Spare Princess

No Permanent Death

Demir

She is in my space again, just feet away from me, sitting on an old-fashioned patched couch in the middle of the ruined room, and looks like she’s seen a ghost. There is a hot-pink bandaid on her left wrist and a bruise on her cheek as big as a plump, quickly getting the color of it. Her hair is in disarray, those long silky strands sticking everywhere around her face and, for a moment, I am lost in the delusion that I need to protect her. I grind my teeth and ignore it. Whatever happened to her, I bet she deserved it. My eyes land on her torn clothes and I can’t fight the little smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth - not so regal after all.

With a disgusted huff, I look away but the sound of it draws her attention to me. She recognises me immediately and stands taller in her seat, her shoulders strengthening and her chin lifting in defiance in the same manner she did earlier at that traffic light. Challenging me to go play with her, ruffle her feathers even more to show the world how rotten she probably is behind all that posture and sass.

I want to hiss, to let her know I accept her challenge. It’s not even a challenge at all, but like the retched predator I am not, I want to play with my prey a little before I devour it.

I don’t do it, of course, I don’t even acknowledge her presence anymore. I am a professional and I’ve been asked here to do my job despite who it might concern. Plus, my king sits next to the b*itch, his hand wrapped protectively around her and I hate him again for the worry in his eyes, because I know it’s not only for his fiancé, it’s for her too. She betrayed him, yet here he is, still caring about the woman who ruined his life. For the b*itch who ruined mine as well.

“Why is this man here?” She asks with a cold voice, filled with restrained venom. Her tone completely contradicts with the way she looks but the raspiness in it makes me feel too aware of her presence, bringing hot lava to my insides - a dark excitement that feels like the beast in me wants to make her submit, to hear her purr underneath me. What the hell is wrong with me?

Thankfully, the b*itch is barely sparing me a glance and I am completely able to collect myself, to keep the beast on the leash where it belongs. But then it’s this other side of me, the darker, more twisted one, who’d feast on her screams if given the chance. Oh, the victory of having her fragile neck snap as my jaws wrap around it…

“Geneva, this is Demir Aslan, one of my best agents,” the king explains, his businesslike tone bringing me down from my fantasy and I clear my throat to chase the gory images away.

The moment he says my name, however, I can feel the dismissal of the girl. She rolls her eyes at her brother, looking at him like he’s gone crazy. “I don’t need one of your best agents, Victor, it’s really fine. That thing is gone.”

“Geneva, someone tried to kill you tonight, things are definitely not fine,” he tells her, the grip he’s got on her tightening around her shoulders. “Demir is here to check the perimeter and make sure you are safe.”

I want to open my mouth and inform him, both of them, that no, I am not here to make sure she’s safe. I am here to make sure he and his fiancé are safe. Her? I wouldn’t give a damn if she lived or died. Actually, I’d prefer it if she died. But as I can’t have everything in life, I try to focus on my job. Try not to get too angry that I couldn’t spend as much time as I wanted with my son before I got called out here. Because of that woman. So I stay taller and unshakable like the hollow statue I saw in the front yard. Just a tool, waiting for the orders to come.

Not that I need orders. I know why I am here, why Victor called me of all the people who work for him, and on my day off. The thing that attacked is a shadow, summoned from the pits of hell to wreck havoc against whoever it was sickened after. Only someone who lives with one inside them could be able to track it down and destroy the curse that was used to summon it. No one else could’ve handled the job but someone equally cursed.

“Whatever,” Geneva Valentine shrugs, and this time her voice has no effect on me.

The king and I share a look above her head and then, like the trained soldier that I am, I go to the front porch to follow the scent I caught when I got here. Anything to be out of that woman’s presence for too long.

The king’s fiancé is on my tail, reeking of nerves and anxiety that transfer to me too even though I am used to transforming such feelings into pure rage that pushes me forward, fighting with teeth and claws against anything that might come in my way.

