Page 36 of Exiled Heir

“You made it seem as though I hadn’t told you about my parents,” Cade said.

“Youdidn’ttell me about your parents,” I pointed out.

“Now Leon will be under the impression that I’m not using you as my confidant.” Cade began pacing back and forth. He yanked off his jacket and threw it at the bed. It slid off the edge, pooling on the floor.

“Youaren’ttreating me as your confidant. I learned more about the job at dinner than you’ve told me since we met.” I felt my own face heating, irritation rising. “I learned why everyone went on high alert as soon as I arrived. You didn’t tell me that they’d treat an unbonded wolf like a nuclear weapon.”

“That’s just Leon. It was written into the house’s bylaws after the… after my parents. But no one enforces it. We have werewolves do deliveries all the time.” Cade began rolling up his sleeves, still pacing.

“Deliveries. Let me guess, those deliveries are heavily guarded by all the consorts House Bartlett can round up. I bet Tyson takes lead, with Isaac overseeing.” I could see it now, a werewolf arriving with a pallet of rice or… furniture. I didn’t know, whatever rich people needed strong wolves to carry. “I’m sure it’s very inviting for the delivery wolves. I’m sure they love to be reminded that at any moment, they’re about to commit regicide. Who doesn’t like to be accused ofmurderon a job?”

“I don’t know,” Cade snapped. “Do you think I watch every delivery truck that arrives?”

He started on the other sleeve, and I saw a swirl of darkness immediately cover his exposed forearm. The tattoos moved quickly, like a school of fish. They began dripping off his fingers, leaving trails as he paced back and forth.

“I needed to hear about your parents,” I said.

This stopped him, and he turned to face me. The trails of dark tattoo, the droplets left on the white carpet, leapt forward, becoming something large and sinuous. I didn’t move or try to defend myself.

His magic hit me hard, leaping upward until it wrapped around my neck.

The mass of black lines pinned me to the door, like a hand around my throat. I took a careful breath. When I exhaled, it tightened but didn’t cut off my air supply.

“Do you want to hear about my parents?” Cade asked harshly.

“Yes.” I tried to keep the word cold and distant, as though I merely wanted the information so that I could have a complete dossier before I started the job. But a hint of desperation crept in, a hint of need.

I needed to know why my parents had killed his. Why, eleven years ago, the alpha of the Castillo Pack, well on her way to becoming the Emperor Wolf, and her husband had murdered the king of House Bartlett and his wife.

“You want the gossip,” Cade judged. “You want the dirty details. You want to know the sad little story of a boy trapped in a closet while his parents were killed bymonsters. I don’t pay you to listen to gossip.”

I had never met a wolf who didn’t know the story. But all the stories were the same. They were almost identical to the one that Leon had told. Even as wolves whispered it to each other, their eyes narrowed, the story half myth, half political spin, I couldn’t believe it. Because I remembered my mother. I remembered my father.

“I need to know it because it’s clearly affecting things where they stand.” I let that be the end of the sentence, even though a larger part of me was still wanting to scream that it wasn’t right. It wasn’t true.

Poker face. I had once convinced Declan Monroe himself that I had a better hand than his full house.

Cade’s breathing went ragged. I focused on his mouth, open as he panted. His lips had a slight sheen to them, as though the grease from the duck lingered. His magic tightened around my neck like a boa constrictor, and I fought the urge to resist, to strike back and defend myself.

When he released me, I slumped, my knees almost collapsing before I locked them.

“It happened like Leon said.” Cade closed his mouth, swallowing and shaking his head. Then he turned and walked to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him, and I heard the shower come on.

So. There was a way to slam the door. Just not for us non-magic users. Apparently, enough magic could get you the audible slam that would satisfy your anger.

I sat down on the bench, rubbing my face with my hands.

My heart was beating fast, and I felt a chill on my skin: shock or a panic response. Closing my eyes, I asked myself the question that I hadn’t been willing to before.

Was this the room my parents had died in?

Everyone knew they had snuck into the king’s bedroom, killing him and his wife. Everyone had heard the whispers about their child being there and seeing it all.

Was it here?

Looking around, I tried to imagine it. But my mind was only able to conjure all of the images I had come up with over the intervening eleven years.

In my mind, the king’s bedroom looked like a dungeon. Nothing at all like this luxurious master suite. I found myself lost in thought, remembering over and over again what had come after.