Fantasyland 04 Broken Dove

Broken Dove

Kristen Ashley

Discover other titles by Kristen Ashley:

Rock Chick Series:

Rock Chick

Rock Chick Rescue

Rock Chick Redemption

Rock Chick Renegade

Rock Chick Revenge

Rock Chick Reckoning

Rock Chick Regret

Rock Chick Revolution

The ‘Burg Series:

For You

At Peace

Golden Trail

Games of the Heart

The Chaos Series:

Own the Wind

Fire Inside

The Colorado Mountain Series:

The Gamble

Sweet Dreams

Lady Luck

Breathe

Jagged

Dream Man Series:

Mystery Man

Wild Man

Law Man

Motorcycle Man

The Fantasyland Series:

Wildest Dreams

The Golden Dynasty

Fantastical

The Three Series:

Until the Sun Falls from the Sky

With Everything I Am

The Unfinished Hero Series:

Knight

Creed

Raid

Other Titles by Kristen Ashley:

Fairytale Come Alive

Heaven and Hell

Lacybourne Manor

Lucky Stars

Mathilda, SuperWitch

Penmort Castle

Play It Safe

Sommersgate House

Three Wishes

www.kristenashley.net

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Kristen Ashley

First ebook edition: December 2013

*****

Dedication

Every girl’s gotta have her girl that no matter what time passes,

No matter the distance,

When they are again together, all that fades away.

And every girl’s gotta have the girl who gives her peace.

Calm. Contentment.

But likes her fantasy.

That girl for me is Elizabeth “Bethy” Bullard.

So this book is for her.

*****

Prologue

Not His Plans

Apollo Ulfr saw the dancing lights against his closed eyelids before he felt the presence in the room.

He rolled out of the bed, grabbing the knife from underneath his pillow as he did so. Crouching by the bed, scanning the room even as his eyes became accustomed to the dark, suddenly he felt it and knew it was her.

The witch.

Valentine Rousseau.

Annoyed, seeing as it was the dead of night, he was naked, had not long before sent the Beniessienne whore to her own bed and he’d already told the witch his plans (and these were not the plans he’d shared with her, hence the whore who had left), and last, he was in Fleuridia to collect his children from boarding school so he could put them in a safe place before darkness settled on the land, he straightened, doing so speaking.

“Witch, I told you the time and place you were to bring her to me and this is not—”

She interrupted him, her voice, as usual, wry but there was an underlying urgency to it that made his skin prickle.

“If you want to meet the Ilsa of my world, I suggest you change your plans.”

Through the dark, Apollo narrowed his eyes on her slim shadow.

“And this means…?” he prompted when she said no more.

“This means, the Apollo of my world has found her.”

When last they spoke, she’d explained what that meant.

The Apollo Ulfr of the other world, his twin, was not a good man.

And he’d harmed Ilsa. Because of this, she was evading him.

Now his twin had found her.

Gods damn it. He’d waited bloody years to have his wife back. He wasn’t going to let the other bloody him in a parallel universe take her away.

Without delay, Apollo bent to collect his clothes from the floor, commanding, “You’ll take me to her.”

“Is that a question?” she asked in reply.

Yanking up his breeches, he cut his gaze to her shadow. “No, it’s bloody not.”

Thankfully, the maddening witch, who could be sly and perverse, instantly lifted her elegant hands with her long, slim fingers tipped in scarlet-painted nails and he saw the green mist start to light the room.

“Bring your weapons,” she warned.

Bloody hell.

Ilsa.

“Of course,” he murmured, having yanked on his shirt, he pulled on his boots and moved quickly to the chair where he’d thrown his cape and saber.

“All of them, Apollo,” she went on.

Bloody hell.

He didn’t respond.

He swung his cape around, quickly buckling it on its slant across his chest. He did the same with the scabbard that held his saber. He donned his knife belt, shoved his blade into the sheath and moved to the wardrobe. Bending low, he pulled the knives out of the box at the bottom and shoved them in his boots, one on each side.

