The Broken Puppet (The Elite King's Club 2)

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Walking to the bedside table, I pick up my phone, sliding it open and bringing it to my ear. “What?”

“Don’t fucking what me, Madison. Where the fuck are you?” Bishop growls down the phone.

“I’m away. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“Well good thing I don’t have to answer to any of your questions!” There’s a knock on the door, a slight tap I could have missed had it been two seconds earlier with Bishop growling in my ear. Changing hands, I walk toward the door and pull it open, seeing Damon on the other side.

“I gotta go,” I mumble into the phone.

“Sorry I’m late,” Damon mutters, walking past me and into my room.

“Who the fuck is that?” Bishop shoots off in my ear.

“That is… I can’t explain right now, so just wait until I get home.”

“I swear to fucking—”

I hang up my phone and switch it off, having about enough of his bullshit. Turning around, I smile at Damon. “Sorry about that.”

He sits on the chair across from my bed, his back straight and his hands placed rigidly on his thighs. His face stays the same, his eyes remaining on me as I slowly make my way to sit on the end of my bed. “So,” I test out, not knowing what else to start with. “How are we going to do this if your language is Latin?” I ask myself the question more than him.

“You are in danger here. You must leave.”

Well, that’s a pretty good way to start. “I figured,” I whisper, bringing my eyes back to his. “But why? And why are you helping me?”

He shakes his head, his eyes glassing over. “Knowledge not power. Knowledge in this world can be a weapon, or a reason.” He stands from his chair and walks toward me, stopping just at the foot of the bed. A little close, but I don’t feel uncomfortable about it. He takes my hand and I freeze slightly, unfamiliar with his presence, but again, not uncomfortable with it.

Pressing my hand to his chest, I look up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. “What is this?” I ask, shaking my head.

“You feel too?” he replies, so softly it almost takes my breath away. Being with emotionless assholes for way too long has me appreciating a man who has no problem with displaying his feelings. If that’s what he’s doing.

“Yes.” Unable to lie, or deny it, and not wanting to, I stand to all my five foot three inches and crank my neck so I can see him more clearly. “Who are you?”

“I’m not good man.”

I laugh. I don’t mean to, but I do. “I know bad men, Damon. You are not one of them.”

“Only you see light where others see dark, Madison.”

Shaking my head, I pull my hand away. “Maybe. But I see dark too, Damon. And I don’t see it on you.”

“Because it’s caged in my soul,” he replies, taking a step back.

“Who are you?” I whisper again, searching his beautiful features. The angelic way he carries himself and the way he looks straight into me tells me he’s deluded. He’s not a bad man; there’s no way this person standing in front of me right now is bad.

He sits back down, burying his face in his hands and shaking his head. “You…” he begins. “The Silver Swan.”

I gulp, my blood turning slightly cold. “Yes.”

He whips his head up to me and narrows his eyes slightly. Probably the most display of emotion I’ve seen on him as far as features go. “You… know? About yourself?” he asks again, his English choppy but enough for me to understand what he’s trying to say or imply.

I nod. “Yes. I’ve known for some time now.”

His face changes. “You must leave, Madison.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m stubborn. I have to know what this all means. I came here for clarity, to get my feet back on the ground, but I have a feeling that isn’t happening now.” I look at him as he watches me. I realize he probably has no idea what I just said, but I appreciate him listening anyway.

He gets up from his chair and walks toward the door. As he pulls it open, I think he’s about to walk out when he widens it, checking down the hallway, but he looks back to me. “See?” He points to the cursive name on the door.

I look to it and nod. “Yeah? I don’t know what that says.”

He runs his index finger over the embossed lettering, every flick and curve that is inscribed into the door. He says one word. One word that sucks all the good out of my thoughts and replaces it with murky memories. “Venari.”

I SHOOT UP OFF THE bed and walk toward him, pulling him back inside the room before slamming the door, resting my head against it. “How the fuck do you know that name?”