once more at Diego. I knew he was seeing more than just a dead body, but a
person who had risked it all for his family. A person who wasn’t meant to die
as early as he did. “Thank you.”
My heart clenched.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
EPILOGUE
Z
ONE WEEK LATER
Istared at his sleeping face. He looked so peaceful like that. All of the
stress and tension fell away in those brief moments when the sun had
yet to emerge from behind the tree boughs. He didn’t like falling asleep.
I knew that. He feared that I would leave him, leave them. He also feared that
I would lose the battle against my own mind.
He was right to be worried about me.
Turning away from Devlin, I faced my bedroom mirror once again. My
face was paler than I remembered it be, and dark circles marred the rims
around my eyes. When was the last time I had slept? I couldn’t remember.
Hell, when was the last time I had eaten? Devlin had been trying to get me to
eat, and for the most part, I allowed him to believe it was working. He didn’t
have to know that I threw up the majority of my food only hours later. He
didn’t have to know that I was slowly killing myself as a way to feel
something, anything, that wasn’t this depressing loneliness Diego’s absence
had brought into my life.
Grief had a way of strangling you until you craved the inevitable
darkness. I grieved not only Diego, but also Mali. I had lost everyone I had
ever cared about that day. My body was a mere carcass of what it once was.
A shell, almost.
I glanced down at the black tracksuit I had on, one that accentuated my
breasts and hips. My ribs were more pronounced, I noticed, but I found that I
couldn’t muster the will to care.
Today was the day I would be declared the official assassin of the
kingdom. Today, I would stand in front of the seven royal families and get a
fucking gold star for my murderous tendencies. It occurred to me that this
would be the first time I would meet my mates’ parents, men and women I
have already been pre-programmed to hate. I would have to look them in the
eyes and act like I wasn’t planning their gruesome deaths.
And they would die, of that I was almost certain of. I could only hope that
it would be my hand holding the knife when the life drained from their
miserable bodies.
There was also Aaliyah I had to worry about. I had contacted my sources
back at the resistance, and I had yet to hear anything from them. That worried
me tremendously. B was a timely man. Punctual to an extreme. The longest I
had went without hearing from him was only a day. I told myself not to
panic, that there were other things I needed to focus on.
Who was Aaliyah, and why was she targeting me?
Questions were running rampant through my head. There were just too
many pieces I had to gather before I could even consider an answer.
A coughing fit nearly made me buckle over. I glanced towards Devlin,
anxious that he had heard me, but he was mercifully still asleep. He must’ve
been more tired than I realized.
Grabbing a tissue, I coughed until my throat was raw. Blood stained the
white surface.
My blood.
Without a word, I tossed the tissue into the garbage can alongside dozens
of others.
It was a problem I would deal with. Later.
Maybe.
For now, I had a commencement ceremony to attend.
Raising my chin, I stepped out into the hallway. I knew that my princes -
the princes, not my princes - would be there already. Except for Devlin. He
hadn’t left my side since…
Well. I didn’t want to think about that.
I didn’t want to think about how everyone I had ever loved had been
pulled away from me. Love was dangerous, and I swore to myself I would
never feel that emotion again. Even if seven princes were attempting to worm
their way into my heart.
I may have been alone now, but I had won. That had to count for
something. B would be proud of me for completing my mission. Diego would
be too.
My throat closed, but I quickly swept those emotions away. Not today.
Not ever. They had to stay so far buried that not even a necromancer could
raise them from the grave.
I was Z.
Assassin.
Mate of seven men.
Competitor of The Damning.
Winner of The Damning.
Straightening my shoulders, I walked down the hallway to face my
destiny.
TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK 2: Envy.
Coming soon…
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It takes a team to write a book, and I am immensely fortunate to have the best
one. There are so many people I would like to thank. First, to my amazing
family. My sister had been the one to push me to start publishing, and I had
never been more grateful I had taken her advice. She also told me that I didn’t
just have to make writing a hobby, but I could potentially turn it into a career
and a lifestyle. In time, sister. In time. I would also like to thank my parents
for their continued support and encouragement. Never once did they judge
me for what I wrote.
My amazing PA, Sosha Ann, thank you. Without you, I would probably
still be drowning in the deep end. I would also like to thank my betas:
Heather, Kelly, Sarita, Stormy, Elena, Cynthia, and Phylicia. Thank you all
for helping me produce the best possible novel.
And thank you to my author big sister, Loxley Savage, who helped me
and befriended me when I was at my lowest point. I would also like to thank
Lana Kole for helping me think of cheesy sex sayings.