The green mist had encompassed the room and he and the witch were both fading by the time he moved to her.

Although he didn’t fall, he felt the ground give way beneath his feet and all faded to black.

When he felt solid beneath him again and their environs came into sharp focus, at what Apollo saw, his blood coursed scalding through his veins, he opened his mouth, and he
roared.

Chapter One

Tenderness and Pain

Five minutes earlier…

I ran up the steps as fast as I could, one of my hands carrying my keys (always ready,
always
), the other hand in my purse, digging into the side pocket where I kept my phone.

The asshole had found me.

Three years on the run and he’d found me.

Damn it!

Oh well. Fuck it. I’d planned for this.

It was go time.

I made it to the shabby landing where my apartment was located and sprinted down the hall, my breath coming fast, my heart beating hard, my skin cold. But my head was clear.

I’d been preparing for this.

He wasn’t going to get me again.

Not again.

Quickly, I shoved my key into the lock and turned. Repeat with the deadbolt. I opened the door, dashed inside and slammed it shut.

It was a crap door. But not crap locks since I’d sweet-talked my creepy, ogling landlord with a lot of batting of lashes and broken promises to give me a significant upgrade.

Now I was counting on those good locks to give me time.

My apartment was not in a great area of town, as most of them weren’t these last three years. Cheap and not my style.

I liked nice things. I was a label whore. I wanted a good life.

It was a flaw in my nature that cost me a lot.

Too much.

In other words, everything.

Also, my apartments were chosen so the landlords wouldn’t blink when I jumped the lease seeing as they probably lost tenants regularly for a variety of shitty life reasons that the people who were forced to live in these shitty places always had.

Then again, this apartment was rented like all my apartments were, on a fake ID. So even if a landlord wanted to find me after I jumped the lease three, six, nine months early, he wouldn’t know who to look for.

I turned the lock, threw the deadbolt home and engaged the chain.

Then I ran to my bedroom. Having pulled out my phone, my thumb moved over the screen to hit a contact I had programmed in as A-ICE so it was top of the heap.

I made it to my bedroom as I hit go on the phone.

Three years ago, I’d never phone the police. Pol had taught me not to do that.

For the three years I’d been on the run, I didn’t get them involved either since I’d learned that lesson well.

Now, I’d need them to clean up the mess (maybe).

I made it to the safe in my closet before I heard, “Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”

“My husband—” I started, jabbing the first two digits of the code into the keypad on the safe but hitting the third wrong when I jumped because I heard a loud thump on my front door.

I shook my head and closed my eyes hard.

Focus, Ilsa. Focus.
I told myself, opening my eyes and clearing the code on the safe.

“Ma’am?” the 911 operator called. “Your emergency?”

“My husband found me,” I told her, hitting the correct digits and the release button and gratefully hearing the whirs of the door opening on the safe. “His name is Pol Ulfr. Apollo Ulfr. He’s a drug dealer in Portland, Oregon. He’s abusive and I’ve been running from him for three years. Now he’s caught me. I’m in apartment 3D at twenty-six, sixty-one Rampart Street.”

I heard another thud on the door.

Therefore I added, “And he’s right outside my door.”

I reached into the safe and wrapped my hand around the grip as I kept speaking.

“I’ve got a gun. You need to send someone soon. If he gets to me first, I’ll use it.”

“Ma’am, do not arm yourself. I’m dispatching officers immediately to your location,” the 911 operator told me but I ignored this.

She didn’t know. She didn’t have a clue. And I hoped to God she never would.

Instead of sharing that, I warned her, “He’ll have men. At least one. And trust me, badges and uniforms will not stop them from getting what they want.”

And they wanted me.

Or at least Pol did.

But with the loyalty his men showed him, they’d go down in a hail of gunfire before they’d give up doing whatever they had to do to get Pol what he wanted.

“They’re en route now,” the operator continued. “So find a safe place and please—”

Another thud on the door which included some splintering wood.

They’d be through soon.