Midnight's Temptation

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“What now?” Phelan demanded when he walked into the large room to find Rhys, Banan, and Charon playing pool.

Charon called his play before the ball rolled into the pocket. He slowly straightened and held his pool cue beside him. “While you and Rhys were … letting off some steam, Banan and I did a little research on what Aisley discovered.”

“Doona say her name.” Phelan couldn’t stand to hear it. Already she invaded his every thought. Everything reminded him of her. It was too much.

His hands itched to hold her against him, to run his hands through her midnight hair. It had only been a few hours without her. How could he face eternity?

Banan walked around the table, never taking his eyes off the burgundy felt and the balls scattered on it as he decided on his play. Finally he stopped and leaned over the table to call his shot, carefully holding the cue as he lined up his play and took his aim, knocking a solid yellow ball in a pocket. “So we willna say her name. Are you going to comment on the fact we found something?”

“What do you want me to say?” Phelan looked out one of the many windows on the opposite wall at the mountains that urged him to walk their craggy slopes and get lost in the wilds of Scotland.

Rhys chuckled from an overstuffed leather chair he reclined in, sipping the famous Dreagan scotch. “I told you, Banan. Phelan doesna want to know.”

“You want to know,” Charon told him. “Trust me.”

Phelan rubbed his hand over his jaw thinking he needed to shave so he wouldn’t scrape Aisley’s skin. Then he recalled she was no longer his. He remembered the betrayal and the lies.

And his heart shattered all over again.

“Tell me,” he said when Banan missed his second shot.

Rhys rose and poured two glasses of whisky before turning and handing one to Phelan. “You look like you could use this.”

“Ais—” Banan stopped and cleared his throat. “She was on the right track. With more time I think she would’ve discovered what we did.”

Charon eyed a striped purple ball and lined up his pool cue. “She found where you’re from, and she learned your family fled in order to save you. What she didna learn was about your blood.”

“What do you mean my family left to save me? Didna everyone have the same kind of blood?” Phelan asked.

“Nay,” Charon said and took his shot. Two stripes found pockets. He moved to line up another play. “It seems your blood was rare, even for your family.”

Phelan absorbed that info as Charon’s next shot bounced off the eight ball and hit the side of the table before colliding with a blue stripe that rolled into a side pocket.

Charon stood and caught his gaze. “In other words, you were precious to the entire royal family. It seems your uncle let it be known about your blood because of jealousy. Your parents left Saxony that night, though they were unlucky enough to run into a group of peasants who tried to take you.”

“Your younger sister was killed in that attack,” Rhys said.

To know that his family had gone to such lengths to protect just one of their children left Phelan ashamed of himself for the hateful thoughts he’d had of them over the centuries.

“How many siblings did I have?” he asked.

In two more shots, Charon finished off the billiards game. “Five. Three brothers and two sisters. You were the second to the youngest.”

Phelan walked to the closest chair and sank into it. He stared at the whisky in his hand, not really seeing it. “What’s so special about my blood?”

“That we doona know yet,” Banan said. “The history we found on it is verra obscure. The word magic is used a lot, but in those times, people used magic to describe a great number of things that had nothing to do with it.”

“Isla said my family was in northern Scotland near Oykel Bridge. Are they still?”

Rhys shook his head. “No’ any longer. They were for a time. Two of your remaining four siblings survived long enough to marry and have children. Your sister’s line, unfortunately, was wiped out by clan wars.”

“Your brother’s line survived,” Charon said.

Phelan drained the whisky in one swallow and felt it burn down his throat and into his stomach. “The name Stewart Isla gave me. It isna my family’s name, is it?”

Banan set his pool cue on the table and leaned against it. “Your family surname was Albertine. You are a prince, Phelan.”

“A prince with no country, no throne, and no family.” He smiled humorlessly. “I’m the envy of everyone.”

Charon placed his pool cue alongside Banan’s and retrieved the decanter of whisky. He walked to the three of them and refilled everyone’s glass. “If it wouldna been for Aisley, we wouldna know as much as we do. How did she find out?”

“I doona know. Maybe she’s always known. Perhaps that’s why she was with me.”

“Did she try to take any of your blood?” Rhys asked.

Phelan frowned. “Nay.”

“Then I doubt that’s the case.”

Banan scratched his cheek. “I agree with Rhys. I suspected she was either telling you the truth or had an ulterior motive.”

Phelan’s gaze narrowed on the King. It seemed they had done more than dig into his past. They’d dug into Aisley’s. “What did you do?”

“We found out the truth about her,” Charon said.

Phelan set aside his glass and struggled to control his rising anger. It was then he noticed how quiet the manor was. There was no laughter from the three women who had found mates with the Kings, no smell of food from the servants in the kitchen. And no other Dragon Kings. “Where is everyone? Where are Laura and Jane and the other Kings?”

“Out.”

Rhys’s one-word response sent warning bells ringing in Phelan’s head. He jumped to his feet and fisted his hands at his side. Zelfor screamed to be released, but Phelan still had control—by a thin thread, but it was control.

“Calm down,” Charon said as he too got to his feet.

“Keep whatever information you found on that drough to yourself.”

Rhys stood and met Phelan’s glare with one of his own. “Are you afraid we’ll tell you she lied so the pain you’re feeling will only double? Or are you more scared of knowing that she told you the truth?”

Phelan could no longer hold back his rage. He released his god and let out a growl. “I must no’ have beat you enough, Dragon, for you to still be running your mouth.”

