Wild Fury (Fallen Royals #6) Read online

  Wild Fury

  Fallen Royals, #6

  S. Massery

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by S. Massery

  All rights reserved.

  Editing by Studio ENP

  Cover Design by S. Massery

  Cover Photo by Michelle Lancaster

  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.

  If you did not purchase this ebook from Amazon or receive a gift copy directly from the author, you are reading an illegal copy. Please let the author know at [email protected].

  Contents

  Also by S. Massery

  Author’s Note

  Lux

  1. Lux

  2. Lux

  3. Lux

  4. Theo

  5. Lux

  6. Lux

  7. Lux

  8. Theo

  9. Lux

  10. Theo

  11. Lux

  12. Lux

  13. Theo

  14. Lux

  15. Lux

  16. Lux

  17. Theo

  18. Lux

  19. Theo

  20. Lux

  21. Lux

  22. Lux

  23. Theo

  24. Theo

  25. Lux

  26. Theo

  27. Lux

  28. Lux

  29. Theo

  30. Lux

  31. Theo

  32. Lux

  33. Lux

  Theo

  Ruthless Saint Prologue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by S. Massery

  Also by S. Massery

  Fallen Royals Series

  Wicked Dreams

  Wicked Games

  Wicked Promises

  Vicious Desire

  Cruel Abandon

  Wild Fury

  DeSantis Mafia Series

  Ruthless Saint

  Broken Mercenaries Series

  Blood Sky

  Angel of Death

  Morning Star

  Contemporary Romance

  Something Special

  Something Sacred

  To see a current list of releases, please visit my website:

  http://www.smassery.com/books

  To my dear readers,

  Thank you. You keep me going.

  Author’s Note

  WARNING: this book has dubious consent and situations. Our hero behaves questionably at times. (What else do you expect from Theo Alistair?)

  A quick recap (for those who need it!)

  Theo and Lux’s story is on a strange timeline compared to the rest of the Fallen Royals, so here’s a quick update of where we are. We last read Liam and Sky’s story, Cruel Abandon, where Liam and his friends were seniors in college.

  (As a reminder: Lucy, Sky, and Riley are all one year behind the guys and Margo in age/school years. Amelie is the same age as the guys and Margo.)

  We’re now traveling back in time, to when Theo and the guys are sophomores in college. Theo and Liam both go to schools in Boston—Lenox Bluff University and Ashburn College, respectively. The rest are in New York City: Caleb is at Columbia, and Margo, Riley, and Eli are at NYU.

  After Caleb and Margo graduate, they will be moving to Boston. Eli plans on attending the police academy after he and Riley graduate.

  Between the two rival private schools in Hillshire County, Emery-Rose Elite in Rose Hill (where Caleb & Margo’s trilogy took place) and Lion’s Head in Beacon Hill (where Theo and Liam attended before transferring to ERE, and where Lucy went for all 4 years), everyone pretty much knows each other!

  Lucy’s main on-page time has been from afar, but she is familiar with who Theo’s friends are, plus their girls. Amelie is Lucy’s sister.

  For those interested in how this will tie to Ruthless Saint, Amelie’s story takes place when she is nineteen, or when she would have been in her sophomore year of college. The beginning of Wild Fury precedes Ruthless Saint.

  Fallen Royals Series (first 3 are a trilogy, books 4-6 are standalones):

  Wicked Dreams

  Wicked Games

  Wicked Promises

  Vicious Desire

  Cruel Abandon

  Wild Fury

  Don’t forget to sign up for S. Massery’s newsletter for news about future releases.

  Lux

  I’ve always felt a little different.

  Off.

  I’ve traced back my origins, struggling to figure out where I went awry. When, on my timeline, my brain cracked open and let in all the darkness. And let out the light.

  When I’m still and quiet, I can sometimes feel traces of that happiness. It’s easy to see in other people—they practically glow with happiness, so bright my eyes burn.

  As a result, I’m rarely still.

  And I’m rarely quiet.

  But all that worry of being different, abnormal, a freak… it all skidded to a halt when I met him. A boy who seemed to shoot darkness out at the world was suddenly in my peripheral. And then right in front of me.

  And then towering above me.

  He can’t see it.

  I distinctly remember climbing to my feet and chasing after him, but then I stopped. I watched.

  He was different.

  Like me.

  And I needed to understand him more than I needed to understand anything in my life.

  So, my hunt began… and I made him notice me. I stood in the brilliance of everyone else and showed him everything I had. The nightmares and the demons that wouldn’t release me. The midnight black of my soul.

  But he didn’t want me.

  He wanted a fight.

  And wouldn’t you know it? That’s exactly what I wanted, too.