And finally, I would like to thank you. The person reading this. Without
your support I wouldn’t be where I am today. From the bottom of my heart, I
appreciate all you have done for me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Katie May is a brand new reverse harem author. She currently has three books published and many
more planned. In her spare time, she loves to read, write, and play softball. She currently resides in West Michigan with her family.
To join her Reader’s Group for exclusive content
and teasers, just follow the link below or
search Katie May’s Group .
https://m.facebook.com/groups/346631319241776?ref=bookmarks#
OTHER BOOKS BY KATIE MAY:
The Darkness We Crave (Together We Fall Book 1)
Keep reading for a preview!
The Light We Seek (Together We Fall Book 2)
Gangs and Ghosts (Beyond the Shadows Book 1)
Keep reading for a preview!
THE DARKNESS WE CRAVE
Mr. Fuckadoodledoo-picklesucker-buttlicker was leering at me. Again. I
mentally tallied the amount of times I had caught his penetrating eyes turned
in my direction in the last hour. Fifty-two. He had eye raped me fifty-two
times in a span of sixty minutes.
Stiffening in my seat, I attempted to pay attention to my father across
from me and ignore Mr. Buttlicker. D.O.D – Dear Old Dad – had his
peppered hair trimmed so it cascaded neatly to his shoulders. He wore a gray
suit
that seemed to heighten the blue in his eyes. I supposed that he might’ve
been a handsome man once, if you find ice-cold asshole statues handsome.
Seriously, the man was a dick. He even put Buttlicker to shame in the whole
creeper-asshole department.
We had arrived at the restaurant only a few minutes earlier, traveling
immediately from the conference room to the elegant restaurant in the
basement of the resort. The only word adequate enough to describe such a
room was golden. I know, not the most eloquent description, but everything
seemed to be painted in a golden sheen, from the intricately carved wood
work to the golden flowers canvasing the wall. It was almost nauseating.
“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with us,” D.O.D said, for
probably the billionth time that evening. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
Buttlicker had as much choice in the matter as I had – needless to say, none at
all.
“It’s always a pleasure doing business with you,” Buttlicker said stiffly.
His tone suggested, though, that it was anything but pleasurable. Daddy
tended to evoke fear in his clients.
“What looks good?” D.O.D asked, scanning the menu.
And cue…
“I can think of one thing.” Buttlicker’s gaze flickered appreciatively over
my body, and I resisted the urge to shiver. He made me feel as if I was naked,
despite the fact I was wearing a purposefully modest black number with a
pearl necklace strung tightly across my neck. The guy also seemed to be
forgetting the fact that he was nearly thirty-some years older than my own
age of seventeen.
A reminder, my friends, that pedophilia is a punishable offense.
My mother made a sound as if she heard Buttlicker’s comment and found
it as repulsive as I had…wait no. She was just ogling our waiter’s backside
while simultaneously touching Mr. Dickhead’s – aka our head of security’s –
knee underneath the table. Like seriously? Did the woman not realize I was
sitting directly beside her, clearly able to see her hand trailing upwards
towards no-no land. Good riddance. She was going to be the death of me.
As I thought this, Buttlicker gave me a smile that he must’ve thought was
seductive but came across as more as a constipated grimace.
Correction. He was going to be the death of me.
The waiter, that my mother was so shamelessly gaping at, stopped at our
table, and my mouth nearly fell from its hinges.
The guy was gorgeous. Like ridiculously gorgeous. His ash blond hair
was disheveled, as if he had run his hand through it one too many times. His
eyes, a vibrant off-set blue that seemed to heighten an already arresting face,
were sparkling as if he was on the inside of a joke. Even his cheekbones – oh
sweet baby Jesus, those cheek bones – were chiseled and rose high on his
face.
And. He. Had. Dimples.
My one weakness.
“Good afternoon. My name is Asher, and I’ll be taking care of you this
evening.”
“Is that a promise?” My mother battered her eyelashes at him, and I felt
my own eyes widen in horror.
“Dammit mother,” I hissed. If it was possible, and I didn’t think it
physically was, D.O.D’s expression darkened further. If there was one thing
he hated, it was the attention his wife gave other males. Of course, D.O.D
made an exception for Dickhead the guard, but that could’ve been because he
was banging him too.
I touched my pearl necklace, a reminder of what a little blackmailing
could gain me.
If only it could rid me of such nuisances, say the Buttlicker licking his
buttlicker lips beside me.
I wanted to apologize to the waiter for my mother’s crude, but
unsurprising, behavior. However, I knew the gesture would be futile. D.O.D
was not only the owner of this ostentatious restaurant, but the entire resort.
And a few other not-so-legal enterprises that I probably shouldn’t mention.
