Page 3 of Exiled Heir

“We can get him onion rings.” Tweedledee nodded. “If we try to talk to him, like, make it clear that we’re businessmen, maybe he’ll up the reward.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s exactly what Declan loves. When someonedoesn’tgive him what he wants.”

“No, you’re right,” Tweedledum said. “Maybe if we talk to him and he knows how much work we put in, he’ll realize that we deserve more than ten thousand. Andthenwe say, ‘Oh, we couldn’t possibly take that much.’ So he’ll think of us for another job.”

“Yeah, I mean, underselling yourself is always a sound business strategy.” I tried moving my arms, but whatever Tweedledee had done to my shoulder wasn’t good, and the bone ground against the socket when I tried to move it. I exhaled sharply through my nose, the pain making my vision go wobbly.

“I’ll go get onion rings,” Tweedledee said decisively.

“And I’ll go talk to him. Explain how we caught him.” Tweedledum nodded, giving one last look at me before he left. “Don’t try anything. We caught you fair and square, and now Declan’s here.”

“As long as it was fair and square,” I said to his back. The door clanged shut, and I gritted my eyes closed, trying to force my shift.

I could feel the primal power under my skin, the fur and fangs, but it just wouldn’t come. Panting, I pressed my cheek into the concrete. Turning my head, I looked at the door.

I’d have one chance to convince Declan that he shouldn’t kill me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. No, wrong. Declan didn’t do apologies.I’m sorrywas just what someone said before they got thrown in Los Santos Bay.

“I know I made a mistake, but I can make it up to you. I’ll do the job right this time.” That one wouldn’t work because it was a lie. “Declan, I’ve worked with you for eleven years. You know me. You don’t want to kill me.”

“Do you think that’s going to work?” someone asked. “I’ve met him, and Declan isn’t a man who changes his mind once he decides to kill you.”

I wrenched my shoulder trying to turn, the pain lancing up from my biceps to my neck, leaving me gasping against the concrete. There was someone to my left. Who was to my left?

There wasonedoor in the Tweedles’ murder room, and I was staring at it. Slowly, I pushed up a bit and turned my head to stare at a white wall. Shelving had stained the wall at some point, making the paint fade unevenly, but there was no one there.

Okay. I was adding hallucinations to the drug’s side effects. Either that or the electrocution had fried my brain. Combined with the head injury Tweedledee had provided and I was well into head wound hat trick territory.

I wet my lips and tried to turn back to the door. “Declan, give me another chance.”

That one might work.

“That definitely won’t work.” This time, the voice was closer, and I closed my eyes, turning my head again.

The stained white began to shift, moving into intricate patterns. It consumed the wall, growing darker and darker until the lines looked like a complicated tattoo, each black streak precise.

It took me a moment to realize what the shadow was and what it meant. Then I started to chuckle. I was looking at the person who was going to kill me.

ChapterTwo

“Do you have a better suggestion?” I asked. “Because if you have a way to keep my head off Declan’s wall, I’m all ears.”

A form stepped through the waving black lines, but the moving tattoos weren’t real; they were just an extension of his magic. It obscured his face, his hair, anything about him that would have made it easy for me to pick him out of a lineup.

As soon as I saw it was a mage, I knew I was a dead man, but based on the amount of power on display, at least my death was going to be quick. Or long, depending on who was paying the mage.

I chuckled again. Then, risking it, I asked, “Fast or slow?”

The magic shimmered, melting off the mage like water sluicing off a car windshield.

Before, I couldn’t have described his hair color, whether he had brown or blue eyes, even his height. Now, down on the floor, wrenching my neck to look at him, I saw sharp cheekbones and hair so blond it was nearly white. His blue eyes were as cold as the glaciers and just as liable to give me frostbite if I stared at them too long.

He wore a suit jacket and the high-necked shirt preferred by mages. Underneath the sleek black jacket, he wore dark, slender jeans and riding boots.

Tilting his head, he examined me. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for. If he was here, I was dead. Because I recognized him. This wasn’t justsome mage.

This was Cade Bartlett, mage prince of House Bartlett, heir to the most powerful throne in North America. The only person in the country who wanted me dead more than Declan Monroe was this man.