Chapter Three

Paul generally liked the beach. The air was sweet and salty, the cool breeze on a hot day was to die for and the sound of gulls wasn't necessarily a bad one. Today, well, today was different. Today he hated the beach. Heaven had turned into hell, and Ryan looked like sin itself. He wore nothing more than skin tight Rufskin swim trunks that just barely covered his rather shapely ass. Paul had quickly searched the brand on his smartphone and instantly decided the trunks were catered toward queer strippers and whores.

Normally, when Paul looked at his imprint he didn't see much more than genderless beauty and love – not today, however. The bathing suit, if it could even be called that, displayed every line, crease, and bulge. They also sat so scandalously low that Paul knew beyond a doubt that Ryan had to have shaved at least part of his pubes. The only saving grace for the entire situation was that he and the prince were on private palace property and the only ones present on beach. Had that not been the case Paul was certain he'd have been thrown in purgatory for gouging out eyes of horny perverts and innocents alike.

Paul tried not stare, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. Ryan didn't look like other male wolves. He wasn't bulky or broad shouldered. His waist was slim, his hips almost femininely curved, and his abs were barely there along with his tiny pectorals. Also, Paul surmised the wolf's pubes weren't the only part of him shaved. There wasn't a single hair on his smooth creamy caramel legs, nor under his arms. Who was the prince trying to impress? It unnerved the wolf.

"Your back is looking a little pink, maybe you should put your clothes back on," Paul suggested, trying his damnedest not to demand it.

Ryan chuckled and shook his head, his bare back arching as he lifted himself onto his elbows from where he was sprawled on a striped purple towel. "We just got here," he said, dragging a wicker picnic basket through the sand to fetch the sunscreen inside of it. "If you're so concerned," he continued, a smirk donning his plump rosy lips as he tossed over the lotion to the wolf. "Lube me up."

Paul eyed his imprint suspiciously. Something was off. Ryan had never previously worn such skimpy swim trunks, nor was he one to make vile innuendos. Plus, the way he bit his bottom lip and gazed intently at the wolf was alarming to say the least, as was the way he twirled the end of his French braid between two slim lithe fingers. It simply wasn't right. Ryan did look beautiful though, albeit wickedly so, especially with the few pink cherry blossoms tucked into his hair.

Paul leaned in close and sniffed the air surrounding the prince, immediately scowling when he recognized the scent. "You're aroused."

Ryan blushed, shamefaced, and instantly looked away from the wolf. "Sorry," he murmured.

"Why are you aroused?" Paul didn't simply ask, he demanded an answer.

As if a scolded puppy, Ryan cowered as he sat up, draping a spare towel around his shoulders since he suddenly felt uncomfortable in his own sun-kissed and freckled skin. "I don't know…" he shrugged, forcing his eyes to the wolf that sat in the sand beside him, leaning up against a log wearing only a baggy pair of tan cargo shorts. "You've been looking better. Ever since dad got rid of all the alcohol in the palace, demanding it being a 'dry environment', you haven't looked as tired. You've been more with it, too. More focused." And angry, irritable, and anxious.

Paul's gaze turned heated. "I'm still pissed about that, you know? You had no right to tell him I'd been drinking."

Ryan nodded, eyes falling away from the wolf. "I know, I'm sorry. I was worried."

"You didn't need to be worry. I had it under control."

"It didn't seem like it," Ryan quietly retorted, voice barely heard above the steady rush of the ocean's waves. "You'd have done the same thing if roles were reversed."

"Whatever," Paul said, shaking his head. "It's over and done with. Don't talk about me to your dad and stop thinking dirty thoughts." Ryan's head snapped up to look at his imprint. No dirty thoughts about a half-naked, gorgeous wolf, bathing in the sun? Easier said than done. "You're better than that." Paul added.

Ryan nodded once again in contrived agreement. "I'm sorry, Paul. I'll try harder. I didn't mean to behave like-"

"A slut?" Paul interjected. The prince's jaw dropped, that wasn't what he was going to say at all.

"I was going to say hormonal teenage boy," Ryan barely uttered, rather certain it'd actually become impossible to make eye contact with his imprint. He couldn't bear the thought of revulsion which was sure to be written all over his handsome face.

"You're not a teenager anymore, Ryan!" Paul shouted at him. "You're a fucking man! Learn to control yourself! Do you even know what you look like right now?" Ryan meekly shook his head. "Like you belong on a street corner giving five dollar blowjobs!"

