Of Loyalties & Wreckage Read online

  Copyright © 2022 by Christis Christie & Lou Wilham

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To the lost, the lonely, and the hurting who haven’t found their place yet. May you find the family and love you’re looking for. Always remember that family comes in all sizes, shapes, and colors, and sometimes the family we make is the best one of all.

  * * *

  Because family means no one gets left behind, left out, or forgotten.

  Authors’ Note

  Please note that this book contains scenes depicting rape, suicidal ideation, eating disorders, and violence. We have done our best to handle these elements in a sensitive way, but if these issues could be considered triggering for you, please take care of yourself.

  - Lou & Christis

  Contents

  1. Ander

  2. Mab

  3. Ander

  4. Mab

  5. Ander

  6. Mab

  7. Ander

  8. Mab

  9. Ander

  10. Mab

  11. Ander

  12. Mab

  13. Ander

  14. Mab

  15. Ander

  16. Mab

  17. Ander

  18. Mab

  19. Ander

  Epilogue

  Sneak peek

  Prologue

  Acknowledgments

  About Christis Christie

  Also by Christis Christie

  About Lou Wilham

  Also by Lou Wilham

  Helicon, Underworld - 1756

  “Another.” Ander purred the word seductively. Sprawled naked over the bed in all of his bronzed glory, the young prince opened his lips to receive the juicy green grape from the fingers of his lover. Crunching it between his teeth, Ander smiled at Drusus, and gently brushed blond bangs out of the other young male’s eyes in return.

  They had spent three days together. Three days of food, wine, and sex; not always in that order. Ander had adored every moment of it. Especially when the alternative was wilting beneath the unfavorable glare of King Laelian while he failed to live up to expectations—continually.

  Unbidden, Drusus lifted another grape to Ander’s lips. “Are you thirsty? Would you like something else to drink?”

  Ander grazed his teeth lightly over Drusus’ fingers as he took the grape, taking the time to chew before he responded. “Yes, please.”

  Drusus rolled out of the bed and strode over to the table, pouring them both a glass of wine. Ander propped himself up, folding one arm beneath his head while his free hand brushed over one of the slender horns protruding proudly from his almost black hair. They were dark and delicate, gracefully curved like a gazelle's. They were his crowning glory, and his most offensive asset. The piece of Ander that set him apart from all other muses.

  His eyes followed the firm bottom laid bare before him as he reclined on the downy pillows. Drusus, the youngest son of the royal tailor, was a truly glorious creature. While Ander’s skin was eternally bronzed, Drusus was like carved ivory: pale and lovely. There was a delicateness to his grace that Ander found completely compelling and irresistible.

  “Hurry back, you beautiful creature you.”

  “I’m coming.” Drusus laughed. When he turned back around, he held two goblets of wine in his hands. Soon he was at Ander’s side once more, offering one to him.

  “Mm, thank you.” Receiving the goblet gratefully, Ander took a healthy gulp. “Is that a new bottle?” He swept his tongue over his teeth before rubbing his lips together. The wine tasted sweeter than it had before.

  “No, it’s the same.” Drusus leaned in to press kisses along his throat.

  Ander sighed, tipping his head to the side to give Drusus more of his neck. “It tastes different.”

  “Perhaps all the fresh grapes are affecting the flavor,” Drusus muttered against his pulse, then nipped at the skin just below his ear.

  Moaning a little, Ander quickly drank down the last of his wine so that he could toss the goblet carelessly aside and roll Drusus over, trapping him beneath his own thighs. “Let’s see how you affect the flavor of the wine.” Ander smirked down at him, pinning him to the bed with hands on his chest.

  “Take your fill, Your Highness.”

  “Oh, you know how that title sounds so naughty when we’re naked.” Ander stooped to press a kiss to Drusus’ lips but paused as the lovely vision of the other male swam before his eyes, and his body swayed.

  Ander rasped in confusion. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, and despite his efforts, no words came out.

  Beneath him, Drusus suddenly grasped onto his waist and shoved him onto the sheets. Ander was only able to blink at him silently as Drusus scurried from the bed.

  “Wait . . . Help,” he croaked from between parched lips as the world spun around him.

  Instead of responding, Drusus scrambled around the room, grabbing up his clothing.

  Pressing fingers into his eyes, Ander attempted—and failed—to sit up on the bed. “Something’s wrong—”

  “Yes.”

  “What?” Ander dropped his hands to the bedding beneath him and fought to get a proper look at Drusus, who had quickly dressed himself. Although, even in his current state, Ander could see the cloth of his toga had been very poorly wrapped around him.

  “Something is wrong. But know this . . . I didn’t have a choice, Ander.”

  Ander’s blood chilled as understanding dawned. “Poison,” he whispered.

  Drusus only nodded.

  “Laelian?”

  “Yes.”

  Ander managed to push himself up on the pillows. His heart pounded viciously in his ears as his body fought to combat the poison currently working through his blood. “And why has my grandfather chosen now?” It had been nearly twenty-five years since King Laelian of Helicon had last attempted to rid Underworld of his bastard grandson. So why now, on the eve of his thirtieth?