“What is it that you do exactly?” He asks once we are alone in the darkness and he’s sure we won’t be heard.

I turn to face him and he almost bumps into me. His eyes are glistening like prey’s in the cold moonless night and I am immediately on edge - the man is usually cold and collected in my presence but his nerves call to the more basic, primal part of my soul and all it hears is prey prey prey. Fragile, gullible prey that can’t escape me no matter what it does.

I grind my teeth and look away from him, the exhaustion gripping my entire being. I really, really need to get a hold of myself and get the f*uck out of here but the only way to do it is to finish my job. Which I can’t do with a ball of nerves on my tail, distracting me every step of the way.

I let a threatening purr rumble in my throat as I stare the lean man in front of me.

“You mean what I am, right?” I grumble in dissatisfaction. Because that’s what he truly wants to know. People are always curious around me. It’s been like this my entire life. Mostly, they feel uncomfortable around me, some want to twist me into something easier to process. Something not so exotic and embarrassing.

St. Claire doesn’t answer but I can see the heat creeping up his cheeks at my question.

“I am a shifter, like the king.” I tell him after a moment of staring down, cursing myself for snapping because my grumpiness is not his problem but mine.

“He’s a lycan. You are not,” he states, standing his ground, but there is no hostility in his voice this time. Just wariness. The man doesn’t like me and it shows.

“Well, wolf shifters are not the only kind of shifters in this world. You know that, right?” I scoff. I am not sure he can see the scoff in the darkness - he’s just a witch and doesn’t have the heightened senses of a shifter - but the truth is I don’t care, not right now.

“Of course I know that,” he seethes, and then I remember the only other kind of shifter he knows is the late king, the evil bastard who kidnapped Victor and made me monitor every move he made for months, keeping him locked in a gilded cage. And I am immediately regretful for my attitude. St. Claire is not a bad kid. He’s just overprotective of the people he loves.

“My mother was a lion shifter, so I am half that,” I explain through gritted teeth. Ian notices I missed out the part explaining what the other half of me is, but doesn’t press on.

“Lion, huh,” he repeats with a smirk. “And that helps you track down hellish shadows?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

I don’t comment further and he doesn’t ask anymore questions as I turn my back on him and start walking the perimeter. With every step away, I forget about him as I let the shadow living inside of me on the surface. It’s already caught up on the scent of its fellow from hell and it’s not happy about it. Makes me even more jittery, the beast in me wanting to snap and sink fangs into flesh.

Holding my fists curled up next to my body, I call upon the years over years of training and force myself to put it all in the background, to reduce it to just a background noice I won’t even notice anymore. It’s difficult to do it today. Because of that woman, because I am getting older, because I am tired and all I want is to be everywhere but here, my focus slipping through my fingers.

The looming statue of a man that according to the legends was trapped inside it for centuries by an evil witch, makes me constantly aware of my surroundings. This won’t do.

I stop in my tracks, freezing in place, and focusing on letting go all the thoughts but my prey - the shadow that was chased away by the witch boy but is still lurking around. And there it is, the residual magic that was used to summon it in the first place still lingers in the air around the house. It’s like black smoke dissipating over a night river - it makes the air feel heavy and disgusting. It makes the hair at the back of my neck stand with caution.

I let my own shadow out to play. It reaches out of of my body, a weightless shape that mixes with the darkness that surrounds me in the cold November night. It’s thirsty again, it’s always thirsty, but on the rare occasions I give it access into the world of the living, that hunger feels all consuming. It’s powerful and everlasting and it’s all I can think of. It wants me to give it full control, to cut the tie that binds us and let it wreck havoc in the world, like it was born to do.

To remind it I am the one in control, I have always been in control, I tug on the leash and point it in the right direction, ignoring its singing in my ears that I could rule all these people here. Taunting me with the knowledge that if I wanted, I could have Geneva Valentine destroyed, the way I’ve dreamed of one too many times over the years. It feeds me images of her underneath me, silenced, submitted, mine to do with her as I please.

