The Queen's Mark Read online

  The Queen’s Mark:

  Royal Guardians Book One

  By Tori Smith

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  The Queen’s Mark:

  Royal Guardians Book One

  By Tori Smith

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  Further details can be found at the back of the book.

  One

  Arden

  “To twenty-four!”

  “Yeah, one year closer to thirty.”

  Bria blew a raspberry in my direction, the gesture telling me to shut the hell up so she and the rest of our co-workers could get on to drinking. Lifting her whiskey to the sky again, she saluted my way—I guessed take two at the whole toast thing we were doing.

  Shaking back her jet-black waves, she grinned at me.

  “To Arden,” she said. “To twenty-four.”

  “To twenty-four!”

  I actually joined in with the group this time, guiding my own whiskey in the air before kicking it back and reminding me of at least one solid reason why I never drank this stuff.

  It sucked.

  The shot twisted and burned itself all the way down. My shoulders shivered as I stamped the glass down to our high-top table. Getting myself together, I let out a howl with the rest of the group, not really into all this but allowing myself to have a good time nonetheless.

  After all, I was twenty-four.

  Bria shook my shoulders, probably one of the best dressed in here along with our group of co-workers and myself as we’d just gotten off work. Her pencil skirt and frilly blouse matched mine, her hair loose. I joined in too, getting wild and free. My thick hair ran smooth in its smoky-brown tone across my shoulders, but the nightclub’s humidity was starting to place a curl at my ends I knew I’d be flat ironing away first thing in the morning. I was also starting to… sweat and airing out my shirt, I let Bria force her arm around me.

  “That’s my girl!” she chanted, grinning with her round baby face. It nearly made her look sweet and not like she’d been trying to get me piss-ass drunk for the last hour.

  I saluted again, accepting the next shot Bria and the rest of our colleagues had pretty much been force-feeding me tonight. This was my third and if I didn’t calm down they’d need to carry me out of this nightclub soon. Even still, I had to admit I was having a good time and who was I to turn down free drinks or good company?

  I howled again, giggling when it went straight to my head. The beat in the club really hit me and I took a break to gather my bearings, which allowed the others to get in on the fun when the serving tray made its way over to us again. Bria had strictly informed the tenders to keep them coming and they had, all four of us easily about to be real wasted tonight. Bria herself, I believed, had already been pre-gaming before we got in here, her eyes wild and normally bubbly demeanor extra… bubbly.

  Falling to her stool, she huffed out a breath. Gemma, Ruthie, and our loveliest of the lovely gay man Bobby looking like they needed to pace themselves too. We’d all worked at the same fashion magazine for the past two years, our internship process something like out of The Hunger Games, but in the end, we all survived and I was happy to say we were friends as well. Well, as friendly as one could be with people from work at an extremely competitive company. They were great to kick back a glass of wine with and since those times were rare considering the man-hours under our boss Marcine Radley, we enjoyed them.

  What could I say about Marcine Radley? Well, she was the reason nearly all of us had our phones out on the table currently, Ruthie’s absent but only because she dropped hers in the toilet this morning and was currently waiting for Apple to overnight her a new device. Actually missing a call from our dear boss was only slightly worse than answering one, missing meaning obvious discipline and answering the equivalent of self-inflicted torture.

  But we all loved our boss though.

  My internal sarcasm only cleared due to my buzz. I couldn’t speak for the others, but Marcine Radley was merely a stepping-stone for me, my campout at Nova Aesthetic Magazine my wait for something better, whatever that may be. I was open, ready whenever that opportunity came and nights like this made them a little better.

  Bria and the others lifted their glasses to me again, but this time I really needed to let my head catch up with my tolerance. I’d been a lightweight in college, and after, not much better.

  My back hit the chair, my brain drifting off and relaxing a little. Absently perusing the club, my gaze passed over the bar, stopping on a guy whose broad presence took up a sizable part of it.

  That was putting it lightly.

  Holding my arms, I took in the dirty blond with his hair draped freely down his back, a little tucked behind his ear and revealing two studs at the base of his lobe. I had never been into earrings on a guy, but he made it work, his big body hunched over the bar in a red leather jacket and the stool beneath him barely accommodating him. We came to this club often but I’d never seen him.

  I felt like I’d remember if I had.

  He moved his fingers through a deliciously thick, but well trimmed beard, his eyes focused on the bar and the movement around it. In fact, I’d say he was well aware of his surroundings, his attention shifting and flowing casually with the activity around him.

  Picking up the original Coke I ordered when we came in tonight, I chewed on the end of my straw, my attempt to be discreet in my well too observant gaze.

  Bria pushed my shoulder.

  “You want that?” she asked me, bouncing her dark eyebrows and I merely lifted my eyes to the heavens.

  “I have no business wanting that,” I emphasized, not dating right now, especially since I had no spare time. Any guy in my life had been and would be second to Marcine and that most certain guarantee kept my butt in check.

  Bobby shook my shoulders, noticing our topic of conversation.