  1

  Lux

  My sister has abandoned me at the edge of the party. I can’t really blame her—it was our parents who dragged her off to talk to strangers. People they want to impress or are trying to win over. They know better than to bring me into the fold, and so I was told to stay.

  Like a dog.

  I try not to let that bother me, but here we are. I’m sulking in the corner, almost out of reach of the lights, and letting the loneliness get the worst of me.

  “Can I get you a drink, little Page?”

  I narrow my eyes at Wilder DeSantis. He’s my sister’s fiancé, and the reason we’re here. The engagement party is a sham, and an uncomfortable one. I’m pretty sure only the old people are having fun.

  “Champagne? Or maybe something stronger?”

  “No.” I cross my arms and ignore the chill seeping through my dress.

  “Not even a ‘no, thank you?’” He chuckles. “I’m glad Amelie has more grace than you.”

  “Well, some say I was raised by wolves.” I bare my teeth. “Do you believe them?”

  He gestures for me to follow him. For some reason, I’m curious to hear his answer. I haunt his steps across the back of the lawn, to one of the bar stands. I don’t catch what he says to the bartender, only that the worker’s eyes skate over me before returning to his drinks. A moment later, Wilder pushes a cold glass into my hand.

  I curl my fingers around it and sniff.

  “Tequila,” I guess.

  He inclines his chin.


  I lower the drink without tasting it. I told him I didn’t want a drink. It’s like men are incapable of listening sometimes.

  “So, was I?” I ask.

  His face remains blank.

  See? Didn’t listen. “Raised by wolves.”

  “Ah.”

  He takes off again, and this time I follow without a prompt. I hate myself for it, for needing to know what’s going on in his mind. He’s marrying my sister, for God’s sake. I should make an effort instead of scowling at them all from across the dinner table—or lawn, as the case may be.

  “No, Lucy Page, I don’t think you have that kind of killer instinct.” He offers a brilliant smile. Maybe he thinks I should be grateful to have escaped that instinct which must plague his whole family. He certainly seems happy with himself.

  And I don’t know why I’m so disappointed by that. I do have a killer instinct. It floats under my skin sometimes, hot enough when it rises that I wonder if my skin might not just melt off. Other times it’s dormant, leaving me… me.

  I take a step back. “Well, it’s been lovely talking to you, Wilder, but I think I should head back to my parents.”

  He doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer.

  Whatever.

  I don’t need his fucking permission to end a conversation. So I take the free tequila and return to the shadows. There are fabulously dressed people on the dance floor now, the music way too upbeat for my taste.

  Everyone is happy. Laughing and smiling and getting drunk on the DeSantis dime. Although, I suppose it might’ve been my parents who supplied the free liquor to the party. Up until Wilder pushed the glass in my hand, I hadn’t been able to get a bartender to serve me.

  I look young, which doesn’t help when I am young. Seventeen going on eighteen. Amelie is almost nineteen. Almost married. My birthday is right around the corner, but I don’t expect them to make a fuss. Sometimes my parents like to forget they birthed me.

  They certainly got rid of me as fast as they could.

  I shiver and find Amelie in the crowd. Wilder is beside her now, close enough that their shoulders brush. Luca and Aiden, Wilder’s brothers, must be around here, too. There are a lot of DeSantis men who seem more alert than regular partygoers, and the more I try to pick them out, the more my stomach flips.

  The urge to capture this fills me, and I pull out my phone. I swipe it over to video mode and hit the start button. This could be a great little moment to replay for the wedding, right? Like, Hey, look how much fun we were having eight months ago!

  Ha.

  I zoom in on each of the DeSantis men, getting close up on their attentive faces. They don’t seem armed, but appearances can be deceiving.

  “What are you doing?”

  I stuff my phone in my pocket and turn to the voice. One of Wilder’s cousins, I think.

  “Sorry, what?” I ask.

  “What were you doing on your phone?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Creating a souvenir. What are you doing?”

  He glances around. He’s cute. Maybe a few years older than me. Definitely taller and stronger, which should be something I’d find attractive, right? But it doesn’t do much for me.

  “The photographer wanted to get a few shots of the wedding party,” he says. “Something about the lights coming through the trees. I was sent to find you.”

  I stare at him for a beat, then turn back to the dance floor. Amelie is gone—perhaps whisked out beyond the stretch of lights with Wilder and our parents, as this guy is implying.

  My heart gives a weird lurch. “No…” I cast around for an excuse, but I have none. I raise my drink and swallow it all in one swig, letting the tequila pour down my throat. It burns for a moment, but I ignore the fire. “Sorry, I should refresh my drink.”

  “You don’t want to make a scene.” He steps closer. “What would your parents think? Or Amelie, ruining her night?”

  I wince. “Jeez. Hit a girl where it hurts.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve heard what they say about the younger Page girl. You’re frivolous.”