The prince gasped. "I do not!"

"You do!" Paul bellowed. "You look disgraceful and worthless, you should be covered up. Nobody should get to see your skin, not even me."

"What do you want me to do, Paul?" Ryan bitterly muttered, eyes stuck to his lap. "Buy myself a fucking burka?"

The wolf swiftly moved closer to Ryan, pressing a warm hand to his imprint's chin to force him to meet his gaze. "You're an angel, Ryan. My angel. You don't need or want sex, you just think you do. Monkey see, monkey do, you know? I don't blame you for having deviant thoughts, not with growing up with two fathers. I know they love you, but what they have together is wrong. It's sick and twisted, and should be reviled by all. You understand that, don't you?" Ryan wanted to scream, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs that he wasn't an angel, that he never was an angel, and never wanted to be an angel! He wanted to hit Paul, he wanted to hit him so damn hard for saying such foul things about his parents, but, in the end, he couldn't… and would never. He wouldn't say or do anything. Paul needed his imprint to be an angel more than Ryan needed the satisfaction of saying how he really felt.

"I'm gay, Paul," the prince breathed, forest green eyes glossy with tears. "Does that mean I should be reviled too?"

Paul's gaze turned earnest and he fervently shook his head, cupping Ryan's cheeks. "No, sweetheart, no! Being gay isn't wrong, only acting on it is. But you've got so much good in you. You know right from wrong, and you know what your parents have is unnatural. You could never be like them, could you?"

Ryan's face contorted with strife as he let out a sob. "No," he wept, "I'd never be like them." But he wanted to be. He wanted to love and be loved, both mentally and physically. He wanted marriage and puppies, family photos, and children's birthday parties. He wanted to make Easter baskets for his little ones, fill stockings with goodies for Christmas, and paint little pudgy faces on Halloween. He wanted a man to kiss on New Year's Eve under the brightness of fireworks. He wanted a husband to feed chocolate covered strawberries to on Valentine's Day. He wanted to make love to his imprint every night before bed and fall asleep in a tangled heap of limbs in post orgasmic bliss. He wanted it all, but he wished he wanted nothing. He wished he could be exactly what Paul wanted. He wished he was just some asexual drone that could peacefully ignore Paul's growing insanity and be happy with what he had… be grateful that he had Paul at all.

King Jacob Ephraim Black, alpha of alphas, and husband to Edward Anthony Black – the sexiest undead man in the whole fucking kingdom – was in a damn good mood! He'd gotten his cock good and wet that morning, twice that afternoon, and he was positive more nookie was to come once he hit the hay. Not only that, he was a proud papa of a newborn leech that was absolutely thriving. He'd worried at first when James arrived home that sharp teeth might latch onto something they shouldn't, but it had been a month and so far things were perfect. His bouncing baby bloodsucker made daddy proud – he should have known, James had always been a kiss ass when it came to family.

Sitting at the dinner table with a mountain of food rivaling the size Everest on his plate, he couldn't help but grin a grin that would make the Grinch himself jealous. Although, the brilliance of it started to fade when his puppy entered the room, shoulders slumped as he took his usual seat beside Paul which was directly in front of him. "What's with the turtleneck?" Jacob questioned. "It's the middle of the goddamn summer."

Ryan shrugged and poked miserably at the food Paul had dished for him. "I was cold."

"Cold?"

Ryan nodded. "Cold."

"Are you feeling ill?" His father queried.

Ryan sighed and lifted his eyes from his plate to meet the king's. "Daddy, I'm fine."

Jacob quirked a dark disbelieving brow and turn his attention upon the wolf beside him. "This your doing?"

"I think he looks good," Paul said, sparing a glance his imprint's way and nodding in appreciation.

Jacob glowered at the wolf. "Really? I think he looks absurd. It's the fucking summer," he flicked his vision back to his son. "Go put on something cooler – I don't want you getting heat stroke or some shit. How about you put on that Lady Hoo Ha tank top you loved so much when you were a teen?"

Ryan's nose scrunched in both disgust and amusement. "Oh my God, daddy, it's Lady GaGa!"

Jacob rolled his eyes, like he could keep up with that shit. "Whatever, go put it on." He said with a flick of his wrist, dismissing the boy. He wanted his puppy to wear that ratty old shirt since it was baggy and the armpits hung low on the thing, so with only slight movement on his son's part his rosy little nipples would show – it was sure to perturb Paul, which is exactly what the king wanted.