“Aw. Does the little Warrior have anger problems?” Rhys replied in a small, whiny voice.

It sent Phelan over the edge.

He lunged for Rhys only to have Charon and Banan jerk him to a halt.

“Enough, Rhys!” Banan bellowed.

Rhys snorted and tossed aside the crystal glass that landed with a thump on the rug. “You handle him with kid gloves. He’s an immortal. He needs to know the truth.”

“The truth willna help him now,” Charon stated.

Phelan shoved both men off him and tamped down Zelfor. “I’m right fucking here. Stop talking about me as if I’m no’ in the room.”

“Then start acting like an adult,” Rhys replied.

Phelan’s lip lifted as he growled.

“Oh, I’m shaking,” Rhys said sarcastically. “The big bad Warrior might get me.”

Banan shoved him hard. “If he doesna, I will. Stop agitating him, Rhys. We wanted him calm.”

“Then just tell him.” Rhys slumped back into his chair.

Phelan’s gaze shifted as he caught Banan and Charon exchange a look. Whatever they were about to say wasn’t going to be good. He didn’t want to know if Aisley lied to him, or worse, told the truth.

Either one was going to crush him, and, frankly, he’d had enough.

“Nay,” Phelan said.

Charon let out a sigh. “I know why you doona want to know, but it can help. Either way, it’ll help.”

“Will it? How can you be sure? Have you had someone betray you as she did me? Have you questioned everything someone said wondering if it was a lie to lead you further into whatever trap they’ve set for you?”

Charon shook his head. “Phelan, as your friend, I’m begging you to let us tell you.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rhys said with a roll of his eyes. “Aisley was kicked out of her home. She was pregnant, and the baby died. The infant girl is buried in Pitlochry.”

Each word Rhys spoke was like a knife twisting in Phelan’s heart. It was worse hearing the deeds a second time, but only because he’d heard the suffering in her voice when she had told him.

“So?” he forced himself to say when Rhys finished. “That doesna excuse her for becoming drough.”

Banan ran a hand through his hair. “You’re one cold bastard.”

Phelan didn’t bother to respond. He turned to Charon. “You’ve had your fun here. It’s time to contact Fallon.”

“I suppose it is.” Charon hesitated a minute too long.

Phelan walked up until he was in Charon’s face. “You doona feel sorry for her, do you?”

“Nay. I feel sorry for you.”

“Well, doona. I’m fine.”

One dark brow rose. “A wee bit delusional, are we?”

“Honest, no’ delusional.”

Banan said, “You’re no’ being honest. Someone you cared about lied and you’re pissed.”

“You’re damned right I am,” Phelan said, not taking his eyes off Charon.

Charon shoved him away and growled long and low. “You want to take your anger out on someone, then I’m game.”

“Why do you want to defend her?”

“I’m no’ defending her! She told you the truth!”

“For what purpose?” Phelan asked, his vexation running deep. “She’s a drough. They’re evil. You can no’ trust anything they say or do.”

Rhys chuckled dryly. “And you’re no’ evil, Warrior?”

Phelan looked at the Dragon King. “The difference is I didna have a choice about the evil inside me. Deirdre let it loose. I’m the one who contained the god and control it. A drough makes the decision to give their soul to Satan for black magic. The evil controls them.”

“You didna answer my question.”

Sometimes Phelan really hated Rhys. “I’m no’ evil.”

“But you just said you had evil inside you, same as a drough.”

“No’ the same!” he yelled.

Rhys stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle. “Evil is evil. You say you control yours. Do you really?”

“Rhys,” Banan said in a low, warning voice.

Phelan smiled, claws sprouting from his fingers. “You looking for another fight, Dragon?”

“Unlike you, Warrior, I doona go looking for a fight everywhere.”

The truth of Rhys’s words hit Phelan like a brick wall. Whatever anger he had evaporated in an instant. The old fury that burned so bright while Deirdre held him captive is what kept him going through each horrible day.

Once he was free, he thought to let it go. He thought he had let it go after Deirdre was killed. Now he realized it had remained, banked, but waiting for something else to fuel him.

Aisley had taken Deirdre’s place. It sickened him. What kind of person was he to have such wrath inside him? Was that why he was always alone? Is that why he had such few friends?

He looked at the two Dragon Kings and the Warrior who were trying to help him. Too late Phelan comprehended that was their intention. Rhys was the only one who had dared to tell him straight.

Phelan retracted his claws and took a step back, and then another. He didn’t deserve friends. He didn’t deserve anything if he treated friendship with threats and rage.

He caught Charon’s worried look. When his friend took a step toward him, Phelan turned on his heel and strode away.

* * *

Charon had seen many sides of Phelan, but this was a new one. The bone-deep, soul-crushing suffering he glimpsed made him want to go after his friend.

But he knew Phelan well enough to know he needed time alone.

“Well. That went splendidly,” Rhys said flatly.

Banan slammed his glass on the table. “Shut up, Rhys.”

“Why? Because I dared what neither of you would think about doing?”

“He’s right,” Charon said. “Rhys did what was necessary. I didna realize—nor do I believe Phelan fully understands—just how much what Aisley has done has affected him. He’s never let anyone in.”

Rhys rose and walked to the door. “He’s a pain in the arse, but he’s a good man.”

“Aye,” Charon agreed. “I worry he’ll close himself off for good now.”

“If he survives this,” Banan said.

Charon knew Phelan. He would survive it—what he was at the end of it was the question.