Page 25 of Love of the Bladed Dove
His name left her lips in a breathless whisper. In one swift, fluid motion, Theron lifted her, his strength effortless, and her legs wrapped around his waist. He carried her to the cot, his mouth never leaving hers. The moment her back touched the familiar rough fabric, Layla was all sensation. The warmth of his hands roaming every arch and curve of her. The crush of his body above hers. His lips tracing fire down her jaw, to her throat, and lower still. She had never felt so... alive.
His hand slipped under her top, cupping her swollen breast, squeezing gently. The tips of his fingers rough but reverent. She shivered. Her skin tingled in his wake. Each slow movement of his body againsthers sent a surge of need pooling low in her belly. She wanted more. Gods, she wanted everything. But—
“Theron… I…” Her voice was barely audible. Still, it was enough. He stilled. Every muscle in his body tensed above hers. She didn’t know how to say it. Her breath caught in her throat as embarrassment flooded her. “I… I haven’t—” she began, faltering.
But Theron’s expression changed. She saw it instantly—the recognition, the shift. He didn’t need her to finish. He pulled back. And in the next breath, he was gone.
Layla sat up, stunned. She stared at the empty doorway, the hide swaying behind him. The heat that had consumed her moments before drained from her body like a receding tide. Gone was the fire. Gone was the man who had kissed her like she was the last thing worth fighting for. She looked down at herself—flushed, shaken, half-undressed—and felt the familiar sting of shame crawl up her throat. She pulled her clothes back into place with trembling fingers. The ache in her chest was no longer desire. It was rejection. Confusion. Hurt.What just happened?Had she pushed him too far? Had he not wanted heranymore after realizing she was inexperienced? Or was it something else entirely? She curled into herself, pulling her knees to her chest, tears stinging the corners of her eyes once again. This night was supposed to be her escape. Her beginning. Instead, it had turned into another wound she didn’t know how to stop bleeding from.
Chapter thirteen
Layla.
Layla woke with a rage so sharp it nearly choked her. It pressed hot and wild in her chest, a tempest of fury at the Bartorians, the Antonin warriors who’d stolen her freedom, and most of all—at Theron. That last one she hated the most, because it shouldn’t matter. Not compared to everything else. And yet, her stomach still twisted at the memory of his hands on her skin, the heat in his eyes... the shame that followed.
She had kissed him. She had started it. But he had been the one to push it forward, one step, then another, until she was burning for him. And then, as soon as he realized what she was—what she hadn’t done—he’d abandoned her like she’d repulsed him. The humiliation made her skin crawl. Maybe he only wanted women who already knew what to do. Maybe he’d known all along that she was untouched. It wasn’t exactly uncommon in Graystonia for noblewomen to wait until marriage unless they were careless or lowborn. She had never been either. But maybe most of all… her rage was grief in disguise.
Her father was gone. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. She wanted to scream, to claw her way home. To be with her family. To protect them. To grieve beside them. But she was here. In this cursed village. In Theron’s hut. And he hadn’t even returned last night. She’d waited. Foolishly. Hoping he’d come back, offer some pathetic attempt at comfort, even an awkward glance or grunted apology. But he hadn’t.
Dawn crept in through the slits of the hide, and Layla knew she had to find out what today would bring. The other warriors had returned. She needed to know everything about Graystonia, about the city, about whether her mother and sisters still breathed. She needed a new escape plan.
The hide lifted, and Sparrow’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Come on.” He didn’t look in, didn’t offer an explanation, just the command. Layla followed, ignoring the way her stomach clenched.
As she straightened outside, movement from the neighboring hut caught her eye. Kain emerged, casually adjusting himself. She caught his gaze just as a tall, raven-haired woman stepped out after him. Frea.Of course. Layla watched with thinly veiled disgust as Frea dragged a hand down Kain’s backside before walking off. Kain smirked at Layla, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement, and winked. Her jaw dropped.Seriously? He’s screwing the same woman who nearly killed me?She rolledher eyes and turned back to Sparrow, grinding her teeth. The last thing she wanted to think about was Kain having sex. Or Theron not having it with her.
They walked in silence to the morning gathering, her ire ebbing as nerves took its place. Her fists clenched at her sides. She needed answers.
As they neared the gathering, her eyes betrayed her—scanning the crowd until they landed on Theron near the front. Her breath caught before she could stop it. He didn’t look at her. Not once. It hit like a punch to the gut. Her cheeks burned, and she hated herself for caring.