The image should be one of blood and gore and retribution. It’s not. It’s her bending over that stupid couch, my c*ock slamming mercilessly into her perfect little body, again and again until she admits she’s mine. In response, I can feel myself hardening like some old creep in the darkness outside of her house and in the state I am in it gets harder to control both the beasts in me. Both of them want freedom, both of them want to make those images reality.

“Enough!” I hiss in the darkness, and an echoing hiss greets me from the deepest shadows.

Rage spreads all over me and I welcome it. Grinding my teeth, I ignore my elongating fangs and the tightening in my pants. Instead, I grip the invisible leash and command the shadow to do my bidding. It’s displeased, angered even, but it’s bound to me, the only dark gift from the person who fathered me, and it goes on looking. And soon, I have answers to my king’s questions. King, the shadow mocks me as I pull it back inside me and it merges with my mortal, physical shadow, making it darker, thicker.

Just as I am done and managed to collect myself back together, completely ignoring how close to falling apart I was just minutes ago, Victor Valentine meets me at the porch.

“Is it bad?” He asks, the worry still tugging the corners of his mouth downwards.

“That shadow was summoned with dark magic,” I inform him but I suppose his witch fiancé informed him this much. “It’s sentient and pissed. It won’t stop attacking until its mission is completed because that’s the only way it will be freed from the curse.”

“How do we stop it?”

“We don’t. The only way is to find the person who cast the spell and kill them.”

I can feel him flinching at my words. He’s the alpha king but he’s also the most non-violent person I have ever met. He doesn’t like killing and he’s adamant about it. It doesn’t mean he won’t use all the power of his lycan and his position to smother anyone who stands in his way though if that’s what needs to be done. I’ve seen him do it before, I have no doubt he’d do it again.

“It’s still no guarantee the shadow won’t carry with the mission once it gets its own free will. Those things are nasty and vindictive.” I continue my report. A part of me can’t fight the satisfaction at the images my words paint inside my head. “They are also strong and the more time they spend on earth, the stronger they become.”

“You mean it’s going to get worse?”

“Much worse.” I reply with a cold tone. “The only reason they managed to push it off tonight is because it’s still disoriented.”

The king stays silent for a moment. He seems agitated, his eyes wide in the darkness that surrounds him and I can feel the question on his lips.

“It was sicked after her, not him. As long as he stays away, he’ll be safe,” I inform him, sparing him the need to ask the question. Honestly, I don’t care about his sister either and my worries do lie with Ian, not that woman. At least I am not ashamed to admit it out loud.

“Thank you…” he hesitates a little but the fact that he’s not dismissing me or even going back inside means there is more. And I don’t like it one bit because I know what will follow. “Can you keep it away from her? Until we figure it out and find a way to destroy it?”

I take a sharp inhale. And another one, telling myself to calm down, telling my beasts to stand down.

“Is this an order?” I ask a moment later, because I can’t lie to him. I pledged my loyalty when I kneeled in front of him despite the roars of my lion refusing to submit, and accepted a lycan as my king. If he makes the order, I will not be able to refuse now.

“Does it have to be?” The king grips the rails of the front porch and looks away from me. He knows. He knows what I lost during the war, he’s seen the graves, he’s seen me losing it when the memories and the ghosts become too much and I can’t control the pain anymore. And now he’s going to force me to protect the woman responsible for all that using the blood oath I gave him willingly.

I don’t reply to him, barely able to suppress the rumble in my throat. A threatening purr, telling him to back off, challenging him. I can’t do it though. I can’t refuse. I still have family left I need to take care of. My grandmother. My son.

“It will be just for a few days at best,” the king replies after what feels like forever, sealing my fate.

I nod, accepting the order, even if everything in me screams I’d rather die than have to keep that woman alive.