Regal Queen by Ivy Mason

Four

There wassomething about dreams that latched on to our subconscious, dragging our innermost thoughts from the depths of our hidden desires.

If we remembered them, then we learned something about ourselves.

If we didn’t, we were left with a feeling that there was something missing, some kind of lighting bolt moment, flittering just out of our grasp. Like trying to capture the wind, or tugging onto the fog.

As soon as I slowly pulled myself from unconsciousness, before my eyes even opened, I knew I was safe.

I didn’t know how I knew this, but I was as sure of it as I was that my hair was a chestnut brown.

I also knew that I was no longer with Dimitri but in a hidden place. Secret and protected.

My eyelids were heavy, too heavy, so I pressed my face into the soft mattress before opening my eyes. A tight band around my waist kept me still and even after I squirmed, it didn’t let me go. I vaguely recognized the feel of fingers cinching into the muscles of my back.

As my mind slowly grew more attentive to my surroundings, I recognized the smell. It surrounded me, basking me in its essence. It was like fire and sin, like loss and love, like everything I ever wanted, and yet not quite enough.

It was Coulter, and somehow, he was holding me.

I snuggled in deeper, letting my mind float in the nothingness for a minute longer, trying to remember what I had been dreaming.

What was it? It had something to do with Ivan, something to do with the last words he shouted as I sprinted across the white open plain, my feet clumsy with the too large boots and the too high, icy snow.

His voice was too muted. Even now my ears still rang, pulsating into my mind with a quivering ache. And yet, my finger was only a dull throb and I felt phantom wisps at the edge of it, as if it were still there.

A small part of me hoped that I'd only been having a nightmare when Dimitri cut it off, the knife edge serrated for maximum pain. But my screaming was too raw, too real, the scratchiness at my throat still there and too much for it to be only a nightmare.

I clasped my eyes tighter, not wanting to face reality just yet, because then things would be too real, too much for my mind.

They’d come for me, rescued me, risking their own lives in the process. They’d taken care of me.

Ivan, also, had given his life for mine, and the knowledge was a deep, drilling ache in my chest.

He’d given his life, for me.

God, I hated the thought of it.

Coulter was a heater by my side and the more alert I was becoming, the more I was growing uncomfortable. I didn't want to move away from him but at the same time, I needed relief.

"Coulter," I tried to moan but my words came out mumbled and unrecognizable. I tried again. “Coulter."

He didn't move. In fact, besides the time his fingers squeezed into my back, pulling me closer, he was dead weight against me.

Suddenly, I was alert. Was something wrong with him?

My eyes shot open, the need to know if he was okay stronger than my need for my mental escape.

The shots. Just as I was pulled down the hallway at the King mansion, there were shots.

My heart thudded, fear watching through me with the thought that Bourbon or Coulter could be dead.

In front of me was a large, expansive chest and the firm, muscular lines of a neck. I would have to tilt my face upwards to look into his face, but I recognized Coulter's neck, just like I'd recognized his scent. My eyes were distracted by the pocked-marked scars indented into his naked chest.

I sucked in a breath, my fingers reaching to tace them slowly. Tears prickled at my eyes.

He'd been shot.

And yet, he was holding me, his chest moving in and out as he breathed. He must be okay, otherwise, things would be different. I finally had the nerve to pull back and look up into his face.

He was still sleeping, his eyebrows furrowed, even in his deep slumber. I tentatively reached upwards, brushing a lock of his golden hair from his face. The space under his eyes were hallowed out, blackened by pain or exhaustion. He was still gorgeous but he was different, more gaunt and haggard.

There was something else that was different: the feel of his skin under my fingers didn’t send a thrill through me like it had before.

And Bourbon?Where was he?

I turned, agony shooting through my body as I moved. I bit down on my lip as pain shot up my hand and into my arm when I accidentally brushed my damaged finger across Coulter. God, that hurt.

And yet, I needed to see Bourbon.

Every millimeter was agony. My arms felt like a million weights were strapped to them, like I was pushing against deep sand. But I finally managed to lay onto my back.

