Resurrected King - Kaye Blue

Prologue

Then

“You aren’t going to eat?”

He glanced over at the metal tray decorated with a glass of water, a small bowl of thin potato stew, and a slice of hard-looking bread.

He shook his head, declining what would be his last meal.

The guard shrugged and went silent again, and he was grateful.

What use were words now?

None.

There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do that would stop the inevitable, so he sat in silence letting the seconds tick by.

He supposed he should have more of a reaction. After all, his death was imminent, so shouldn’t he feel something?

Maybe.

But other than vague disappointment about how he’d ended up here, curiosity about what was to come, he didn’t.

And that was a good thing.

He’d seen men confront death, and often—usually—it wasn’t pretty.

At least he wasn’t reduced to that, hadn’t become some sobbing, pleading shell of himself as he prepared for the end.

He still had his dignity. Small, he supposed, considering he was about to lose his life, but he’d take what he could.

Sometime later, he didn’t know how long, the guard shifted, signaling the time had come.

He stood, submitted to the handcuffs and leg irons, and followed the guard without a fuss.

The five armed soldiers behind him were there to assure his compliance, but there was no need.

They led him out to the courtyard, and he breathed deep, grateful that the air tasted clean, that in the distance he could hear birds.

Then, he focused on the men who stood across from him, knowing the time had come. The military tribunal had been quick in delivering its verdict, and these men would be quick in carrying out his sentence.

The man who stood in the center of the five stepped forward and pulled the rifle off his shoulder.

If he were a good shot, this would be over quickly, with minimal pain or fuss. If not…

He chose not to dwell on that, determined to face what was coming.

So he didn’t blink when the man lifted the rifle.

Didn’t flinch when he pulled the trigger.

Didn’t cry out when the bullet pierced his chest.

I didn’t think it would feel like this.

He hadn’t allowed himself to think about death, but if he had, he was certain he wouldn’t have expected it to be like this.

His limbs felt heavy. His mouth was dry. His head was pounding.

“The drugs have some nasty aftereffects. The feeling will pass.”

He attempted to jump up, but the wave of nausea, to say nothing of the restraints, kept him down.

When the room stopped spinning, he dared look toward the sound of the voice, noticing that he was in a ceramic tiled room.

“The morgue,” the owner of the voice helpfully supplied.

“I gathered. But I’m not dead?”

That had come out as more of a question than he had intended, but the man answered.

“Not yet.”

He studied the other man, placing him at ten, maybe a few years more, older than his own twenty-one. Rich, almost aristocratic in his bearing.

A killer.

That was as apparent as his wealth.

“How do I stay alive?” he asked, the question coming out before the thought had fully formed.

The other man smiled. “That question is a good start.”

One

Mikhail

Now

What the fuck was I doing?

A question I shouldn’t be asking, just as I shouldn’t be doing what I was.

But I continued on, one step after another after another, all leading me inexorably toward my destination.

A place I had no business being.

One I couldn’t bring myself to avoid.

I should.

I knew going here would only lead to trouble.

Still, I walked.

I could lie.

Tell myself I was just on a stroll.

Tell myself this wasn’t important.

But it was important.

She was important.

At the first glimpse of her in the plate glass window, I felt like I could breathe.

At the second, I felt so much more.

Felt alive.

I lost sight of her, sad but knowing those few fleeting moments would sustain me. I wondered what about this woman made me feel things I’d thought I never would again.

I was so deep in those thoughts, I didn’t notice until it was too late.

The press of steel against my skin was not unfamiliar to me.

Letting my guard down was.

I’d done just that, and it seemed she would take advantage.

She pressed the gun harder against my back.

“Who are you, and why the hell are you here?”

Adora

“Answer the question.”

I cocked the gun, the click of the hammer locking into place ringing loud in the deserted alley.

It was strange.

The city was never silent, but now the silence was thick, almost impenetrable, that click ringing out like an explosion.

An explosion that matched the pounding of