  “Sweetheart, it’s your damn birthday,” he said, flipping his wave of perfect hair in my direction. It literally smoothed a flawless, blond slope atop his head, his jaw clean-shaven and his eyes a sparkling aqua green. This boy was prettier than me most days.

  “So get over there and get yourself a lay,” he urged, dropping his hands.

  I’d also tried that and let me tell ya, having to hop out of bed with a man’s mouth between your legs was embarrassing for any girl not just me.

  I waved them off, ready for the topic to move back on to getting me wasted and though it had, I couldn’t help my gaze lingering in the direction of the bar again.

  My brows jumped the instant I did.

  Mr. Rough Around the Edges was kinda looking at me. Actually, there was no kinda about it. He looked. Though, he attempted to be discreet about it.

  Upon our gazes colliding, he almost instantly separated the connection, his hand moving to his mouth and his fingers pulling through his beard. His new fascination the bar, it seemed getting caught was the last thing he wanted.

  I stared at him waiting, and eventually, he looked at me too, his eyes traveling down the length of me in a way that shouldn’t feel so close despite the lengthy distance between us.

  Moving off my chair, I gr
abbed my purse, deciding to go over. He was still looking at me, watching with that intense gaze. It gave me some confidence. I never did things like this, but if a girl couldn’t do it on her birthday, when could she?

  From somewhere in the distance, I heard my name, some chants of encouragement, and my work friends were fully aware of what I was about to do. Smiling, I put it out of my mind and proceeded in doing what I was about to do anyway.

  What was I about to do?

  I didn’t know, but I just kept walking, my heels pushing me on my way and Dirty Blond placed his boot to the floor from the barstool. He knew I was coming to him too, moving his gaze around. The moment it returned, a flash of the club lights hit his eyes in a way just right, making them pop.

  I’d say nearly glow.

  Impossible obviously, and I nearly laughed to myself for the thoughts. Slowing my steps, I made them more casual in the guy’s direction. I didn’t want to seem eager or anything. Though, I kind of was. I mean, this guy was hot and totally giving… vibes, so yeah, I rushed a little.

  I had gotten pretty close to the bar, pushing my way around the people packing the club, before something peculiar took my attention.

  The guy’s lips started moving. The guy I was moving toward, as if he was speaking to someone but there was no one around him.

  I cut left then right, thinking maybe in all this time, he was looking at someone else and not me, but panning back, he still had eyes on me.

  And he still spoke.

  I couldn’t hear the words, too far away but whatever they were, they went into the air.

  Shifting his barstool completely in my direction, he said them straight at me and I was debating actually going over to him when my phone rang.

  You gotta be shitting—

  “Marcine,” I crooned, my voice and expression upbeat as if she was in the room.

  Her sigh into the phone let me know something was coming.

  “I need you here,” my boss said to me. “Now, and not later. I’m in the office and no one is here.”

  Because we all were here, here for my birthday.

  So much for that.

  Juggling my things, I pushed my bag up my arm, assuring my boss I’d be there as quick as my car could get me and in the shuffle, I passed a glance over to the guy again. He faced away from me now, his head lowered. Moving his hand to his bicep, he squeezed, letting go before taking a drink of whatever he had on the bar and I realized my wasted opportunity.

  So much for that I supposed.

  The weight of the world seemed to press on my shoulders by the time I got outside, my friends’ and co-workers’ requests I stay and let them handle Marcine appreciated, but denied in the end. Marcine had called me and heaven forbid someone show up besides me. She knew we were all taking this evening off to celebrate my birthday.

  She called me anyway.

  That meant she didn’t care and I wasn’t about to lose my job over another day and another year closer to thirty, very few things finally mine in my life. My parents had been so protective of me growing up and it’d been nothing short of a lung full of air when I’d been able to get away and go to college. They made me stay nearby, in the same town so I could live at home, but when I graduated, got this job, I’d been free to do what I wished. They couldn’t keep me as an adult and I didn’t stay. I had to live, experience something, anything beyond them.

  Currently, those experiences were this job and though, nothing permanent, it was mine until something better came along. I planned to travel one day, have some kind of experiences and Marcine, God bless her, was a means to get there. I’d be free of her the moment I got my savings in order and had been working toward that day with a mission in my heels.

  I wrapped up my conversation enough with her to get myself down the street. I’d only made it partway to my car, as the club hadn’t been good as far as parking. I actually had to park on the street and wrestled in my bag for my keys the rest of the way, looking up occasionally so my heel didn’t catch in the sidewalk.

  He stood in the alley.

  Dark and shadowed by the red toned brick, whoever lingered ahead had the broad shape of someone who had to be aware of their size, large shoulders and extended height and as they made their way into the light, a wash of lengthy hair rested on their shoulders. I stared, the exact opposite of what I probably should have been doing considering I was by myself out here at night, but for whatever reason, I wanted to see the person’s face, which I might have.

  Had my purse strap not been tugged down my arm.