  “Well, thanks.” I step past him.

  “Stop.” He grabs my arm, his grip loose. “I only say that to help you. It’s their engagement party, and all they want are photos.”

  I scoff. “Fine,” I snap.

  He guides me away, down a gravel path, framed in by larger stones, that cuts through the back of the DeSantis estate. There are little lights staked on each side of it, every few feet. They illuminate the ground in rings, helping us see where we’re going without breaking an ankle. But it doesn’t do much to take away from the creeping feeling of dread. It washes over me in waves.

  “I don’t see them.” The darkness seems to have stolen the loudness of my voice.

  He yanks me off the path and shoves me against a tree, so fast it knocks the wind from my lungs. I gape at him. Shock would be the only reason I haven’t moved yet.

  “If you scream, I’ll kill you.”

  I stare at him. He runs his hand down my side, over my hip.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I shove at his hands. “Don’t touch me.”

  Violence overtakes his features. “I don’t see what’s so special about your family.” He shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge those thoughts.

  “I—”

  He slaps me.

  The sound rattles around my brain. He just hit me, and I can’t seem to make sense of it. The pain registers a moment later. The coppery warmth of blood on my tongue. I’m still against the tree when cool air touches my legs.

  He pushes my skirt up. He wants—oh god. My lungs constrict until I can barely breathe.

  Adrenaline floods my system, and my fingers tighten on the glass in my hand. The stupid one I never set down. I smash it into the side of his head, and he stumbles away. The glass doesn’t break, not like in the movies, but it does get him off me for a moment. It falls to the ground and cracks.

  “You fucking bitch.” He grunts, then comes back at me.

  He pins my wrists against my stomach, trying to subdue me, but something animalistic unlocks inside me. It’s like my body realizes this is it. I have exactly one chance to get out of this before something awful happens. I fight with everything I have, using the tree at my back as leverage. He can’t contain me—the surprise of it pops his eyes open wide.

  “You—” I swing at his face, scratching his cheek. “Cannot—”

  He grapples for me, growling under his breath.

  “Rape—”

  I kick him in the chest, and he stumbles backward. His heel catches on something, and he falls. His arms pinwheel, but there’s nothing to grab. He hits the ground, barely making a noise. I spring forward, ready to run, but he doesn’t move.

  “Me,” I finish quietly, nudging him with my foot.

  He’s so still.

  I fumble for my phone in my dress pocket. It’s still recording. Horror slams into me. It might’ve recorded all of that. And if he’s hurt, he might blame me. I quickly end the video and flip on the flashlight. I crouch beside the DeSantis man and pause.

  He could be just… knocked unconscious.

  Right?

  “I’m stalling,” I tell myself. In the few months I’ve lived with my sister, I’ve picked up her penchant for talking out loud to herself. “Just do it.”

  I shine the light on his face and flinch, falling back on my butt. I scramble away from him, exhaling sharply. His eyes are open, staring unseeing up at the sky. I kill the light and glance around, but we’re totally alone. That’s why he drew me back here, after all—for the privacy.

  I creep forward again and ignore my hammering heart. A list of what I need to do forms in my mind: check his pulse, see if he’s still alive, call for help. I reach for his wrist. It’s still warm, dry under my fingers, and… no pulse. I shuffle closer and feel for his throat, but there’s nothing. He’s not breathing, either.

  Oh my god.

  I feel around his head, immediately withdrawing wh
en I touch something wet. I turn my flashlight back on and aim it at my fingers. They’re covered in dark blood.

  I shove my phone back into my pocket and gather my skirt in my clean hand. The rational part of my brain switches off, and the survivalist comes alive. I drag my fingers in the fallen leaves under my feet, scrubbing the blood away. And then I rise.

  We’re too close to the path.

  For the first time, I wonder exactly who he is. He didn’t say. He might not even be a DeSantis.

  Hysteria bubbles up my throat, and I choke on a laugh. He could be some random asshole who found himself invited to Amelie and Wilder’s engagement party. He could be no one who’ll be missed.

  We can only hope.

  I tie off my dress, knotting it at mid-thigh for room to move my legs. I hate long dresses, or any sort of dresses. The only reason I wore this was because Amelie was going to wear it, and then a package from Wilder showed up this morning with a new gown inside. One that was DeSantis-approved.

  Already pulling her strings.

  Still, at least this has pockets, right?

  I scout around, stepping carefully back onto the path to see where it leads. It veers back toward the house rather quickly. The little lights break through the darkness, confirming it.

  Beyond the path on the opposite side of the house is nothing but darkness. The trees press in closer, the growth only lightly maintained. And it’s there that this man will go. I lift his arms over his head, adjust my grip on his wrists, and pull with all my strength.