Page 9 of Broken Kingdom

This man is far more dangerous than he first appeared. When I run, I’ll have to give escape everything I’ve got. If he recaptures me, I won’t be handled gently.

“You want an answer in thirty seconds,” I say, forcing myself to maintain eye contact, even as something primal inside me yearns to curl into a ball in a corner and rock there for a while.

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yes. Correct. And you promise to do this?”

“Do I have a choice?” I ask. When he chuckles and shakes his head, I shrug. “Then sure. I promise.”

“Oh good. That’s wonderful.” He nods and keeps nodding until it starts to get creepy. “I know that might be difficult, but I suggest you go with your gut. Instinct rarely leads a shifter astray.” He snaps his fingers and calls in a louder voice, “Bring them out. We’re ready.”

I hear the bodyguard by the stairs murmur something, presumably into the com device all Jean-Paul’s bodyguards wear. Then, the sound of a door swinging open on the other side of the roof is followed by footsteps on the gravel and a high-pitched whimpering sound.

Not long after, the two bodyguards I’d assumed were waiting in the car appear. One is dragging a bound and gagged redhead in a pink sheath dress with tears streaming down her mascara-streaked face, the other grips a handcuffed boy of no more than sixteen or seventeen with shaggy brown hair hanging in his eyes.

But I’d recognize that jawline anywhere. We used to tease my cousin Lucas when he was little that he looked like a shark but that he’d eventually grow into his prominent square jaw. It looks like he has, but not quite completely. He needs a few more years and the chance to put on twenty or thirty pounds to fully balance his most prominent feature with the rest of his frame.

Recognizing Lucas gives my brain the jog it needs to put a name to the second captive.

“Bethany?” I breathe, summoning another round of pitiful whimpering from my other cousin. The entire time we were growing up, Bethany was a blonde.

Sometime in the years I’ve been gone, she must have decided to dye her hair.

It probably looks good when her face isn’t splotchy and pink, but right now, in head to toe red and fuchsia, she looks like a second-degree burn come to life. She’s clearly terrified and has every reason to be.

This isn’t going to end well, my gut knows that even before Jean-Paul announces, “And now, Juliet, you will prove your loyalty to me and your commitment to this marriage by choosing which of the threats to your throne we should keep prisoner, and which we should eliminate. Not to get ahead of myself, but I intend to take control of Zion when your father passes. That will be easier, of course, without other heirs to contend with.”

He rubs his hands up and down on his thighs, clearly getting off on this horrible game, this impossible choice. “Tick tock, my love. Remember, an answer in thirty seconds, or I’ll kill them both and you will be in trouble for breaking your promise to me. I do not take a broken promise lightly. The last woman who disappointed me in such a fashion now hangs on a hook in my playroom, waiting for me to remove the nipple clamps I applied to her traitorous tits last week. I would hate to do the same to you, especially so soon after our wedding, but…”

He pulls out his cell and glances at the screen. “But it looks like time is running short.” He glances back up, his eyes like lasers burning into my brain. “Which will it be, my sweet? Which will you save? The kind but vapid socialite or the green baby boy, just barely out of his awkward stage? Which life means more to you in this moment, and which will you murder? I’m on pins and needles.”

I almost throw up but force the gorge back down my throat.

There isn’t time to be sick.

Because I know he isn’t kidding.

If I don’t choose, and fast, he’ll kill them both.

So, I do what I have to do.

Tears streaming down my face, I suck in a breath and say a name.

A second later, a single shot fires and the body of the family member I betrayed slumps to the ground.

Only then do I bend over and wretch clear liquid on the white rocks by my feet.

Six

Ford

Less than an hour after takeoff, we near a landing pad not far from Montreal’s old town. On the way into the city, we’re granted a clear view of the shifter king’s walled compound at the edge of a large city park.

“He bought the botanical gardens and the land next door about a decade ago and built the walls not long after,” Catherine says, her voice tinny in the headsets we’re all wearing. “But he didn’t move his pack in until about six years ago. Before that, while the community structures and housing were being built, he used the land primarily as a prison and playground for him and his sicker friends. Rumor has it they hunted humans they kidnapped for sport and ate them afterwards.”

Layla pulls a face. “Just when you think these fucks can’t get any grosser.”

“Jean-Paul pushes the limits of what even the more extreme packs will tolerate,” Catherine says. “He’s been censured by the Canadian high council twice. If he gets a third strike, he’s out as king. If we had time, we could appeal to them, explain that Juliet was kidnapped, and probably get this taken care of without bloodshed.”

“But we don’t have time,” I remind them both. “And we don’t know how many of the Canadian packs are secretly on his side. He might have more allies than we think.”

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