Page 5 of Broken Kingdom

I step awkwardly forward, my heart leaping as I trip on part of the car and tumble into the floor between the seats.

“Careful there, clumsy one.” Jean-Paul chuckles as he drags me up into a soft leather cushion, his hands everywhere, all at once.

I clench my jaw, fighting another wave of sickness. I refuse to think about this man’s “gherkin” getting anywhere near me. I’ll figure out a way to escape before then. Or I’ll jump out a window. The power-blocking collar he’s locked around my throat keeps me from shifting or accessing my phoenix gifts, but I can still move around of my own free will, and I’d rather break both legs than end up in his bed.

I don’t want to be with anyone but Ford that way.

Ford…

He has to be alive. He has to have escaped the ambush.

Surely, if he were dead, I’d know it.

But I can’t feel anything right now. My shifter senses are numbed by the collar and the miles between us. As the limo pulls away into traffic, I’m more alone than I’ve been since I left Ford at that motel room and zoomed off into the hills on a stolen motorcycle.

But back then, I hadn’t had real friends in years. I hadn’t realized what I was missing.

Now, I do, and I ache for my people.

I hope they’re all in one piece—Chase, Layla, Alexander, and Catherine, each and every one. As long as they’re still breathing, there’s hope. I can still figure out a way to reclaim Lost Moon and take down my father. Montreal may have turned against us, but they’re just one city. Maxim has bigger, stronger allies in Boston, Washington D.C., and down the eastern seaboard. We just need time to regroup and plan a bigger, more forceful offensive.

As I silently brainstorm battle strategies my father won’t be expecting—we could tunnel into the university or blast a hole in the wall too big for them to defend and worry about rebuilding later—Jean-Paul drones on about wedding flowers and possible venues.

“I have pictures of both the chapel on my property and the abandoned church with the lovely stained glass on my phone. I can show you while we eat,” he says. “My chef friend has arranged for a private table in his garden, so we won’t be disturbed. If we trust our hearts and make decisions quickly, we should have all the details sorted by noon and I’ll put my personal secretary on the case. I visualize, he materializes. It’s an excellent arrangement. As a ruler, it’s important to have a strong team surrounding you, supporting your vision. Don’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say. “I’ve never been a ruler.”

“But you were a ruler’s daughter and Hammer is a formidable man. Surely, you learned many things from watching your father lead.”

“My father didn’t include me in his life.” I shift on the seat, moving a little farther away from Jean-Paul’s too-warm body and roaming hands. “And I wouldn’t lead like him, anyway. I’m not an unhinged asshole.”

“You’re just a normal asshole, then?” Jean-Paul chuckles at his own joke before grabbing my thigh and pulling me back toward him. “I’m just kidding, chère. I enjoy your surly side. And I understand this is all very sudden for you and might make you a bit crankier than usual. But I must insist that you play nice with me at brunch and choose the venue for our vows. Letting the groom choose is bad luck. My mother insisted this was true and the reason she and my father parted ways so violently. I don’t want that for us. I want us to find harmony and happiness, not poison in our morning coffee and a gun under the pillow at night.”

“Don’t give me any ideas, Jean-Paul.” I force a teasing note into my voice that is clearly well-received, judging by the giddy, high-pitched giggle that emerges from his throat.

“Oh, mon petit chou, you’re perfect,” he says, whipping the hood off my head so quickly that I gasp in surprise. “And we’re here. Chef Pierre’s Fat Bottom Toast. The best brunch in the city. I want nothing but the best for you, chère. From now until death do us part.”

Blinking as my eyes adjust to the bright morning light, I scan the world outside for a friendly face, but we’re parked in a narrow alley behind several stone buildings. And when we step out onto the cobblestone street, the air is quiet, with only the faint drone of conversation from the front of the structure.

Still, for a moment, I consider screaming for help.

But then Jean-Paul motions to a flight of stairs, leading up to the top of the building and says, “After you, darling,” and I change my mind.

The buildings here are very close together. If I can get away from Jean-Paul, I can run along the tops of them until I find a better place to come down and escape. Or I can stick with my original plan and jump off the roof. Surely, a girl with two broken legs splattered all over the sidewalk during brunch will attract a decent amount of attention.

Crossing my fingers that I’ll get a window, no matter how small, for escape, I start up the rusted metal stairs toward the roof garden, trying to decide which breakfast food—aside from scalding hot coffee—has the highest likelihood of being used as a successful weapon.

Four

Ford

Two hours later, Catherine, Layla, and I sit beside Alexander’s bed in the infirmary—Catherine on one side and Layla and I on the other—ready to deploy on a Maxim-approved mission to Montreal.

Chase, Juliet’s ex, planned to join us, but Maxim sent him on a diplomatic mission down the East Coast, hoping his powers of persuasion will light a fire under the Alphas who have sworn allegiance to Maxim’s pack. Lost Moon needs fighters, ammunition, and health care workers to care for the wounded, STAT.

Chase insisted he’d be back as soon as he could and promised to help find Juliet when he returned, but I’m praying we won’t need his help. If Juliet isn’t safe by the time Chase gets all the way down to North Carolina and back up again, stopping at all the major city centers along the way, I’m going to lose my shit.

I need her safe and here with me. Now.

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