Page 108 of The Prince of New York

We’d find out soon enough.

“He told me that a royal kidnapped his wife.”

Madelyn stiffened, and I didn’t need empathy to spot the terror in her eyes and etched into her expression.

The stench of sulfur wafted over the steps along with a wave of heat, and my flaming horse took on an appearance of molten stone with dark splotches of cooling lava along his sides. With a squeal, he spun, bucked, and lashed out with both hind hooves. The first struck his head with a crackling sizzle. The second clipped his shoulder hard enough to slam him into the old beater. The putrid odor of melting metal and charring flesh burned my nose. Before I could do more than snort and sneeze, the ashen husk of Madelyn’s abuser collapsed while the vehicle beside him melted to the sidewalk.

The reporter gasped and jerked away from the trashed car.

“Ian,” Daphne complained. “Couldn’t you have controlled yourself for five whole seconds?”

“No,” I answered, wondering why she thought I’d let some abusive nitwit call Madelyn his wife and get away with it. “He scared her.”

“By scared, His Royal Highness means that your comment almost terrified the life out of her,” Terry stated, and he abandoned his post to join Daphne. With a single clearing of his throat, the RPS agent managed to send Montana’s heir retreating up the steps to relative safety. “Here is the one and only offer we’re willing to give you. You will testify, under oath and with a truth seer, how this piece of filth contacted you. No charges will be pressed, but you will not be working as a reporter in this kingdom any further due to your failure to vet the situation. California does not treat those who aid and abet abusers well. Frankly, it’s a better offer than you deserve.” Terry regarded the car I’d destroyed and my horse, who maintained its molten form, with a raised brow. “You will find the current generation of New Yorkers do not take kindly to those who hurt others. I recommend that you leave while you can—and accept the loss of your car as an unfortunate consequence of having made poor choices.”

Terry waited, and the reporter gulped before nodding.

Then, because few men could match Terry’s level when he had a grudge and a point to prove, he took the papers out of the reporter’s hand, rolled them up, and used them to lift the man’s chin. “You could have cost a lovely woman her life and a prince his choice of bride, all because you wanted a story. You shame everything reporters stand for. I hope you think long and hard about your choices and consider ways you might redeem yourself. Fortunately for the woman, the prince has zero issues with eliminating those who would hurt others. I’m even going to be generous and suggest that the RPS take you home. Hopefully that way, you’ll refrain from engaging in any additional activities with questionable people.” Terry glanced in the direction of the corpse. “Laws exist for a reason. Had he obeyed them, he would still be alive.”

One of California’s RPS agents summoned a vehicle, which entered the public lot moments later, pulled up, and came to a halt. The agent opened the back door for the disgraced reporter, waited for him to climb inside, and joined him in the vehicle, leaving us to deal with the smoldering body.

I heaved a sigh, regarding my handiwork with resignation. My conjured horse of flame and molten stone prodded what remained of him with a hoof. The corpse crumbled away to nothing but smoking clothes and personal articles.

“The lava part of that is new,” my sister observed. “But otherwise, it’s very much like the recordings from the incident at the airstrip. I want to learn how to do that. Can you ride him?”

“Did you check to see if he was a stallion?” I grinned at my sister, grateful she’d found some way to keep the conversation light.

One day, I hoped I wouldn’t have to strike first and ask questions of the body. Dead was dead, but in the case of the abusive bastard, I would sleep without regrets.

Terry was right: had he obeyed the laws, both of New York and of California, he wouldn’t have died at anyone’s hand for his crimes.

“I really did. He’s like Thunder, but he’s a lot larger and meaner.”

“I got frightened,” Madelyn confessed. “And that’s when the horse kicked his head clean off.”

Well, to my regret, the headhadn’tgone flying, but it was close enough I opted against correcting the exaggeration. Dead was dead, and the first strike had done an excellent job of killing the bastard. I whistled for the horse, who came up the steps and sought out my attention. As his head hadn’t charred me to a crisp, I took the time to offer the horse the petting he was rightfully owed, ignoring how my talent was an inseparable part of myself. If there was even a scrap of sentience within my magic, I wanted him to understand I appreciated his work.

Then, with a second, softer whistle, I reined him in, the flames and stone dissolving away to embers on the wind. As though aware they could start the wrong kind of fire, the wisps of light and warmth swirled around me before winking out one by one. “Let’s go get some ice cream. That way, no one can judge me for sticking my head into the freezer for a few minutes. After ice cream, I think I deserve to be tucked into bed with every kitty I can get my hands on.”

With a little luck, I’d be able to lure Madelyn into bed with me, but I’d wait for her leisure. If I had any say in it, we would have nothing but time.

For once, having patience would be a joy, and I looked forward to whatever would come, taking it one day at a time.

THIRTY-ONE

The young RPS agent needed to see the beginning of the terrorist group’s end.

Five monthsand ten days after I’d wiped out a bunch of terrorists and eliminated Madelyn’s ex from the picture that was our lives, I tracked down my parents to a swampy corner of Cambodia. Within a terrorist’s pocket had been the proof needed to confirm the assholes had sold me out. I could even respect their reasons for doing so.

In exchange, Rachel and her succession would be left alone.

To my parents and their terrorist cohorts, I was a convenient pawn to secure some twisted legacy. I had a price tag of twenty million dollars, and that was just for information on my lifestyle, talent usage, and anything else a pair of asshole parents could give someone about their son.

Rather than inform my sister of the situation, Terry had come to me with the intel, asking what I wanted to do about the situation. In a different pocket had been confirmation that the terrorists would kill Madelyn if they could confirm our bond was not the killing kind.

They did not view her talent as appropriate for their reign of terror, which would be founded around me—if they could break me.

In the wee hours of the morning, while Madelyn still slept along with our children, I headed for my office deep in the administrative wing to make one of the most important phone calls of my life. His Royal Majesty of Texas, who had recovered from his heart attack with minimal complications, had promised to be awake to handle my business, which involved Eddie.

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