Gorgeous kept his smile pleasant though his eyes dimmed marginally. He
looked embarrassed by my mother’s outburst, but how could he not? She
basically implied that he was a prostitute to hire, despite the fact that he could
only be a year or two older than myself.
“I’ll have the chicken alfredo,” I said quickly. Pathetic attempt, I’ll admit,
to ease the awkward tension, but it seemed to have the desired effect. D.O.D
let out a breath I hadn’t realized he had been holding, and mother’s face
contorted into a scowl. She really didn’t like it when I interrupted her flirt
sessions, as she so liked to call them. Gorgeous’s eyes flickered to me,
immensely relieved.
And then they stayed there.
I knew he what he was seeing. It was the same thing that everybody saw,
the same thing that I saw when I looked into the mirror. A girl that was
almost ethereal in beauty with brown, curly hair and a porcelain-like face.
Bright red lips and a cute, button nose. And the eyes – a color that seemed to
be a mixture of violet and blue, like the light at the crack of dawn where the
sun had yet to set and the moon had yet to disappear completely.
Did nobody see how haunted those eyes were? How the lips were
constantly turned down into a frown? How the makeup was barely able to
Did anybody care?
Asher continued to stare at me, a blond brow lifting slightly. His mouth
opened before quickly snapping close. I couldn’t understand the expression
on his face.
Buttlicker also must’ve noticed the attention the waiter had given me, for
he rested his hand possessively on my knee. I winced, shifting away from the
squeamish man. One reprimanding stare from my father had me cowering
closer towards Buttlicker.
It was a choice between two evils. With Buttlicker, I knew that I would
survive whatever he had in store for me. With my father, I could never be too
sure.
Gorgeous’s gaze hardened as he surveyed my father and then Buttlicker,
but he didn’t comment. Smart move.
“And what can I get you?” Asher asked sharply, turning towards the
slimy man still gripping my knee as if his life depended on it. Yup. I was
going to get a nasty bruise there.
Great. Another one added to the inventory.
Mental me could barely retain rolling her eyes.
“Did you say something?” Buttlicker asked, turning his attention from
Asher to me. This time I did roll my eyes, both physically and mentally (if
there’s such thing as rolling your eyes mentally. I’m not exactly sure, but I
pictured myself rolling my eyes inside my mind. Does that count?)
“I didn’t say anything,” I huffed, glaring a hole at my menu. I had a
tendency to speak my mind. Literally. Therapist 1 said it was a defense
mechanism for my traumatic childhood – whatever the hell that means.
Therapist 2 said it was a way for me to express myself. Therapist 3 just
chuckled and said I was an idiot (I don’t believe Therapist 3 was an actual
therapist), but Therapist 4 admitted that it was not uncommon for trauma
patients, when facing i
solation, to find comfort in their own thoughts. Thus,
my inner monologues and rumblings often turned into outer monologues and
rumblings. You can imagine how embarrassing it can be at times, especially
with my tendency to create nicknames.
Asher continued taking orders around the table, and I half expected my
mother to make a smartass comment like “I’ll have you for supper” or
something dumb like that. I was pleasantly surprised when she only made a
passing comment about having “the Asher special for dessert”. That was real
progress for my mother.
I wonder if his last name is Gorgeous? Then I wouldn’t feel as creepy
calling him Gorgeous. Asher Gorgeous. Hmmm. Fitting.
It took me a moment to realize that all eyes were on me, including the
stunning waiter whose smile was blinding in the artificial lighting.
I tried to recollect what I had just thought, and obviously said, and my
cheeks flamed with the realization of what had transpired.
“Shit.”
Kill me now.
“Tempting,” D.O.D said, taking a sip of his water. His expression was as
severe as his eyes. I had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t joking. Great. Just
what I wanted.
“So about those Red Sox?” I asked quickly. Though, in the middle of
winter, I doubted that baseball had started up again. Sports. Sports were
always a good topic of conversation with men. Asher, moving from our table
to the next, smirked at me. He had no doubt heard my comment and had
found it amusing. What can I say? I have that effect on people.
Conversation, thankfully, steered away from the whole me-dying-thing
and Red Sox to more work-related material. Taxes and employees and the
whole shebang. They didn’t talk about any of their, for back of better term,
illegal enterprises, though not that I blamed them. I wondered how that
conversation would go.
“I was wondering how much you have been selling those illegal guns
for?”
“The same amount as I have been selling my coke.” Or pot. Or marijuana.
Or whatever the hell they were up to.
D.O.D had insisted that I take part in the business.
“You’re no longer a little girl,” he had told me sternly. “You have to start
training to take over the family business.”