Page 8 of Sunshine

He’d hang out at the castle for a few days, maybe a week, and then he’d go back to his life and put the entire thing behind him. He’d dealt with weirder things before—it just came with being royalty. Once, a girl had cornered him at a party and asked to see his tail, getting pissed when he denied her.

Humans, he’d found, were rude but basically harmless. Sirens, on the other hand, could be self-righteous assholes because he wasn’t a pureblood. His entire life, he’d heard remarks whenever he was outside the castle walls about what an atrocity it was that he was next in line for the throne. How he wasn’t even really a Siren, just a weak halfbreed.

He gritted his teeth as the plane finally began its descent, his music unable to cover the unending noise in his head. When he was at university, it was easier to forget all the responsibility and scathing remarks waiting for him in Midlona. But as soon as they crossed the border, it was like all his insecurities knew and came rushing back.

By the time the plane came to a stop, Greg and the others were already up and moving, but he ignored them, not bothering to turn off his music as he unbuckled and gathered his things at a leisurely pace. Used to his antics, Greg waited next to him patiently, hands folded in front of him and eyes never still.

It was sort of funny to him how much more tense Greg and the others were when they were at home. Out among the humans, Remi blended unless someone knew what to look for—his lavender eyes and the way his skin had a barely perceptible iridescence when he was in direct sunlight or water being the biggest giveaways. But in Midlona, surrounded by perfect, pureblood Sirens, he stuck out like a mongoose among swans.

Sticking out meant being noticed, which meant Greg had to work harder to keep him safe.

As he descended the steps, he slipped on a pair of sunglasses, his head pounding at the relentless sunshine Midlona was known for. That and its briny humidity, but the air didn’t bother him and his hangover. He was always thirsty in Hillsland, the dryness seeping all the moisture out of him and leaving him feeling parched constantly.

At home, he finally felt like he could breathe again.

There was a large black SUV with tinted windows waiting for them not too far away, the rest of the airport eerily still. He knew once he was in the vehicle and on his way, things would return to normal with people and other planes getting back to their busy lives and schedules. He tried not to visibly cringe thinking about how many people he’d inconvenienced just by arriving.

He was nearly on top of the SUV before he noticed the huge guy leaning against the rear door, arms folded across his miles-wide chest and frown firmly etched into his brow. He was also wearing sunglasses—a dark, basic pair though, nothing like the three-hundred-dollar ones on Remi’s face—and his jeans were torn but in a way that looked like it was caused by honest-to-gods wear instead of being trendy. His plain white T-shirt was so tight and worn under his black leather jacket Remi could clearly see the dark hair between his pecs.

Nothing about him should have been appealing. But at the sight of him, Remi felt a vicious tug in the pit of his stomach, nearly making him stumble as he ripped his earbuds out, head spinning.

It wasn’t until Greg stepped in front of him, eyes completely black and black sparks dancing around his knuckles, and blue flames appeared in the stranger’s hands as he lowered his arms, that Remi realized the stupidly hot guy was a freaking Hellhound. He paused, trying not to show his surprise or apprehension.

“You’re the fucking expert?” Greg spat, disgust pouring off him in waves.

Remi turned to him, stunned. He’d never seen Greg react that way—not even when Thad and his other frat brothers made semi-douchey comments or the first time he met Ozias, despite him being a Nephilim. It was his job to protect Remi, and that was it; he didn’t have opinions about things or people, but there seemed to be genuine hatred on his face, and the Hellhound’s smirk wasn’t helping.

“I’m the expert,” the guy drawled, not moving a single muscle and extinguishing the hellfire, seeming completely fine with the fact that a Demon looked three seconds away from taking his head off.

Not wanting to get caught in the middle of their pissing match, Remi stepped up next to Greg and asked, “Expert in what, exactly?”

For a moment, neither one seemed like they’d answer him, refusing to look away from each other. Greg’s eyes were still pitch-black, but his hands weren’t sparking anymore. It was like they were having a staring contest, despite the fact that you couldn’t see the Hellhound’s eyes at all.

Which… no, just no. Remi was not used to being ignored and immediately didn’t like it. “Excuse me, can someone answer me right fucking now?”

Greg started to open his mouth, but the guy beat him to it, pushing off the SUV and saying, “I’m the new nanny. Get the fuck in the car.”

Remi bristled and fought the urge to do whatever that deep voice told him to. He was a prince. No one spoke to him like that. “How dare you—”

“Please get in the car, Your Highness,” Greg said lowly, focus still on the Hellhound. “Your parents are waiting, and I’m sure everyone inside would like to get back to doing their jobs.”

The gentle reminder got him moving, but he still narrowed his eyes on the Hellhound as he moved past him; smoking hot or not, Remi was not putting up with someone like that being in charge of taking care of his brother and sister. The fact that he’d been sent to retrieve Remi from the airport pissed him off as well—he knew his parents still saw him as a child, but he didn’t need a damn nanny to take care of him!

He slipped into the SUV and fiddled with his earbud case and carry-on, not paying attention as the front passenger door opened and then the other rear door. When a huge, hulking body that radiated immense heat and swamped him in an alluring smoky scent settled next to him, he jerked his head up, staring at the Hellhound in shock, then up to where Greg was in the front, jaw so tense it looked like it would crack at any moment as he stared straight ahead.

“I’d rather Greg sat back here,” he said, tone that perfect amount of haughty, do-as-I-say-without-question that he hadn’t used since the last time he was in Midlona.

“Too damn bad.”

Remi sucked in a breath through his teeth before turning to face the window, refusing to acknowledge the obnoxious man next to him the rest of the way to the castle. Less than five minutes passed before he was twisting back around though.

“What was your name again?”

The Hellhound raised a brow but didn’t look up from where he was typing on his phone. His sunglasses were tucked into the front of his shirt, and his overgrown hair was falling over his forehead and into his eyes in a way that wasn’t adorable. You couldn’t be adorable and an enormous hellbeast without an ounce of manners. It was against the rules.

Sighing, Greg turned around in his seat, eyes thankfully back to normal. Remi knew what he was, but the scary, soulless eyes were never fun to witness. “His name’s—”

“I can speak for myself, hellspawn,” the guy interrupted, still not looking up from his phone.

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