Royally Screwed Read online

  Table of Contents

  Royally Screwed

  Publishing Page

  Dedication

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Also Read

  Thank You

  Royally Screwed

  by

  LJ Vickery

  Immortals Book Five

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

  Royally Screwed

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by LJ Vickery

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1062-6

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1063-3

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  I’m continually in awe of the help, support, and encouragement I receive from my wonderful husband. Thank you for always being there. Twenty-five years have flown by and my love grows deeper every day.

  Encouragement is all an author needs to continue.

  Well, that and good reviews!

  So to all of you who have read the first Immortals books, won’t you consider leaving a review?

  It is always so greatly appreciated!

  And of course I want to thank all of my beta-readers who keep me going and continue to tell me how much they love the Blue Hill gods.

  Thanks to Hope, Carrie, Sheryl, Bambi, Marie, Sherrie, Stephanie, Britny, and Brenda from down-under. You are an amazing bunch!

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  LJ Vickery

  AND HER BOOKS

  FROZEN STIFF

  ~*~

  “DAMN! Frozen Stiff is the next book in LJ Vickery’s OUTSTANDING Immortals series and is even more fun, surprising, and sexy with characters that have that unique old world wit and humor that will have you laughing and shaking your head long after reading. This one had my mouth hanging open from the moment I opened the book. I giggled a bit…okay I laughed, and I definitely sighed.”

  ~Marie’s Tempting Reads

  ~*~

  GOING DEEP

  ~*~

  “She’s done it again, and I have to say, I’m sold on this series. It’s not your typical happily-ever-after. These are some seriously damaged gods who’ve spent an eternity being bad, oh so bad. You’re not even sure who the true villain is because the character development is gradual, but spot on…Ms. Vickery has a talent for sucking you into her world, making you cringe and go ‘Eww’ one moment, then ‘Yay’ the next, and all for the same guy, I mean god. She weaves a totally entertaining story, and the only problem with reading one of her books is that…it ends. Where’s number four? I’m tapping my long red nails and I’m waiting.”

  ~American Girl!

  Prologue

  Candy held the phone away from her ear. “You have got to be kidding me,” she mumbled. Miranda Worthington was a piece of work. She let the woman ramble on before eventually interrupting her, midsentence.

  “Not interested, Mrs. Worthington.” Candy’s voice emerged hard and devoid of emotion, something that usually got her what she wanted, fast, but the bitch on the other end would not cooperate.

  “You don’t understand, dear.”

  This had Candy fuming. Nobody called her “dear.”

  “Agent Dunsky, who’s an old friend of mine, referred me to you.”

  Dunsky is a dead man.

  “And he said you’re temporarily on leave and could use the money I’m offering.”

  True, I could use the money, but to locate a missing twenty-seven-year-old guy for some old, rich bitch? What the fuck?

  “You’ve said he’s not a relative, Mrs. Worthington, so fill me in on why you want this Huxley character? And why me?”

  Miranda Worthington was about to lie. No way would she tell Candy―a.k.a. agent Candy Lane―what she really wanted, and Candy knew it. She would listen, but not believe.

  “Mr. Abelard owes me money, dear. A great deal of money.” Miranda paused then dropped a bomb. “And I know, from Ken Dunsky all about the job you just wrapped up. I admire a woman of your talents, and I think we’ll get along well together.”

  Yup. Dunsky was screwed. Not only had he given out Candy’s name and telephone number, he’d leaked intel on a bust…and why? Who was this old lady? A rich aunt he’d inherit a shitload of money from? Considering what the bitch offered to track down Huxley Abelard, she must have a vault full of dead presidents. Still, Candy didn’t bite.

  “Sorry, lady. You’ve got the wrong person.”

  Mrs. Worthington’s voice turned the corner from sickly sweet and cajoling to hard and determined. “You should reconsider, my dear. I could tell the wrong people who you are and where to find you.”

  Nothing in those words made Candy happy. Fucking bitch and fucking dead-man-walking Dunsky. If anyone found out her real identity, or the part she’d played in the bureau’s latest takedown, Candy was the one who’d be cold and cadaverous. Fuck. She had to take this bullshit job, and she wasn’t happy.

  Candy stayed silent, watching the clock, to see what came out of the woman’s mouth next. Let the battle ax swing in the wind. Candy had all the time in the world to make Worthington doubt her method of coercion.

  It took exactly forty-two seconds before the woman caved. “Fine. I need your help, and I’ll sweeten the pot. You can’t blame me for using all the tools at my disposal to get you to say yes to my request.” Her voice turned smarmy. “Releasing your name would be a last resort and extremely distasteful.”

