The Nightmare King (The Kings Book 11)

  The Nightmare King

  Book 11 in the Big Bad Wolf spinoff series, The Kings

  by Heather Killough-Walden

  Copyright 2017 Heather Killough-Walden

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  Heather Killough-Walden Reading List

  The Lost Angels series:

  Always Angel (eBook-only introductory novella)

  Avenger's Angel

  Messenger's Angel

  Death's Angel

  Warrior's Angel

  Samael

  The October Trilogy:

  Sam I Am

  Secretly Sam

  Suddenly Sam

  Neverland Series:

  Forever Neverland

  Beyond Neverland

  The Big Bad Wolf series:

  The Heat

  The Strip

  The Spell

  The Hunt

  The Big Bad Wolf Romance Compilation (all four books together, in proper chronological order)

  The Kings - A Big Bad Wolf spinoff series:

  (in proper order so far)

  The Vampire King

  The Phantom King

  The Warlock King

  The Goblin King

  The Seelie King

  The Unseelie King

  The Shadow King

  The Winter King

  The Demon King

  The Shifter King

  The Nightmare King

  (future The Kings books TBA; 13 total)

  The Chosen Soul Trilogy:

  The Chosen Soul

  Drake of Tanith

  Queen of Abaddon

  Redeemer (stand-alone)

  Hell Bent (stand-alone)

  Vampire, Vampire (stand-alone)

  A Sinister Game (stand-alone)

  The Third Kiss: Dorian's Dream (stand-alone)

  Note: The Lost Angels series (not including Always Angel, Warrior’s Angel and Samael) and the Big Bad Wolf series are available in print and eBook format. All other HKW books are currently eBook-only.

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  “Chess is war over the board. The object is to crush the opponent’s mind.”

  - Bobby Fischer

  Acknowledgements

  I have so many people to be thankful for in my life, I probably would not mention them all if I placed an acknowledgements section in every one of my books, and unfortunately I don’t do that. But I would be woefully remiss if I didn’t at least try here and now, while I’m thinking of it.

  I mentioned a few of you precious souls in The Shifter King, so I’ll pick up where I left off.

  Thank you to my Facebook friends, the ones I end up turning to in my darkest hours: Julissa you just freaking rock, Maxine you feel me, Eli the “Eagle,” you listen, Deborah you’re my FB “sis,”, Amy you give me hope, Nayla your loyalty is the bomb, Shirley you make my millennium, Theresa ditto on the loyalty and friendship, Lauren “Sugar Bat” we’re on the same wavelength, Susie, you gotta name your bairn after me (kidding… sort of), Susan make room in your CA home for me! Oh my, there are a blessed number of you kind, empathetic souls. How lucky am I?

  I’ll pick up again in the next book. lol

  Thank you Holly Beth, my flesh and blood sister… thank you for picking up the phone. And texting back. I love you so much.

  As usual, thank you Eric and Sarah. For everything you do, from grocery shopping to folding the laundry to moral support to shutting the hell up so I can concentrate.

  Thank you to Willis Carrier, the guy who invented the air conditioner. Seriously. I love you. You keep me from doing terrible things.

  “Let sleeping dogs, and sleeping gods, lie.”

  - HKW

  (Epilogue from The Shifter King)

  The location of the latest meeting of the Thirteen Kings had been carefully chosen. They always were. But this time, Roman had made certain the Kings were meeting far from humanity and any chance that a battle or strange supernatural event would bring any further unwanted attention upon the supernatural communities.

  This time, they were meeting on a yacht. It had been docked in a remote location in the Pacific.

  Roman took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and glanced at his wife. Evie smiled at him, but it was a sad smile. This was not a happy meeting. One of their kind was dead – again. They had already lost the Gargoyle King to the evil of the Entity. Now Arach was dead.

  What was next?

  But there was a new King among them, and a new Queen. This was a necessary joining of the leaders of the nations. And… there was a funeral to plan. And perhaps a lost queen to find.

  Much needed discussing.

  Roman glanced at the clock on the wall. He and Evie were usually the first to arrive, but they were late this time around.

  “Let’s go, babe,” said Evie as she laced her arm in his. He placed his hand lovingly over hers and nodded. She was his strength. He didn’t know what he would do without her. What had he ever done without her? He could scarcely remember. It was as if there had been no life before she’d come into it.

  The portal opened around them, and they stepped inside. But it had not taken them half way to their destination before Roman’s senses began to tingle. Evie pulled out of his grip and turned to look up at him. Her brow was furrowed, and her beautiful eyes reflected great concern.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said.

  Behind her, the exit to the portal swirled open. Roman looked over Evie’s shoulder to the room beyond. It revealed a single table, long enough to seat more than twenty people. But no one was sitting. Half a dozen people stood at the opposite end of the room, staring wide-eyed at the table. Because lying on top of the table was a man.

