Page 8 of Reluctant Rebel

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.”

4

Jinx was nervous as she made her way through the royal palace. She had been inside many times over the last few months and even had her own guest suite. It was outrageously extravagant, and some would say, obnoxiously so. But then, itwasa palace. And she was more than happy to play pretend whenever she stayed in the luxurious set of rooms.

She pretended she belonged there. She pretended she wasn't just a random shapeshifter from the slums of Purgatory. Her worn Doc Martins squeaked on the polished marble floor of the long corridor, making her grimace.Maybe I should have worn different shoes, she mused silently. After all, it wasn’t every day one entered the royal suites.

Brax’s rooms were in an entirely different wing from the rest of the areas that housed the royal members of the line of Cerberus. Jinx knew he’d bucked tradition in favour of the only suite that had a turret. She smiled, shaking her head. He was kind of dorky. And she absolutely loved that for him. He was endearing as hell. She also loved it for Sabre because the grumpy assassin really needed some dorkiness in her life.

So, even though she had become familiar with a few parts of the palace, the royal suites were a whole new ballgame.And sois the man waiting in those suites, Jinx’s brain reminded her unhelpfully.

Instead of breakfast being served in Brax’s homey dining room, which she had become semi-accustomed to, they would be eating in the palace’s family dining area. It was sure to be more formal. It also consisted of officially meeting Mikhail. The rightful king. Which is why Jinx was shitting her pants.

She wiped her uncharacteristically sweaty palms on her dark jeans, wondering if, in addition to the shoes, she should have thrown on something other than faded skinny jeans and a simple black tank. She huffed out a frustrated breath, annoyed with herself. Since when did she care about how she looked?

Since you’re meeting the man that you outrageously flirted with, believing he was nothing more than a rebel with a cause,her annoying inner voice reminded her.

“That’s right, Jinx. You tried to dry hump the King of the free world,” she muttered, her cheeks heating in mortification.

She paused, her head falling back on her neck as she groaned. At the time, the attraction she felt for the bald, built rebel leader had been a breath of fresh air in an otherwise desert wasteland of involuntary celibacy. Sexual sparks for her were few and far between, so it was always fun to discover someone who gave her a tingle. And the man she knew as Hound had given her more than a tingle. The problem with that? She’d told him so. Multiple times. In hindsight, it wasn’t the best first impression to make.

“He must think I’m a total hussy,” she told the ornate ceiling.

“You are.”

Jinx jolted, suppressing a growl when her inner tiger bristled. It wasn’t just the words; it was the mouth they came out of. Lowering her gaze, she found a familiar and unwelcome form in front of her. Carrick. The fae was tall and slender, with almost delicate features. But there was nothing delicate aboutthe man, Jinx knew. In fact, he was particularly crude behind closed doors.

How did she know? Because he had been a patron of Asmodeus all those years ago. It was a small mercy that Carrick had never been a ‘client’ of hers. But she had seen enough of his predilections at the brothel to know what type of man he was.

A fucking terrible one.

Despite her time spent as a sex slave, she liked to think she was open-minded when it came to other people’s sexual desires. If someone wanted to be tied up and covered in buttermilk, it had nothing to do with her. But Carrick had attended the brothel specifically for the Black Room, where the more twisted forms of BDSM were conducted. Again, she could have shrugged that off. She appreciated a good praise kink. But she knew that not all of the Subs were willing participants. And that made Carrick a piece of shit.

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