  Candy supposed that was the closest the entitled bitch would come to an apology. Whoever she was, she must get her own way a lot, but Candy wouldn’t let her new employer underestimate her for a single moment. “Let me suggest that, if my name gets leaked, before I become a dead person, you’re a goner first. Do you get me, Mrs. Worthington?” Candy dripped the threat warningly off her tongue and waited for the response.

  “I understand you perfectly…dear.”

  Fucking standoff.

  “Oh, and you’ve got my rate wrong.” Candy named a sum, double the amount Worthington had offered. “Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it.” There was no hesita
tion. “As long as you locate and bring Huxley Abelard to me.”

  Chapter One

  Nergal groaned. He’d had a rough night. If a muscular, bronzed, tattooed god of indiscriminately great height could look bad, Nergal did. The king of the Underworld had stayed up until well after three in the morning, trying repeatedly to contact his queen, Ereshkigal, who’d been kidnapped weeks before. He’d been told there might be a small window of opportunity to make contact, but so far he’d been nothing but frustrated.

  Not only that, until the wee hours of the morning leading up to his attempts, he and a bunch of gods—and goddesses—ensconced in a luxurious compound hidden deep in the Blue Hills had worked at unraveling the mystery that was Huxley Abelard.

  The king needed a cup of coffee, badly…and maybe some of Absu’s pancakes.

  Last night, during a meeting of said minds, Huxley had volunteered―as the only battle-ready human in residence―to go out into the world and try to locate the missing queen. Due to the kidnapper being a goddess-gone-bad, and the fact that gods and goddesses could detect each other’s immortal energy, none of the super-deities faithful to the queen could try and locate her without setting off all kinds of alarms. Hence, Huxley’s offer.

  Nergal remembered his wife’s final words to him before being taken.

  Don’t forget the words of the oracle.

  At the time, he’d not known what to make of it. He’d been so distraught, he and the other gods had immediately gone into lockdown and recovery mode, and he hadn’t given her words the weight they’d deserved. All that changed the minute Huxley stepped forward.

  Much to the astonishment of all the immortals present, Nergal had dropped to his knees before the incredulous human and called him “prince.”

  Nergal had been as flummoxed as everyone else. How had he not seen it before? When he’d recovered his equilibrium, he’d explained to everyone a prophesy handed down from one generation of Underworld royalty to the next.

  A human male—who inexplicably had royal-blood ties to the gods—would be instrumental in saving all the worlds from catastrophe. That individual, along with one destined to fulfill yet another prophesy, would save human and godkind.

  Until Eresh had been kidnapped, nothing had come close to destroying the Underworld domain, nor had anyone considered what human, or part god, could stop an Underworld Armageddon. That situation now changed. Huxley, with the help of a handful of goddesses and thirteen gods—one, singularly important—were about to fulfill a very important destiny. Who knew that Nergal’s own hand would have had such an instrumental part in making things come to pass?

  He had relegated all of the gods who resided in the Blue Hills to an invisible existence on Earth for fucking up in the Quincy colony of Merrymount in the 1600s. What he hadn’t counted on was that, before they became bodiless, many of them had charmed and impregnated local women who found them, well, godlike.

  Eight months ago, much to Nergal’s surprise, the gods—who lived an invisible, yet busy life in the ensuing centuries setting up an enormous estate and amassing a sizable fortune—began to meet their descendants. And the present day females made them visible again.

  The change to corporeal would come about for one of two reasons. Either the woman in question was of their bloodlines—as in Enlil’s case with Tess, Holly, and Hux. Or an enabling female was the god’s eternal mate, or Chosen.

  Sometimes these Chosen came with family members who could see and interact with not only the god who became corporeal, but all the invisible gods as well. Huxley was one such family member.

  Nergal had been clued in that Hux had been an anomaly from birth, having more strength than humanly normal, better hearing, and a very god-like body.

  Nergal’s queen had extolled Huxley’s unusual beauty, and when the king took a really long, hard look at him last night, he’d been stunned. There was no doubt about his bloodlines. No doubt at all.

  Nergal had found his way downstairs at the Blue Hills compound, and now enjoyed the breakfast he’d been imagining earlier. He and Marduk—god of thunder—perused Huxley over pancakes.

  The male’s hair shone summer blond, short in the back, and long in the front where it hung down to swing unchecked over steady, coffee-brown eyes. At first glance, Nergal assumed his looks had come from Enlil—same coloring, same massive shoulders and lean hips. But the nuances lay unmistakably before them.

  “It’s the ears,” Nergal pointed out, chewing slowly.

  “That, along with the chin,” Marduk agreed. “At first glance, it looks like Enlil’s, but it’s more refined.”

  Huxley looked perplexed, and clearly tried to keep from freaking out. “What the hell are you guys talking about?”

  Nergal looked to Marduk, who had figured it out, and the king commiserated with the thunder god’s trepidation. The implications remained somewhat overwhelming for Marduk, considering he’d married Tess who was now seven months pregnant with their child.