  His green eyes were open, but they stared unseeing at the ceiling above. There was no life left in them. That life had been taken – by the large ornately carved dagger protruding from the man’s chest.

  Blood coated the table top and had trickled from its surface to soak the carpet beneath it.

  Evie slowly turned to see what Roman was staring at. She froze in front of him. He saw her cover her mouth with a trembling hand. Through her fingers came a series of softly spoken words, ripe with shock and disbelief.

  “No,” her voice shook. “It’s Hesperos.”

  “The Nightmare King,” he finished for her. He felt numb. This couldn’t be real. What was next? he’d just had to ask. Now it looked as though he had his answer. “He’s dead.”

  The Traitor, it would seem, was still very much among them.

  Prologue

  Sound was always the first to return. It sounded like a carnival far, far away. Over a hill in the night. Little by little, the sounds grew louder, the voices clearer, the sentences more decipherable. Hesperos felt his chest explode, an outward motion so violent and sudden, it almost hurt more than anything he’d experienced in two thousand years. Since the last time he’d been reborn.

  His eyes flew open, and a blurry world slowly came into view. It was
a view from a new perspective, and one he would have to get used to.

  Oh gods, he thought. Here we go again.

  “Your majesty,” came a female voice not far away. “It’s good to have you back.”

  Hesperos… no, not Hesperos, he thought. He would have to get used to that now. The new Nightmare King swallowed hard, clearing away the dryness of rebirth. Then he cleared his throat and sat up as the carnival of sounds came fully upon him, clarifying into the noises of far-off traffic, phone lines beeping, an intercom buzzing, and the silence of a private office as insulated as it could be from the world beyond.

  He blinked a few times and turned his head, taking in his surroundings.

  He was in an office. He was laying on the floor of that office. It was a stately office, very well appointed, with an entire wall made of windows. Even from where he was sitting, he could see the tops of skyscrapers, which meant this office was proverbial miles off the ground itself. High above. Up where humans thought important shit happened.

  Well it’s sure as hell happening right now, isn’t it? he thought.

  He looked down at his clothes, taking in the expensive tailored suit, its dark colors and tiny pin stripes. The suit would have cost a small fortune. He looked at his hands next, turning them over. Long fingers, manicured nails. On his wrist rested a Zenith Christopher Columbus wristwatch worth more than most people’s homes.

  “Who the hell am I this time?” he asked softly, a note of wonder to his words. His voice was laced with a new accent. Hesperos – no, damn it, no longer Hesperos – the Incubus King had existed a very long time and lived in a good number of locations. He would place this accent somewhere near Beattock, Dumfries and Galloway in Scotland.

  “Your name is Nicholas Wargrave,” said the female voice.

  Nicholas, he thought. I can live with Nicholas. But – Wargrave? “You’ve got to be shitting me,” his Scottish accent said derisively. “Why not Battlecoffin? Or let’s go ahead and saddle me with Homicidetomb.” He felt the stirrings of a headache. “I’ve always been partial to the ring of Combatcrypt.”

  There was silence from the woman as Nicholas gracefully pushed himself up. He was admittedly grateful that his new body was at least strong enough for such grace.

  He turned around to face the two people he knew he would find in the room with him. A man and woman stood several yards away, watching him with mixed emotion. Both were beautiful and dressed in business attire. Both were strong, healthy, and immensely capable individuals. And both were familiar to Nicholas, despite the fact that he hadn’t seen them in more than two-thousand years.

  They were his Preceptors. They were guides to the king in the process of his rebirth.

  The blonde woman pursed her lips and shrugged. “I admit it’s a tad ostentatious, but….”

  “But it’s your name none the less, your majesty,” chimed in the man, who happened to be the woman’s husband.

  “I’m an incubus, Andros. No woman in the world is going to come near me with a name like Wargrave. She’ll be scared out of her wits.” Nicholas looked down at himself, specifically at the area between his long legs. “What, am I impotent or something? Is this man compensating? Is he still a virgin?”

  The man named Andros grinned, flashing bright white teeth that appeared in stark contrast to his chocolate dark skin. “Oh no, your majesty. That’s… not the case.” Andros glanced at his wife, and the grin widened.

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s right. Quite the opposite, I would say.”

  Her name was Minnaea, and she was the most no-nonsense person the Incubus King had ever known. He supposed she had to be, what with her being the only female to live amongst their kind. “In fact, you’re a playboy,” she continued. Then she rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “You’re kind of a jackass, really. Well, not you specifically. But Nicholas.”

  Nicholas Wargrave pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache was getting worse. It always did. “Bloody hell,” he whispered.

  “That’s it,” said Andros helpfully. “Wargrave says that all the time. You’re falling into the role brilliantly.”

  Nick looked up, narrowing his gaze on the Preceptor. Andros averted his eyes, rocked to the front of his feet, and began to whistle. Nick sighed heavily. He turned in the room, looking for a mirror or reflective surface.

