Page 16 of Love of the Bladed Dove
Layla rolled her eyes, not hiding her disgust in the least before she returned her attention to the carcass before her. “Gods, it’s you.”
“I get that a lot,” he said without shame. “Usually right before I’m asked to stay.” She didn’t dignify that with an answer.
She felt him more than heard him close the distance between them. Once he was standing directly behind her, she quicky realized she didn’t like the feel of him towering over her. So Layla promptly stood up, emanating confidence as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at him. He was now so close that she could smell the apple on his breath and the leather at his collar. His green eyes roved her face…then lower.
“I’ve been picturing you just like this,” he went on, voice dropping, “elbow-deep in blood, cheeks flushed, mouth set in that little scowl you think makes you look scary… You don’t by the way. You just look like sin served rare.”
Layla’s scowl deepened, but she didn’t let his words affect her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I’m sure I’m not far off in guessing most women find you as revolting as I do.”
His smirk deepened, slow and self-assured. “Maybe,” he said, taking another bite of his apple, letting the juice run down his fingers. “But most of them don’t stop at just looking.” He winked at her. Clearly trying to get under her skin.
He stepped in, close enough for her to feel the heat coming off him as she had to tilt her head completely up to even still see his face. “Whatabout you, Dove?” His voice dipped, rough velvet. “You curious?” That wolfish grin back on his face as his eyes dragged over her like a physical touch. “Because I sure as hell am curious about you.”
“Curious? Ha. Please. I don’t waste my time on mangy mutts.” She gave him a slow once-over, her gaze dripping with judgment.
His grin only widened. “Careful, Dove. This mangy mutt might just bite.”
“I’m counting on it,”she said coolly, as she dropped her gaze to her nails, pretending her blood covered hands were so interesting at this moment in time before peering up through her lashes. “Bite me, and I’ll shove that apple so far down your throat, you’ll be coughing up seeds in the afterlife.”
His’s eyes twinkled, and then he barked out a laugh. The sound so rich as it burst from his chest. “Spirited. No wonder my brother can’t stop brooding.”
She stilled. “Your brother?”
He leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper, his breath warm against her ear. “You didn’t know? Theron. My big, broody, bashful brother. Son of our ever-terrifying queen.” Layla blinked, stunned. Th warrior leaned back, giving her a slow once-over. “Careful, Dove. You’re surrounded by more wolves than you think.”
He tossed the apple core into the brush and turned, already striding off with that maddening ease. Just before the trees swallowed him, he glanced back over his shoulder, winked, and whistled low. “See you around, little one.”
Layla stared after him, her whole body pulsed—not with fear, but with blazing rage. She didn’t realize she was gripping the deer’s organs in her hands until they squelched.
Illyada’s voice snapped her out of it. “Looks like someone got under your skin.”
Layla exhaled sharply and shook her head. “Like a tick,” she muttered.
Illyada laughed as she dropped a squirrel’s head into the stew bucket. “You’ll get used to him….Now, back to work."
“Doubtful.” Layla muttered before dropping back down to continue to work on the deer.
The hours passed in blood, sweat, and heat. Layla learned far more than she ever wanted to about animal guts. She’d hunted before, sure, but she never touched what came after the kill. That had been servants’ work. Here, it was survival.
By midafternoon, her skin was sticky, her muscles sore, and her pride battered. Sweat dripped from her temple, only to be smeared around her face with bloody hands. She caught her reflection in a bowl of water—feral, red-streaked, and somehow... hardened. Then she saw him. Her giant.Theron.He walked up the path shirtless, sweat glistening across his chest and arms. The intricate tattoo on his left shoulder wrapped down his arm and across his pectoral like a woven flame. Hisabs were chiseled, his expression unreadable. Layla’s eyes snapped away before she let them drop too far down his body.
She hunched over a rabbit, pretending to focus as footsteps approached. As she heard him slow to a stop, she hesitantly peeked up. He stood in front of her now, holding up a pair of worn leather boots.
“Here,’ is all he said as he handed them over to her.
"Oh… uh. Thank you," she murmured. Their eyes met. Blue crashing into hazel. His intensity made her stomach twist, and for once, it wasn’t nausea. He nodded once and turned, walking away without another word. Illyada chuckled from the squirrel she was skinning. Layla’s cheeks instantly flushed crimson as she tried to shake the warm feeling off.
Layla’s head jerked up. "What?" Illyada just laughed and shook her head.
Layla looked back down at the small boots in her hands, still warm from his grip. Her fingers tightened around them slightly, heart thudding louder than she liked. That small act—simple, thoughtful—shouldn’t have affected her like this. But it did. It stirred something dangerous in her chest.Confusion? Weakness?A trembling hope she had no right to feel. He was the enemy. She had to remind herself, force herself to remember that Theron wasn’t just some mysterious, brooding warrior who’d saved her. He wasQueen Okteria’s son. Son of the woman who had stolen her freedom, and now kept her caged like livestock while her people were scattered, likely slaughtered or worse. He bore the blood of the very line that is aiding in destroying her life. So why did his touch feel like safety? Why had his voice, commanding yet soft, made her want to obey, just for a second?
She looked up in the direction he’d walked, catching the broad line of his back as he disappeared between the huts, and it stung. He wasn’t cruel like the other brother, whose smugness oozed like spoiled wine. Theron had carried her. Protected her. Given her boots so her feet wouldn’t bleed. But kindness didn’t erase allegiance. Just because the wolf didn’t bare its teeth didn’t mean it wouldn’t still bite.
Her grip on the boots tightened. No matter how tender his voice, how intense those eyes, or how her stomach fluttered when he looked at her like that- he was still the son of her enemy. And shecouldn't afford to forget it. Not now. Not when her kingdom still needed her. Not when she still had to escape.
Chapter ten
Theron.
