Page 14 of Love of the Bladed Dove
Now, seeing Layla in Antonin leathers?Gods. They clung to her body in ways that made his blood simmer. The top barely contained her generous breasts, and the skirt—if it could even be called that—left her long legs and perfectly rounded ass far too visible for his peace of mind. She looked like a warrior goddess. Strong. Wounded. Infinitely untouchable.And his….No. Not his….Buthis to protect. Or at least, that’s what he wanted. What he would do, if it were up to him. He had spoken the words. Claimed her safety. Declared her protected. And if it were his decision alone, he would honor that vow until his last breath.
But it wasn’t his decision. Not fully. The queen’s orders still stood above his own wants, no matter how fierce the need had grown to shield Layla from everything and everyone. Lost in his thoughts, he momentarily glanced down and noticed she was barefoot.For fucks sake!He cursed silently. He hadn’t thought of everything. That would be fixed. Immediately.
Today, he would face the queen. He would do his duty. But gods willing, he’d find a way to keep Layla safe—even if he had to fight for it. And Visen… if the bastard so much as looked at her again, Theron would put a blade through him without hesitation. But first—first, he had to make sure she never looked at him with fear again. That, more than anything, was what he couldn’t bear. Not from her. Not fromLayla.
He shook his head.The gathering.Right. He had to focus. He was the head warrior. The one they looked to for leadership and control. Butever since she’d fallen into his world, his thoughts had been anything but controlled. Layla—gods, even her name was a distraction—was taking up far too much space in his mind. And the worst part? He didn’t want her to leave it.
As they began to weave through the crowd, the warriors’ glances shifted in their direction. Some confused, some assessing, some even admiring. But no one dared question him aloud. Still, Theron saw the silent curiosity in their eyes, why she was in tribe leathers, why she was at his side.Let them wonder. Let them burn with questions they’d never be brave enough to ask.
When they reached the front of the Circle, Theron came to a stop beside Sparrow. Without a word, Sparrow turned his head slightly, their silent language clicking into place. Years of battle, of blood and brotherhood, had taught them to speak without sound. Theron looked down at Layla. As if sensing his gaze, her eyes met his—wide, cautious, intelligent.
“Stay with Sparrow,” he murmured low. She glanced between them, uncertain, her hesitation clear. But after a moment, she nodded. That small gesture gave Theron the tiniest breath of relief. She’d be safe. Sparrow would make sure of it. He turned toward his true challenge now- his mother.
Queen Okteria stood near the stone ledge that overlooked the Circle. She’d been watching them. The look she gave Layla was nothing short of venomous. But when her gaze met Theron’s, her face twisted into false warmth, a deception only a child of hers could see through.
“Theron,” she purred, her voice velvet over steel. But her eyes slid back to Layla like daggers.
“What exactly are your plans for Lay—the prisoner?” He quickly corrected himself. Forcing his voice to stay even. Okteria was slow to answer, as always when she wanted to wield control. Finally, she turned back to him, her words acid-dipped.
“She may no longer be our prisoner, but she will be our slave,” she said coldly. “As her kingdom crumbles, she will labor as a reminder of our victory. Every day she breathes among us, she will prove that Graystonia is no more.”
Theron’s stomach turned. A tight, furious knot tangled in his gut.A slave?He wanted to scream. To roar. To shove the word back down her throat. But he clenched his jaw and let the fire burn inward. His fists curled at his sides.
“I want confirmation that the Bartorians have taken the city,” she added, flicking her wrist like the conquest of a nation was nothing. “Send a group. And teach the girl our food. If she runs… she’ll wish she were dead.” And just like that, the conversation was over. Queen Okteria turned away, leaving a trail of bitterness in her wake. Theron closed his eyes and exhaled a slow breath to keep himself from exploding. Then he turned to address the warriors, shaking the tension from his arms like a cloak he couldn’t shed.
“Routes remain the same,” he barked. His voice rang sharp across the Circle. “Kain—you’re leading the group to Graystonia. Confirm the state of the city.” He knew without looking the kind of expression that order would put on Kain’s face. Surprise, likely followed by that ever-familiar smirk. Healwayssent Sparrow. But Sparrow had a more important duty now- watching Layla. Protecting her. He wasn’t leaving her unguarded again. As he scanned the warriors, Theron’s gaze landedon Visen. The sight of him was both satisfaction and poison. Visen was barely recognizable, his face a patchwork of swelling, bruises, and blood. Two blackened eyes. A broken nose. A split lip. Theron’s knuckles still ached from the memory. But it wasn’t enough.Not nearly enough.If tribe law didn’t forbid him from executing a warrior without trial, he’d have gutted the bastard himself.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his mother watching him. Her smirk was all-knowing. She hadn’t missed the tension, the bruises. She didn’t need to ask what had happened. But Theron had no intention of offering explanations. If anyone tried to dig, they’d find nothing but silence and a death glare.