I searched the room until finally, dark blue, piercing eyes, clouded with pain and worry, met mine.

I sucked in a breath, breathing in the warmth billowing in my chest, along with that tingling sensation that had been missing only seconds ago.

God, he was so beautiful and so warrior-like at the same time.

I couldn't believe that he was here in the room, looking at me. Concerned about me.

How the fuck did I get so lucky?

I smiled, unable to stop the happiness spreading out onto my face. “Gothel."

His eyes flickered with humor but the edges tightened with restraint. “Rapunzel.”

“Your nose.” I wanted to reach out and touch his face but my arm was too heavy. “It looks shorter.”

His lips twisted up in a half smile. “It’s an illusion.”

I closed my eyes briefly, the sound of his raspy voice filling every cavity in my body. I loved the sound of his voice.

When I opened my eyes again, he was still staring at me with a too deep, too intense look. I suddenly wished he was closer. I wanted him by my side, to press myself to him, to physically feel his demanding but protective presence.

Why was he all the way over there, instead of in bed with me and Coulter?

I turned my lips downward into a pout. "Am I too ugly for you to cuddle with?"

Even though it was a joke, I was suddenly aware of how I must look. I hadn't had a mirror in Dimitri's estate, but I could see the cuts and bruises on my arms and legs. Large ones and tiny ones. I also didn’t have a comb. I must look terrible.

“You are beautiful, Rose.” His eyes turned a fierce shade of blue, and they wandered over my face then down to my finger. "I want you to know that I’m going to kill him, piece by piece." His voice was a dark rumble of promise. "No one touches you, Rose. No one."

My breath caught. No one had ever made me a promise like that before.

To protect me? Revenge for taking me?

I pinched myself. I must still be dreaming. “Ouch!" I breathed through my teeth and Bourbon's eyebrows furrowed.

"What are you doing?"

“Making sure I'm awake."

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Come here.” I lifted my fingers, patting the bed softly. After a brief hesitation, his eyes moving from my hand, to my face, then past me to Coulter, he sighed heavily, then slid out of his seat to kneel on the floor before me. His piercing gaze was back on me again, and his hand reached forward to touch my jaw, caressing it softly with his finger. He was serious again.

"Never again, Rose."

My throat was suddenly full. I choked back my tears. My eyelids fluttered with the comfort in his touch, but why wasn't he holding me?

I looked at him, whispering. "Touch me, Bourbon. Remind me what it's like to feel your skin against mine."

His throat bobbed but his eyes moved behind me, to Coulter. His eyebrow ticked upwards. "Are you sure that’s what you want?"

I nodded, realizing that even though he looked exhausted and maybe even a little bit banged up, he was still dressed impeccably in a suit and white button up shirt, sans the tie.

"Please." My voice was so soft, I could barely hear it myself, especially over the muted ringing still in my ear.

He slowly moved, standing to his feet. He took his time to peel off his jacket and my eyes went to his nimble fingers as he flicked the buttons. I held his gaze as he pulled off his shirt, then his shoes and socks.

He climbed into the bed with only his pants on, and lay next to my side.

We faced each other, staring into each other's eyes, the moment intense and raw.

I could see the worry in his eyes, the exhaustion in the lines of his face. He was so fucking sexy, emanating raw power with just his presence. It buzzed over me, electric and demanding.

He too was taking me in, and he didn't like what he saw. Was I ruined now? Even when my body healed, my soul was dark, full and spilling over with the pain of my time with Dimitri.

We didn't speak for a long moment, an electric tension between us.

Unable to stand the short distance between us, I grabbed his hand and placed it on my face, and he leaned in closer, so close we were only inches apart.

From here I could see the deep blue flecks in his eyes and a soft golden ring around them.

They were so beautiful, and currently so focused on me that I felt the weight of his intense stare like a shield, surrounding and protecting me.

He finally spoke. "Why did he take your finger?"

