Tempted

Prologue

Four months ago

Their sworn enemy had declared war again. He had known it would happen.

Max Petrovsky settled in the leather chair, his gaze on Dage Kayrs. Being in an office, any office, made his shoulders twitch. He belonged on the battlefield and not in the king’s underground headquarters. “I’m ready to go, King.”

“Yes. You’re always ready to go.” Dage leaned forward, resting his elbows on the onyx desk, western oil paintings lining the wall behind him. “I had hoped to avoid war for another century, but the Kurjans haven’t given me a choice.”

The bottom-feeders would die. “Then I should get going—take them out in my home country.” Not that the United States hadn’t been good to him. Max liked it, but he also knew the strongholds at home, good old mother Russia. Although he hadn’t been back in centuries, the hills where he’d hidden from his drunken father were embedded in his memory.

“You’ve been working alone for too long.”

They’d had this discussion before. “I am alone.”

Fire lanced through Dage’s eyes at Max’s words. Or in remembrance of the condition in which the king had found him in his youth, nearly two hundred years ago. Bleeding and broken. “You haven’t been alone since the day you joined my family.”

“I know.” Max was grateful and would die protecting Dage or his brothers. He’d killed for them and had no doubt he’d do so again. But he wasn’t family.

“You are too family, you asshole.”

Max let a rare grin loose. “Must be. You only swear at family.”

The king also tried to stay out of most people’s brains—damn mind reader—though family was never safe from his concerned probing. Dage cleared his throat. “About that. I, ah, have an assignment I’d like for you to consider.”

Max waited.

The leader of the most powerful beings in existence took his measure. “As you know, my brother Talen has taken a mate and is currently in West Virginia working with the feline shifters. His mate has a psychic human daughter, who is now here at headquarters.”

Unease tickled Max’s nape. He’d heard about the four-year-old, and how the Kurjans declared war to find her. “Yes.”

“She needs a bodyguard.”

Oh, hell no. “Dage, you can’t be serious.” Max was a soldier. . . even looked like a killing machine. No way should a small child be anywhere in his vicinity.

“Just check her out—give me your opinion. Tell me if there’s anyone you think would make a good bodyguard.” Dage stood, no expression on his hard face. “I merely want your opinion.”

Max stretched to his feet, trying to read the king. His unease increased. “All right.” He tilted his head toward a screen lining one wall. “Show me.”

Dage put on his diplomatic smile. “No. I’d like for you to meet her in person.” All grace, the leader stalked across the office and out the door.

In person? What the hell was the king thinking? Max was a foot soldier—a hulking, overbearing, not even close to graceful, foot soldier. With a shrug, he strode toward the door, his size eighteen boots pounding against the stone floor, even as he tried to move quietly. He’d scare the hell out of a kid. Especially a girl kid.

Three doors down he slowed before entering a room. A little girl sat on a flower shaped rug, playing with a teddy bear with funny hair.

Dage cleared his throat. “Janie, this is Max.”

The child turned her head, blue eyes crinkling as she smiled. “Hi, Max.” She pushed to her feet, scampering toward him with her hand outstretched.

He took a step back. “Hi.”

Undaunted, she grabbed his hand with both of hers, pumping vigorously. “Miss Kimmie taught us to shake hands at preschool.”

Her tiny hands covered about a fourth of his beefy hands. If he tripped, he might land on her and squash her. But he couldn’t break her hold. Little girls had feelings, right? He might hurt her feelings if he stepped away. “Preschool is good.”

Dage clapped him on the back. “I’ll let you two talk.”

Panic ripped down Max’s spine. Only the small hands kept him from grabbing the king and throwing him farther into the room. The bastard deserted him.

Janie tugged him inside, retaking her seat on the girly rug. “Sit down, Max.”

He sighed in relief as she released him. Then he dropped to his knees, keeping his boots off the rug. But he towered over her. So he copied her pose, sitting down and crossing his massive legs to face her. He still towered.

She grinned, showing a gap in her front teeth. “You’re a vampire.”

“Ah, yes.” He cleared his throat. “But, well, we don’t eat people or anything.”

She didn’t look scared. And she smelled like baby powder. Maybe she was too young to be afraid of him. Or too innocent.

Was this what innocence looked like? He’d forgotten.

Her tiny nose crinkled and her curly brown hair bobbed. “I know that, silly. My new daddy is a vampire. You’re good.”

Good? He was a killing machine. A heart he’d forgotten about thumped. “Not really.”

“Uh huh.” She patted his knee. “I promise.” Those deep blue eyes turned serious. “The bad guys want me.”

Smart little thing—yet she had no idea how bad the bad guys really were. “You’re safe here, Janie.” He hoped that was true.

She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Will you be my friend, Max?”

The world shifted. “Yes.” He could probably show her some self-defense moves when she grew up.

Her smile was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen. She clapped her hands together. “Friends tell each other secrets.”

“Um, okay.” He wasn’t a guy with secrets. Life was easier when everything was on the table.

“You first.” Dare had her tiny eyebrow arching.

He shifted on the soft rug. Well, he kind of had a secret. “Okay.” Inhaling softly, he let his eyes change colors, morphing into his vampire colors. The hue had encouraged more than one vampire to ridicule him in his youth—until he beat the crap out of them.

Janie gasped, delight flashing across her face. “Your eyes got pink!”

Yeah. Vampires had secondary eye colors usually brought out during emotional or stressful times, and most had metallic blue, gold, even copper hues. But not Max. The biggest, baddest, brute on the block had metallic pink eyes.

“Your eyes are my favoritest color, Max.” She glanced around him toward the door, then focused back on him. “I see stuff. Stuff that’s gonna happen. The bad guys—the ones scared of the sun—they’re gonna get me.”

His spine straightened. Something foreign in him wanted to protect her, wanted to make sure nobody ever took that innocence out of her eyes. Wanted to shield her from the evil he knew so well. He met her gaze, abandoning any thought of heading to Russia. “They’ll have to go through me, Janie.” It was a vow, and he meant it to his soul.

Dage reappeared and asked him outside. Janie returned to playing with the stuffed animal.

Once he was in the hallway, Max studied the king. “Nicely done.”

Dage shrugged. “You’ve spent two hundred years protecting the Realm, fighting for our people, ensuring my safety.”

“So?”

Blue shot through the silver in the king’s eyes. “If you had to make a choice, if it came down to it, if it came down to the death of your king—or the death of that child—who lives?”

Most people sacrificed everything for the king and the Realm. Max had done so for two centuries. He cocked his head to the side. “She lives.”

“You’re hired.”