  “You’re in luck,” said Minnaea, who’d been watching him closely. Nothing scared her. Not even making eye contact with her irate king. “Wargrave loves mirrors. There’s a massive looking-glass in your private bathroom.” She nodded her head toward a closed door across the office.

  Nicholas moved to the door, noticing that he was light on his feet. That was a good sign. He wondered how far his luck would take him as he opened the door and automatically reached to flick on the light. But the light came on without any work from him. It was motion-sensitive.

  The mirror was the first thing he noticed. Most likely because it was meant to be the first thing one noticed upon entering the restroom. The room itself was large enough to be another office, but the mirror was floor-to-ceiling, and framed. With enough imagination, he supposed someone could step right through it and end up on Alice’s giant, living chessboard.

  Chessboard, he thought suddenly. And as he stared at his new visage and his new body, other images passed before his mind’s eye as well. Images of kings and dragons and fire and death. He blinked, took a slow and deep breath, and tried to prioritize.

  A very handsome man stared back at him from that mirror. He would have expected as much, in all honesty. Each time he’d been reborn, he’d been encased in beauty. It was his nature. He was an incubus, known in supernatural circles as Nightmares – and the king of the Nightmares, no less. Only one Nightmare King existed, had ever existed, and ever would exist. When he died, he was simply re-created.

  The man he became was a complete fabrication, woven into the memories of humanity like a magic spell. No, not like a magic spell, Nick thought. It was a magic spell. A very powerful one.

  Each time he was reborn, the man he became was somewhere between thirty to forty years old, and his entire past solidified in the split moments it took for the Nightmare King to return to life. As far as anyone around the new king was concerned, he’d been that man since birth. Everything that man had done, said, and been was a lie, because it had simply been made up and injected into time. But in that sense, it was also true. Even if it seemed to have taken decades when in fact it had taken mere seconds. The body, the mind, and the very character of the man were created solely for the king.

  And now the Incubus King – the Nightmare King – stood tall and strong, staring at the latest materialization of his spirit: Nicholas Wargrave.

  He had thick black hair. That was nothing new. Most of his physical forms had black hair. He was well over six feet tall. That was nothing new either.

  On a sudden whim, he lifted his suit coat, pulled his belted pants out from his taut abdomen and took a peek. Okay, so no problems there, he thought with more relief than anyone should really feel about the generous size of their manhood. But he was a guy, after all, and an incubus. So he could be forgiven, right?

  He readjusted everything, smoothed his expensive suit coat, and straightened, taking another look in the mirror. He filled out the suit well, and he could only hope the reasons behind those hidden muscles were genuine and not produced through vanity and chemicals. He would need them to be genuine. Desperately.

  All of that was good, and all of it gave him hope. But one thing left him unsettled. One thing was different than it had been in his previous manifestations. Decidedly different.

  Cold gray eyes gazed back at him from his reflection. They were gunmetal and harsh, and felt like the razor’s edge of a killing blade. They were stark and unforgiving. He felt uncomfortable meeting his own gaze, and he frankly didn’t see how any woman in the world would be willing to do so.

  His previous manifestations had possessed warm eyes. Beautiful and
vivid, but welcoming. This man before him was anything but warm. He felt like the very essence of smooth and charming cruelty.

  With eyes like this, eyes that saw through you and stripped you to the bone, and a name like “Wargrave,” he didn’t stand a chance in the dating world. Why would fate suddenly decide to saddle him with these new burdens?

  He turned from the mirror and made his way back out into the office. His two Preceptors were exactly where he’d left them, calmly awaiting their instructions. Both watched him carefully, no doubt curious as to what he thought of his new appearance.

  “Minnaea, you said I was an ass. What did you mean by that?”

  “I said you were a jackass,” she corrected calmly. “I was trying not to swear, and a jackass is after all just another name for a donkey or mule. But yes, you are. Nicholas Wargrave uses people. His power and influence give him the impression he’s allowed to do so, and he has yet to face punishment for this behavior. Granted, his heart has not yet gone completely cold. He isn’t without morals, and he does compensate people for what he does to them.”

  “He compensates them?” Nick asked, his discomfort rising and his head now pounding. “Exactly what does he do to them? And how does he compensate them?”

  “Long hours, broken promises,” said Andros with a shrug. “The usual jackass stuff, paid off with ample raises, expensive gifts, and purchased loyalties. For what it’s worth, your employees would bend over backward to protect your interests. That’s how well they are compensated.”

  Holy shit, Nick thought. I really am an ass. And then a horrible, nightmarish thought occurred to him. His eyes widened. “Tell me I’m not a politician.”

  Now Minnaea smiled, which was rare for her. “No your majesty. You’re not. Though you do have several in your pockets. So to speak.”