My throat was suddenly full, the words stuck in them. It felt like I'd swallowed dry paper, everything was thick and obtuse. I still couldn’t say the words out loud, they were too deeply embedded in my heart. I wasn’t sure I would ever say them.

I managed to croak out something. "He wanted information from me."

"Was it…” he hesitated, his finger lowering to my lips to trace them softly. "Was it about your other sister?"

Oh god.So he knew.

He didn't wait for me to answer. "I know that there were three of you, all sisters, sent to live in different families."

"Why?" I croaked. If he already knew about Aster, then maybe he knew more than I did. Maybe I would finally learn the truth, and I suddenly realized that I needed it more than I needed the breath in my lungs. Why was her location so important that Dimitri was willing to carve me, piece by piece, to get it. “Who was our mom, why were we living in different families?"

He gave me a surprised look. "You don't know?"

I shook my head and his lips parted in an exhale. This time, it was his turn to be hesitant but he forced the words from his mouth.

"I want to be honest with you, Rose, okay?"

I nodded, the palm of my hand landing on his chest. His heart pounded against it, that little bird fluttering in its cage again.

“Tell me," I whispered.

His fingers went to my chin, and his eyes drifted to my lips. I wished he would lean in just that little bit and kiss me, my heart ached with the need.

"From what I know, you actually had four other brothers but they were all killed. By Dimitri."

My eyes blinked in confusion. “What? Why?"

"Because," the words were slow to come out of his mouth, dragging and hesitant.

“Bourbon. Tell me.” I needed to know the truth. “What the hell do you know that I don’t?”

"You're originally from Russia. Your real father was Alexander and your mother was Anna. She was a master gardener, and,” his eyes studied mine, “and I think that's why you all have flower names."

I moved my hand up his neck, my fingers wrapping around it. Not squeezing but holding them there, wishing I could force the words out of his mouth. “Tell me why, Bourbon."

“The truth is, you are a princess, after all.”

I made a low sound in my throat. “I'm no princess.”

“Maybe not today, not in the sense that most men see you, but you will be. When I’m done with that man.”

“Who?”

“You know who, Rose.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dimitri. Your father was a Petrov and the mafia don of Russia. When Dimitri took his power, he killed your whole family, except your mother managed to smuggle you three out before she died."

His words slammed into me, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. It took me several moments to process them but things started connecting.

The reason why I looked nothing like my father, the reason there always seemed to be a wall between us. He took care of my physical needs but he never seemed to bond with me in a way that I saw how my roommates bonded with their parents.

I thought it was a mafia thing but that wasn’t always the case. I'd seen mafia daughters doted on by their fathers.

I’d always wondered why I had three sisters but we didn’t all live together. Why I never knew anything about my mother. Why I couldn’t remember my childhood, and why there were no pictures of me as a baby.

Everything clicked together in one simple picture.

“So my dad isn’t my real dad?” I needed the affirmation and, at Bourbon's nod, relief flowed through me. He was just my shitty caretaker, not flesh and blood. "So, I was once a mafia princess, along with my other sisters, and Dimitri killed my whole family for power."

He nodded again, and suddenly I realized that my fingers were digging into skin of his neck, my nails leaving a mark. Pain was shooting up my arm from the finger that bastard took off and I hadn't even noticed it until now.

And even though I was hurting Bourbon, he didn't move or make a sound. I immediately released it, dragging my eyes up from my scratches in his neck to stare him in the eyes.

Flames of fury danced across my skin and a hollowed out burning sensation billowed in my chest. Rage coursed through my blood like acid.

I hated that bastard, Dimitri.

I certainly didn't remember my parents or my brothers but the loss of their love hit me like a ton of bricks.

I could've had a totally different life.

Once filled with abundance, love, and laugher.

Happiness.

And that asshole Dimitri took it from me.

I leaned in, my lips skimming across Bourbon's in a brief touch.

Not a kiss, but a promise.

A promise that I was going to do everything in my power to work with Bourbon to have our revenge.

"So," my voice held a hardness I'd heard a thousand times from people around me but never from myself. "How do we kill him?"