  Bumping into me, a man had hold of it, tugging with a stride that had me stumbling a little in my heels. He was dressed in the standard fair, dark hoodie and dark jeans that kept him ominous and gripping the end of my purse, he attempted to wrestle it from me.

  Oh, not tonight, buddy.

  It may not have been smart but my first instinct had been to kick him. He was trying to steal my stuff and I didn’t want my stuff taken. I think this surprised him and his eyebrows jumped above his eyes, the bandana below shifting over his mouth.

  The man’s shock apparently short-lived, he tugged again, fighting my limbs as I punched and kicked at him. Really, this wasn’t smart, but I got him good with another kick to the shins. It’d been enough to get him and my purse away and once I had it, I hit him with the whole thing.

  Really, I wasn’t smart.

  This pissed him off like it probably would anyone but I didn’t get to see his reaction. He was on the ground and the person that sent him there loomed largely over him, the guy from the club.

  The guy who currently had murder in his eyes.

  He really was massive, a brooding force of never-ending size and stature. Startled, I froze before him. I looked at him, really looked at him, his eyes the epitome of icy blue and his hair thick and charged with golden streaks that offset the dirty blond. He tossed his fingers through it, glancing at me, and looking almost regretful, he let go, his hair falling to his shoulders and his boots taking him away.

  “Hey!”

  Going the—opposition direction of me, he headed away, the shadows catching him and glancing to that suddenly vacant alley, I wondered if it’d been him watching me. Had he followed me out of the club? Had he been watching me or…?

  “Excuse me!”

  He didn’t look back. Like he refused and I was nothing if not determined upon stepping over the purse-snatcher I should probably call an ambulance for. Dirty Blond hit him kind of hard, but let karma get his ass. I needed answers and I had a feeling Dirty Blond had some. He wasn’t running but he had hella long legs and wasn’t trying to let me catch him.

  “Please, stop. I just wanna talk—”

  A hot poker to the arm…

  That was the equivalent of the pain.

  Hot and sharp, it sent me to my knees and I lost sight of my pursuit of the man from the club, my vision blinding and my arm… burning. Upon grabbing hold, everything dropped from my hands, my purse exploding on the sidewalk, as I quite literally ripped my blouse sleeve open, the heat beneath a multitude of a million fiery suns lining my skin.

  Croaking, my hand shook, my fingers peeling away my blouse and at the sight of an angry red indentation, my vision staggered, the contrast so distinct from my naturally bronzed skin. Raised, the flesh seemed to crackle in the air with its heat and at my attempt to lower my fingers to it, the abrasion seared, a pain so intense I fell to my back, hitting my head on the concrete.

  That was the last thing I remembered.

  Two

  Arden

  I awoke in a room foreign to me, but also, in a bed that—I felt ashamed to say—was kind of giving me life. Buried in it, the soft texture made it hard to get up, the bed round and extremely large as if to accommodate many inches. Rolling over, the smell of amber and honeysuckle pushed its way into my immediate senses. An edge to the smell immediately struck me, the aroma calm and natural, but also holding an inkling of something a little harder, something a bit… roug
her. Whatever it was I couldn’t distinguish and pulling my hair out of my face, I stiffened at the entangled state of my locks, my curls all but returned as if out of the shower.

  I really wasn’t at home.

  I would have put my hair up. Anywhere I stayed I would have put it up before sleeping and that included at any guy’s house I ended up sleeping over at. I saw it as preemptive maintenance to impress for the next day and assurance I received a call back if so desired.

  I pushed the blankets down my front, still clothed.

  What the heck is going on?

  I mean, I had a couple of drinks last night but…

  Upon turning my arm, a large bandage revealed itself, its coverage white and opaque. I’d just placed my fingers to it when voices took my attention. They were loud and I slid quickly out of bed, my heels placed pristinely on the other side. I didn’t know who put them there, but scurrying, I got them on. They were on my feet in seconds before I escaped the room, a caution to my steps. Whoever had brought me here was still in this house.

  And they were arguing.

  What my ears took in was hushed, but clearly, two guys weren’t agreeing on something, an aggression to their deep voices that cut quick across the other. One would try to get a word in before they were cut off by the other and vice versa. My steps took me around the corner of a loft-style apartment. All white and high walled, there wasn’t much furniture and very minimal decorations.

  “But why would you bring her here?”

  I didn’t recognize the first voice, nor the second when I heard it but when I finally spotted the two men by the door, both standing in the loft’s entryway, I discovered a little piece to this “How did I get here?” puzzle. I knew one of them. Well, recognized him at least.

  He had his hands folded behind his neck, his feet bare and at home in this place in his jeans and t-shirt. His hair cinched up into a mid-level man bun on his head, I hardly recognized him from the club last night, but the two studs in his ears gave him away as well as his beard, nice and thick and the same tone as that messy hair on his head. Moving, I took him in, as well as the other guy who looked on his way out. He had his hand on the doorknob and even though Dirty Blond took up most space in the room, this guy held a fair amount of his own.