  Drusus was pacing, ringing his hands before him as he turned abruptly on his heel to head in the opposite direction. “He didn’t tell me, only that it needed to happen before your age of maturity celebration.”

  Ander shut his eyes to try and still the spinning for a moment. “Of course, because then I’m officially crowned my mother’s heir.” A pitiful laugh slipped from his lips. While Laelian had never attempted to hide his hatred of Ander, he couldn’t understand why the hatred went so deep. Or why Ander being a part of the succession line mattered.

  As immortal beings, the only way Ander would ever stand a chance of reigning over Helicon was if both his grandfather and mother perished by ill-gotten means. Despite his grandfather’s several attempts at ending his life, Ander had no desire to return the favor.

  “Why did you agree?” Hurt blossomed inside of Ander’s chest, fiercer than the fiery pain caused by the poison. He felt breathless as his chest tightened from the blow.

  “He left me no choice . . . I swear it, Ander. I had to.” Drusus sounded desperate, like he wanted Ander to understand and make it okay.

  He refused. Groaning, Ander twisted his agonized body and grasped at the edge of the bed. With a rough tug, he pulled himself forward, and with great effort, rolled off the bed and onto the floor. Landing with a heavy thud, his head hit the marble floor and his ears rang from the fresh wave of pain.

  “What are you doing?!” Drusus cried out.

  Muscles shaking and vision still spinning, Ander rose up onto his hands and knees. “I won’t . . . just lay here . . . and die!” he panted between shallow breaths.

  “No! You have to stay here until it’s done!” Drusus sprang forward, frantic to stop him.

  Ander was not going to make it easy on him, and raised his hand, shooting a blast of power that collided with the other male’s chest. It sent Drusus flying across the room and he crashed into the table. As metal dishes and glasses clattered to the floor, shouts sounded from outside Ander’s room.

  The last thing Ander saw before he passed out was a number of the palace guards rushing into the room.

  When he woke, it was to the soft din of his mother speaking to someone whose voice he couldn’t place but was familiar.

  “Was I foolish in believing he had finally accepted Ander?”

  “We all thought he had at least grown accustomed to the notion.” The other voice was deep and male. There was a strength and confidence to it that denoted power.

  “This is the third time—” Aemiliana’s voice broke.

  Clothing rustled, and Ander thought perhaps the male had moved to offer his mother a comforting hug.

  “I need your help. Please. As his daughter, I am unable to force him to cease, but you . . . You have the ability to hold him accountable. To make him listen. Please, Indra.”

  Indra? Why was the king of Olympia, overlord of all Underworld, here in his bedroom comforting his mother? Ander could no longer keep his eyes closed.

  “You have my word, Aemiliana. If anything should happen to Ander at Laelian’s hands, all of Olympia will bear down upon him.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” It was at this moment that the Crown Princess Aemiliana’s gaze caught Ander’s. She quickly pulled free of King Indra and straightened her dress. “Sweetheart!” r />
  His mother was at his side quickly, fingers tenderly brushing his bangs out of his eyes. Her dark lidded eyes were pinched at the corners with concern as she peered down at him, her brow a little furrowed, the perfect picture of love. It made Ander’s heart hurt to see it. No one else could bear to love him but her.

  “What happened?” His throat was dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

  “You were poisoned. But don’t worry, you’re going to be okay. And I’m going to make certain this can never happen to you again.”

  Ander looked down his bed to where King Indra stood, broad-shouldered, tall, blond, and commanding. “Why are you here?”

  King Indra flashed him a dark but delighted smile. “I’m here to have some fun.” The king of Olympia then nodded at Ander’s mother and walked out of the room.

  “Mother?” Ander began but was silenced by his mother’s hand to his lips.

  “Don’t concern yourself with that, sweetheart. I am protecting you from my father the best way that I can. He will never make another attempt on your life.”

  Olympia, Underworld - 1768

  “So you see, he hated me because my father was a satyr my mother hooked up with on some drunken night of debauchery with her friends. Or at least that’s what the gossips say.” Ander’s arm was wrapped around the shoulders of a pretty little redhead, who was busy kissing her way along his neck, while a petite forest nymph sat on the floor between his knees, gazing at him with adoration.

  “I thought you were a muse?” the nymph asked, sipping some blood orange wine.

  The red-headed cyclops lifted her head to stare down at the pixie with her one green eye. “He is a muse—weren’t you listening to who his mother is?”

  “Ladies . . . ladies, please don’t squabble. It’s as Nona said, my mother is the Crown Princess of Helicon, the land of the muses. So that is the line I am descended from. But my father is some unknown scoundrel of undetermined lineage.” His hand lifted to brush over one of the delicate horns that protruded from his hair at the top of his head and angled back in gloriously elegant arcs. “He’s where I got these lovelies from.”

  The nymph offered her sharp-toothed smile as she peered up at him. “They are wonderful. Though rather long for a satyr.”