He tilted his head toward a nearby warrior. “Garrun. Take my eastern route.” Then to Sparrow: “Get some sleep. I want you on guard tonight.” Sparrow gave a short nod—nothing more was needed. His eyes flicked to Layla, then back to Sparrow. He understood where exactly he was needed tonight. With those orders done, Theron gave one last sweeping look at the gathered warriors, jaw set. “You have your orders.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away—no further words, no room for questions.
As the group began dispersing, Theron headed back to her. She had been watching him intently. There was something in her eyes—something questioning, something almost trusting. He hated how much it affected him.
“Come,” he said simply, leading her toward Eir’s hut once again. At least Eir’s would be quiet.
As they dipped back within the comfort of Eir’s hut. He could see the older woman preparing her tools inside. When she saw them, the reopened gash across her arm, the new bruises and cuts across Layla’s face and body. Eir didn’t say anything once again. Just simply gestured to the same cot as yesterday. This time Layla didn’t waver to accept her assistance. That was until Eir offered her the same drink as yesterday.
“No thank you,” she said softly, yet firmly. “I will endure.”
Theron turned slightly at the tone. There was strength in it. He respected that. Eir didn’t argue, only began to clean the wound, then handed Layla a piece of bark when the time came. Layla gritted through the stitching without a sound, and Theron felt something strange rise in his chest.Pride? Guilt? Maybe both.He should’ve thought to clean her up himself, but it hadn’t occurred to him. He wasn’t used to caring for others. Only commanding them.
When they left for Illyada’s hut, Layla looked cleaner, her eyes brighter, despite the bruises. The image of her yesterday, bloodied and sobbing in the dark, still haunted him. Illyada was already elbow-deep in dressing a deer when they approached. Her blade slicing effortlessly through muscle and hide. She was the tribe’s best chef. A warrior in her own right, but preferred to slice up animals over others when she had the choice. She paused only briefly as they approached, waiting for instructions. Her strength and silence were things Theron respected.She wouldn’t question this task, and more importantly, she wouldn’t mistreat Layla.
“She’s yours during daylight,” he told Illyada. “Train her well.” Illyada gave a single nod, no questions asked. Theron looked at Layla, just once, but it was enough to make something tighten in his gut. He stepped in, close enough to catch the scent of her skin—clean now, soft and earthy, but still laced with that same trace of lavender he’d caught the first day she fell into his path. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, his voice low enough for only her to hear.
“Don’t run,” he whispered—more plea than command. Then he turned away before the temptation to stay could override his sense. He needed to move. To breathe. To do something. His blood simmered beneath his skin, too hot, too volatile. The loathing festering in him over Visen, the confusion twisting his thoughts every time Layla looked at him like he mattered—it was too much. He had to do something or he would snap. Just then, his gaze caught on Kain near the trees, streaked with mud like the rest of the scouts. His brother stood tall and smug, arms crossed, bow slung over his back.
“Kain, just scouting, nothing more.” Theron barked.
Kain raised a brow. “Just scouting?” he repeated mockingly. “Funny. I thought you came over to ask about last night.” Theron stiffened. Kain leaned in, whispering with a wicked grin, “You know, I didn’t know watching was your thing, but hey no judgement. Whatever gets you off.”
The snarl that escaped Theron’s throat was involuntary. He shoved Kain backward with force. Kain just laughed, throwing his arms up.
“Relax. I’m going. Scouting only. I swear.”
He gave that mischievous wink that told Theron that Kain was not going to follow a damned word he commanded. But Theron turned away before he did something he couldn’t walk back. Theron knew he needed to work off some of this anger, fear, and, if he was being honest with himself, sexual frustration. His body was coiled tight, his mind chaotic. So he sought out the one thing that always grounded him—Not war. Not bloodshed. But controlled, focused combat. He desperately needed that. Needed the violence with rules, the fight with purpose.
He found Xaden by the outer ring of the Circle—seated on a sun-warmed boulder, sharpening his blade as if he had all the time in the world. The rhythmic scrape of stone over steel was the only sound between them for a moment. Xaden looked up, his dark eyes sharp and knowing, catching the storm raging behind Theron’s usually unreadable face. A slow, cocky grin crept across his lips. He knew that look. Everyone did.
