d abandoned him. For now. Every cell in his immortal body knew with certainty that his end would come bloody, and it would no doubt come soon.

Even immortality had its limits—a good beheading from an enemy lay in his future.

It was a pity he truly didn’t care.

Worse yet, this stubborn female, who courted danger she couldn’t even see, called to him. Who would protect her if he left? He couldn’t worry about that, nor could he think about that wide, three-dimensional world that kept trying to tempt him. So much so that his dreams centered on blue oceans and worlds through portals that might finally be opening for him—if he’d been somebody else. Somebody destined to live after the current year. After Paxton consolidated power next week at the Convexus. If he didn’t get the powerful coalition of forty Cyst soldiers to join with them again during the night of the Kurjan Dark Solstice, they wouldn’t survive as a nation.

But this female. She tempted Vero—and failed to hear her own siren call. He cleared his throat but knew it wouldn’t make him sound any less Kurjan. While his vocal cords weren’t quite as mangled as a purebred demon’s, he was close. “You need to understand that some females want to stay here, with their mates.”

Her nostrils flared as she drew in air, obviously biting her tongue before speaking. “No female wants to live subjected to a male. Ever.”

His temper licked at the base of his neck. “Nobody is being subjected.” Not anymore, anyway. He crossed around the desk, allowing himself to enjoy the scent of berries—just for a moment. “Eudokia loves her mate, and if she feels submissive to him, it seems to work. They have a good union.” Her eyes widened, barely, as he approached her.

Her chin lowered. “He’s possessive.”

“Of course he’s possessive. She’s his mate.”

Lyrica instantly shoved him, both hands on his chest. He captured her wrists and pulled her in closer, his head lowering, his blood thundering through his veins.

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