  “It’s my magical muse blood,” Ander purred. “I’m too fabulous to be ordinary.” He reached down to press his finger beneath her chin and, lifting lightly, encouraged her up off the floor and into his lap instead.

  “Do you actually think your mother bedded one from the servant race?” the nymph asked.

  “Hush, the time for talking has passed.”

  Their tongues had just begun a slow and sensual dance when a gruff voice cleared itself above them. Ander ignored it, his hand traveling up the nymph’s back, brushing her soft green skin, which was bared to his touch. She murmured in pleasure, encouraging him to continue his exploration.

  Around them, several other lovers were already entwined. Dyonisis’ wine stores had been plundered thoroughly, and as the night wore on, there was an easy progression into lovemaking. Somewhere in the room a harp was being played, accompanied by the lyrical moans of the lovers.

  The throat cleared once more. “Your Highness, I hate to interrupt, but you’re being called home.”

  Grumbling, Ander pulled his lips away from the nymph who’d taken to chewing on the bottom one, drawing a little blood with her sharp teeth, and looked up. He blinked in surprise, finding his mother’s most faithful servant before him. “Theandros? What are you doing here?”

  “You need to return to Helicon.”

  “Tell my grandfather I have no desire to return to a land ruled by him.” Ander’s lips found the nymph’s once more. Theandros was a swift and painful reminder that he hadn’t seen his mother in over a decade. But not seeing his mother also meant that he hadn’t been subjected to Laelian’s cold hatred or not-so-silent fury over having his hands tied by King Indra when it came to deciding his own grandson’s fate.

  “King Laelian is dead,” Theandros continued, as if his prince was not being seduced by two willing females before him.

  Ander froze and pulled away from the nymph’s kisses. “Dead?” Numbness filled his mind and body, sending a chill through him. He had thought such news would bring relief. Instead, it was emptiness that swelled inside his chest, leaving him aching and incomplete.

  “Your mother has requested your presence at home for her coronation.”

  Coronation. His mother would be queen. Ander nodded. “Sorry, ladies, I’m afraid you’ll have to find another lover to entertain you tonight.”

  Both mumbled their discontent, but the nymph did not protest when Ander plucked her from his lap and placed her in the cyclops’ lap instead. The two of them picked up where they had left off, Ander already forgotten.

  Holding his hand out to Theandros, he had the other male tug him up onto his feet. Smoothing his fingers through his hair, he met the manservant’s eyes. “Take me to my mother.”

  Ander could have easily snapped his fingers and teleported himself from the cliffs of Olympia to the forest valley of Helicon, at the base of its twin mountains. Instead, he allowed Theandros to draw him near—accepting the strong reassurance of his body—and snap both of them there.

  The palace hummed with the bustle and activity of servants: florists building gorgeous sculptures from flowers, musicians composing beautiful melodies in every wing, and singers warbling heart-piercing songs in the gardens. A new sovereign had not been crowned in over two thousand years; his mother’s ascension to the throne would be a wondrous affair.

  “You’ll find Her Majesty in her chambers,” Theandros supplied.

  Taming his hair once more with a swift comb of his fingers, Ander murmured his thanks and sauntered lazily in the direction of his mother’s quarters. One would never know that a king had just died. There were no colors of mourning or sorrow displayed anywhere, except for the statue of King Laelian in the courtyard that was currently covered in a black silken cloth.

  How long had his grandfather been gone? Was the period of mourning already at an end, or was everyone else as relieved as he should have been to know the tyrant was finally gone?

  The white marble halls of the palace glittered with the warmth of the afternoon sunlight and welcomed him back with loving arms. Already there was a different aura to his childhood home. A dark ghost had been exorcized. Gone from the palace, but not from Ander’s own soul. He might be dead, but Laelian still hovered there in the recesses of his mind—perhaps forever.

  His mother’s room had the feeling of a hive of worker bees buzzing around their queen.

  Aemiliana stood on a dais in the middle of the room, while a slew of servants surrounded her with an array of items in their hands. Menus, flowers, fabric swatches, plate settings, and bottles of wine. The new queen of Helicon was making quick, assertive decisions as each new option was presented to her. At her feet, her dedicated seamstresses attempted to place the final touches on a beautiful turquoise coronation gown.

  All of the bustle came to a swift stop once she spotted him. With a loud clap, she silenced the servants.

  “Everyone out. I need time alone with my son.” Her eyes did not leave his face as she spoke. However, she held back any true show of emotion until they had all left. When it was just the two of them, Aemiliana stepped down from her pedestal and hurried to him.

  With a sigh of relief that shed ten years of loneliness from his soul, Ander melted into his mother’s embrace.

  “Mother.”

  “Sweetheart.” Her hands were on his cheeks, her lips leaving a soft imprint on his jaw. “It’s been too long.”

  He didn’t respond, only tightened his arms around her waist and held her close to him, absorbing her warmth and scent: rosebuds and lilacs. She was a balm to his soul, and Ander took a deep breath before nuzzling his face into her neck.