The prince gave his imprint a sheepish grin and an apologetic shrug before taking off to his room. "I think the black sweater is far more appropriate for dinner," Paul put in when it was just the two of them left at the table, everybody else taking there sweet ass time to get there. The king wasn't one to wait and let his food get cold, however.

Jacob huffed and took a large bite of ham, chewing obnoxiously. "Well, then let's thank fuck I'm king and you're not," he proclaimed with feigned enthusiasm. "There's no such thing as appropriate around here. Got a problem with that?"

"Actually I do."

The king snorted in mock surprise. Of course the wolf had a problem with it. "Dude, save it. You go looking for trouble. I'm sure if you tried hard enough you'd find something provocative about a nun's robe." He pointed at Paul's food with his fork. "Eat, I don't want to hear you talk." It was an order, not a request. Without another option, Paul's eyes fell to his food and he grabbed a spoon full of potatoes.

"Oh, and Paul?" Jacob added, the wolf's eyes darting back to his. "Don't forget who your superiors are. Ryan's one of them."

"I know that."

"Then start acting like it."

By the time Ryan returned, he was feeling much peppier in his light blue skinny jeans, knees ripped, and sleeveless t-shirt. In his humble opinion he looked and felt great, although Paul seemed about ready to blow a gasket. He tried to ignore that, and instead smiled at the two new faces sitting at the table – his dad and brother.

Ryan went back to his original seat which was now directly between Paul and James. He looked to his brother as he sat and found the newborn giving him a wide feral grin. "How nice of you to join us for supper, little brother. You smell absolutely divine," he purred, eyes that were once a sweet baby blue were now something akin to two black holes, keen and hungry, and absolutely devouring the sight of the younger prince.

A menacing growl could be heard from the opposite side of Ryan at the same time a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. James ignored Paul as he typically did and lifted his brother's hand, pressing a thin wrist to his wintry nose. "Vanilla," he mused. "A new perfume?"

Ryan blushed and nodded. "Yes. You like it?"

"Undoubtedly," James murmured, his malicious gaze falling upon Paul. He hated that fucking wolf. "A beautiful scent for a beautiful princess." Ryan's face went tomato red as he inwardly preened at the comment. He knew he was a male, and knew that fact well considering the dick between his legs was a telltale sign of his masculinity that he never wanted to part with. However, being a princess wasn't such a terrible thought. God, he might very well die and go to heaven if he woke up one morning the leading female role in a Disney movie. Just call him Belle because Paul can be his Beast any day…

"Shut your fucking mouth, leech," Paul snapped, throwing a possessive arm around his imprint's shoulders, dragging the lightweight man halfway onto his own seat.

James gave a sinister chuckle as he kissed the back of Ryan's hand before gently returning it to the younger prince's jean clad lap while meeting his lively green eyes. "If you ever want a real man to treat you like a queen I've got this friend-"

"Like shit you've got a friend!" Paul countered. "I know you want my imprint." A round of sighs escaped those at the table, it would hardly be a standard dinner without Paul making a fool of himself.

"Oh shit, you caught me," James sarcastically remarked with a roll of his dark eyes. "I want him drunk and on all fours surrounded by poker chips," he shot a wry grin Ryan's way. "Which is why we're going to Vegas!"

Ryan's jaw dropped in surprise. "Seriously?!" He gasped excitedly.

"Mhmm, I missed your twenty-first birthday and according to pops," he nodded toward Jacob. "You spent your big day nursing Paul's pathetic drunken ass."

Ryan fervently shook his head. "It wasn't like that." It was exactly like that.

"He puked on your cake, pup." Jacob put in.

The prince ruefully met Paul's eyes, the wolf looking awfully contrite. "It was an accident," Ryan hummed, leaning into his imprint and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. All was forgiven, even if the big old brute ruined a red velvet cake – his absolute favourite – before he could even have a slice.

"When do we go?" Paul queried, not liking this at all.

"We aren't going anywhere," James told him. "I am going to Las Vegas with Ryan this weekend, and you are staying here."

"Like hell I am!"

"You are!" Jacob growled at the wolf, dominance of an alpha clear in his tone. "Let the boys go blow off some steam together, Paul. I'll be there. Gotta make sure my pride and joy doesn't cop a feel of a burlesque dancer's jugular vein."

