Lord King (The King)

Ansin was very different from King. For starters, well, King was once a king. He liked expensive suits, expensive cars, and private jets. King enjoyed the finer things money could buy. Ansin, on the other hand, didn’t seem to give a shit about any of that.

When we pulled up to the airport in Miami, he parked the bike at the curb, left the keys in the ignition, and told me to follow him inside to the ticketing counters.

“Are you just going to leave your bike there?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“But they’ll tow it,” I pointed out.

“The bike isn’t mine. I took it.”

What? I caught up to him as he headed for the British Airways counter, not bothering to get in line.

“You’re cutting in front of all these people,” I hissed.

He turned and stared me down with those gold and black eyes. “I’m two thousand years old, little treasure, and like I said, I don’t ask permission.”

“And apparently you steal.”

“Material things are meaningless. Power is everything. Never forget that.” He turned to the airline employee and asked for two tickets, first class to Heathrow. She smiled, punched in some information, and handed the tickets over. No money was exchanged.

I stood there with my jaw hanging open. “How did you do that?”

Ansin handed me my ticket. “Power, Jeni.”

I followed him through security—no one asked us for a thing—and we boarded the waiting plane moments before the doors closed. He’d been right; we’d just made it on time.

“How do you make everyone just do what you want?” I asked quietly, settling into my first-class seat. It was pretty impressive, even if I didn’t agree with not paying for things. It felt wrong.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen King use that trick.” He removed his leather jacket, exposing his tanned, extremely jacked arms, which were covered in linear scars. They looked like they’d been cut with knives repeatedly in a crisscross pattern.

Again, I wanted to ask what had happened to him, but I had a feeling he’d either tell me to fuck off or the story would be horrific.

“No. I mean, yeah,” I replied to his question, “I’ve seen King do mind tricks, but not like you.”

“Not like me, how?”

“King tries not to be noticed. He’s subtle when he uses his powers in public. You seem to—”

“Not give a fuck? It’s because I don’t, my little treasure.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, just like I’d seen King do. He was gearing up for something. “Besides, what can these people do to me that hasn’t already been done?”

Now I had to ask. I couldn’t resist. “What’s been done to you?”

“I’ve died more times in more ways than you can imagine.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be,” he replied flatly. “I’m not. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to take a nap.”

A nap? Men like him napped? I supposed they did, but it sounded strangely weak coming from such a dangerous SOB. Children napped. Men slept.

“Wake me when we land,” he added.

“Okay, boss.”

Ansin’s eyes flew open. “Don’t ever call me that. You are to be my wife, not my employee, slave, or servant.”

My back stiffened. I’d triggered him, but why? I mean, yes, I got what he just said, but his reaction was a little over the top. “Then why did you ask me to be obedient when we were at the café?”

He closed his eyes again, and one corner of his mouth turned up into a smile. “It was a test. Now get some rest. You’re going to need to be on your toes when we arrive to the castle. Sage’ll have many tricks up her sleeve.”

She lived in a castle? And what tricks? What were we walking into? “Care to provide details?”

Ansin’s face relaxed. He was already asleep. Or maybe his mind went somewhere, like mine did when I used my powers.

Whatever the case, I needed to curb my intense curiosity about Ansin and start paying attention to my fear. He was not the type you should let your guard down around.

He was not to be trusted.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The eight-and-a-half-hour flight felt like an hour. I’d closed my eyes for a moment, and suddenly we were landing. I looked to the seat next to me, where Ansin was already awake, doing something on his phone.

I wondered if he actually owned the device, or he’d just walked up to someone, held out his hand, and they gave it over.

“So,” I said, my voice scratchy, “what’s the plan when we land? Aside from strolling through customs and stealing someone’s motorcycle.”

“It’s raining. We’ll need a car.” He didn’t bother looking up from his phone.

“Ah. Well, I need to eat something.” My stomach was a mess. Possibly morning sickness kicking in.

“I’ll grab you something on the way out.”

Meaning, he would literally walk in and take food. “I don’t mean to pry, but don’t you have any money? A credit card? Some gold coins?”