  “There’s a story that speaks of a human with royal god lines, who will avert global disaster. Of course, we know you spring from Enlil. And as much as he wishes it, he’s no king.”

  “Ha ha. Funny.” Enlil didn’t look amused. “Are you saying it’s possible there’s additional immortal DNA that has crept into the Abelard blood lines?”

  Nergal nodded. “Forget Huxley for a moment,” he suggested. “Take a good look at Tess and Holly. Their facial structure, their coloring.”

  All eyes turned to the two goddesses—Holly being made one when she became Dagon, the serpent god’s Chosen—and stared hard.

  “Shit. Am I imagining things here, or could they possibly look like—” Enlil stopped, obviously stunned.

  “Yup. I think so.” Nergal pointed at no one in particular with his fork.

  “Who?” Tess got up in her husband’s face. “What am I missing? Who do you think we look like?”

  “Ereshkigal. My wife,” Nergal put it bluntly. “Or at least her family. Your brother,” he jerked his head in Huxley’s direction, “despite his coloring, has the same facial shape as the old king, Eresh’s father.”

  Every god in the room went still when he let that drop. As soon as the words came out, clearly they could all see it. Hux was King Shulmanu, but blond.

  The uber-deity had been well known during his years in the Underworld. He’d been a great warrior, a wonderful father, but also a god of fertility who’d had trouble keeping his talents to his wife. His queen, though long suffering, put up with his lapses and eventually the two had quite happily—so everyone believed—relinquished their reign in Hell to their daughter, Ereshkigal, and her new husband, Nergal, and retired to the Overworld.

  Now, it seemed, King Shulmanu had continued to spread his fertility around after the move. Nergal sighed. The old goat needed to be summoned, a disturbance in god energy here on Earth notwithstanding. It had to be ascertained whether or not Huxley was the prophesied warrior.

  “This is bullshit,” Huxley spouted. He’d listened to everything with mounting ire, and became more and more agitated. Who the hell did they think they were, manipulating the truth of his DNA and otherwise fucking with his head? “I’m no god,” he barked. “And I don’t know what you guys are playing at. You either want my help or not. You don’t have to come up with crap to make me feel indestructible or included in your club. I’ll help because I want to.” He’d been asked to rescue the queen, and dammit, they didn’t have to play him to get his cooperation.

  Enlil came toward Huxley and got in his face. “No bullshit, son.” Enlil looked dead serious. “Remember the first time we met? You beat the hell out of me?”

  Huxley leaned back and looked anywhere but at the god.

  “Well, do you?”

  Huxley nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “You have something more in you than just my genes.” Enlil grabbed Hux’s chin and forced his eyes front. “I’ve never met anyone but Marduk who could knock me on my ass, and you did. That�
��s saying something.”

  “Just to make things clear, Enlil.” Nergal gave a twist of his lips that might have been a smile in different circumstances. “You’ve never fought me.” Nergal’s attempt to interject humor had Huxley losing a little of his edge.

  Enlil grinned at the king in return. “Anytime, Nergal. Just say the word.” Then he turned back to Huxley. “I think we need to get the old king down here and hear what he has to say. Are you okay with that, bud?”

  Huxley squirmed, uncomfortable in his own skin, but allowed that they needed to find out. “Fine. But when he says there’s no way he’s anything to me, nobody pushes any further, and,” he looked around menacingly, “nothing he says has any bearing on how I proceed. I don’t need any more god blood than Enlil’s to do what I have to do.”

  Nergal proceeded the instant permission came out of Huxley’s mouth. “Everybody tune in. I haven’t contacted Shulmanu in years except by mind connecting with my wife’s sister, Ish Din, in the Overworld. She should be able to patch me through.”

  Hux listened carefully as the king petitioned Ishtar Dinatu for her help then held his breath as Nergal called to the old ruler.

  King Shulmanu, this is Nergal. We have an emergency here on Earth. Your daughter has been kidnapped by a rogue goddess, and I would request your presence immediately.

  Shulmanu’s head-voice came back loud and clear. I just had word of this earlier today and have been trying to reach you in the Underworld. Where are you? Send me your coordinates, and I’ll be with you immediately.

  Nergal gave the longitude and latitude of the compound, and within minutes, the old king arrived. Although why he was called the old king, Huxley couldn’t understand. He ducked behind Marduk and took a good, long look. The god appeared to be in his mid-thirties, forty at most, and his broad chest and chiseled abs showed no signs of age. His hair was unmistakably the same mousy color as Tess’s and Holly’s, and sported identical unruly curls. His eyes mimicked Tess’s soft gray.

  Huxley felt his face heat up with color. He noticed right away the odd, double-humped ears that Nergal had mentioned. Yup. All four shared them. Huxley held his chin rigidly, waiting for someone to open up the inevitable can of worms.