"I'm not staying," Paul insisted.

Edward wriggled uncomfortably in his seat, swirling a champagne glass full of goat's blood in his right hand. For some reason it felt rather sacrificial. "You know, Paul, I was thinking it might be fun if you and I did something together while they're away. I'd love for us to fly to Alaska, spend a day hiking and stay out for the night to see the northern lights." He gazed at Paul with a hopeful expression. "You could even bring beer if you wanted." No, the vampire king wasn't above bribery.

"You're out of your goddamn mind if you think I'd let Ryan go to Las Vegas of all places without me!" The wolf yelled, and Ryan couldn't help but frown. The wolf was always yelling.

"Since when are you his keeper?" James asked, genuinely curious to hear the answer to his question since there wasn't one. Ryan was his own man… woman or something in between – whatever the younger prince identified as, it didn't matter to James. What mattered to James was Ryan's happiness, and it hardly took a genius to realize Paul wasn't any good for is naïve little brother… his sweet baby brother whose only mistake in life was imprinting on that jackass.

"He is my imprint! Mine!" Paul snarled, teeth bared. He was eager to be given a reason to lunge across Ryan's lap and rip the cadaverous flesh, hard as granite, from James' icy bones. He wanted to kill the prick when he was human, and now that he was halfway dead he wanted to finish the fucking job!

"Enough of this shit!" Jacob roared, fist slamming down on the table. "Can't a guy eat his dinner in relative goddamn peace?! Whether you like it or not, Paul, Ryan is going to Vegas. And James," his eyes flicked to his oldest. "Do your best not to incite Paul's rage, please. I've already had it up to here with him," He said while motioning far above his head.

"Ryan is not going!" Paul butted in. "He wouldn't even want to go without me," he looked to his beloved imprint. "Isn't that right, angel?"

The prince unfortunately met Paul's gaze only to find his handsome, albeit nutty wolf eyeing him beseechingly. Ryan opened his mouth to tell Paul a weekend away from each other wouldn't be so bad, but the wolf's arms squeezed Ryan close as his nose fell to nuzzle at the crook of Ryan's neck, even leaving a trail of chaste kisses along his exposed collar bone. How could he ever deny Paul what he wanted?

"Paul's right," Ryan sighed. "I don't want to go without him."

"This isn't up for debate, puppy." Jacob's tone was firm, although his smile was one of playfulness. "You, and just you, will be going to Vegas with your dear old daddy and your bloodsucking big brother, and were going to have damn good time getting wasted as fuck. I know of a massage parlour that gives wicked happy endings too."

"Jacob!" Edward gasped, smacking his husband on the shoulder. "What the hell?"

Jacob rolled his eyes and smiled innocently. "It's for the boys, dear, for the boys." He leaned to the side, running his fingers along his husband's thigh while nibbling a wintry earlobe. "I hear if you throw in an extra fifty bucks they'll massage not only your back, but your prostate too," he flirtatiously whispered, russet fingers inching toward a growing bulge in slate gray slacks. "If I worked there and you came in… well, for a smokin' hot leech like yourself, I'd do it for free." He palmed his husband's erection over the soft material of the pants, nipping his snowy white neck. "I'd pay you to let me suck your cock."

"Oh god," Paul groaned, "we're not fucking deaf."

Jacob snapped his gaze to the wolf. "You're not? Could have fooled me. You never listen to a damn thing I say unless I actually order you to."

Paul shook his head, gripping Ryan's hand and ushering the prince to his feet as he stood. "I've had enough of this, and so has Ryan. We'll eat in my room." Paul didn't give either king a chance to speak before he was dragging a reluctant little wolf from the dining room.

As Paul marched his imprint up the grand staircase, as if he'd been naughty and needed a time out, he gripped Ryan's shoulders painfully tight. "You're not to ever leave the palace without me," he ominously snarled. "I'd paint the palace red with your father's blood before I'd let him take you away from me." It was that very moment that Ryan realized he needed to grow a backbone. If Paul actually believed Jacob was some sort of danger to them than the wolf had well and truly gone mad. It hurt Ryan's heart to think Paul wasn't really the Paul that imprinted on him all those years ago. Once upon a better time Paul wouldn't have hurt a fly unless genuinely provoked. Now he was threatening kings.