“The Bartorians hold the Graystonian castle—but not the city,”Theron’s voice rang out, calm and cold. “They want the territory. They think by claiming there’s no male heir, they can force the army to surrender. But after stepping onto our lands and attacking our people, this is no longer about strategy—it’s about message.” He looked over the crowd, his gaze resolute. “We strike tomorrow. Not to save Graystonia—but to crush Bartoria’s plans where they stand. We take back the castle. We kill every soldier arrogant enough to cross into the South. Let them learn what happens when you provoke the Antonin. We do not forgive. We do not forget. Prepare yourselves. Tomorrow, we march to war.”
Layla’s mouth fell open.They hadn’t taken the city? The people… her mother, her sisters—could still be fighting. Could still be alive. She moved without thinking. She shoved forward, weaving through the crowd, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment, her fury, everything but the desperate, blinding hope that surged in her.
“Take me with you!” she shouted. Theron didn’t even glance at her. The only indication that he had even heard her was that his jaw flexedand he brushed her off with a grunt. Like she was nothing more than a damned gnat to him now.
“No! You will listen to me!” she snapped, grabbing his arm. “I know secret tunnels. Ways into the castle that no one else does. I can get you inside. But only if you take me.” She stood tall, defiant, daring him to deny her. He turned at last. His eyes met hers. Something flickered there—something unreadable—but it was gone before she could grasp it.
“Let’s take the little dove,” Kain interjected, appearing seemingly out of nowhere with a lazy grin of his. Casually draping an arm around Theron’s shoulder like they were all friends and weren’t talking about the future of her kingdom. “If she dies, I call that a win-win.” Theron’s entire body went taut. His fists clenched, jaw rigid, eyes narrowing like he was holding back the urge to murder Kain on the spot.
“No,” Theron growled, dark and low.
But then Queen Okteria stepped forward, her gaze calm and calculated. “We take her. Use her knowledge. And if she dies… make sure she has been of value to us first.” Just like that, her life was no longer her own.Again.
“Don’t worry, brother,” Kain said as he turned to go. “I’ll train our little dove today so she has a fighting chance... Not like I need the time to practice anyways.”
“You’re not touching her,” Theron snapped, pushing Kain off him, who only laughed and walked off.
Layla’s heart pounded. She turned back to Theron, her voice calm despite the storm inside her. “I can fight. I can help. Even if I have to doit beside him.” She waved in the direction of Kain’s back as he continued to walk away.
Theron exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp. “You’re coming,” he muttered. “But you will not be near the battle. That’s final.” He turned on his heel before she could respond and began striding toward Illyada’s hut without so much as a second glance. Layla scoffed. Indignation surged through her, sharp and cold.What was his problem? Did he hate her now? Because she dared to want him? Because she wasn’t seasoned in matters of intimacy? Because she wasn’t like the presumable many women before her?She wanted to scream at him. Ask if he thought she was disgusting. If her inexperience was that revolting. But she didn’t. She bit her tongue so hard it nearly bled. She would see her family again. That’s what mattered.
She followed Theron and Sparrow to Illyada’s hut, watching as Theron gave a curt nod to Illyada and immediately walked off with Sparrow like she wasn’t even there. Not a glance. Not a word. Layla clenched her jaw. Her chest was too tight to breathe.Fine. Two could play that game. She stomped over to the workbench, snatched up a rabbit, and began gutting it with far more aggression than necessary. She didn’t care that blood spattered her hands. She welcomed it. Let Theron play the cold-hearted warrior. She was a fucking queen’s daughter. And tomorrow, she’d prove it.
“Jeez, what did that poor rabbit ever do to you?”
The familiar velvet voice pulled Layla out of her thoughts like a splash of cold water. She didn’t look up. She didn’t want to. Not now. Not when her fury had nowhere to go but the unfortunate rabbit guts beneath her bloodied hands. She knew that voice. Kain.Of course itwould be him. Freyric thought he was being funny today by sending Kain to her while she was in this mood. Layla focused harder on her work, slicing into the sinew as if ignoring him might make him disappear.
“Oh fine. Ignore me,” he sighed dramatically. “Then I won’t spar with you today to prepare for battle. I’m sure you already know everything there is to know about fighting.” Layla’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and there it was—his ever-present smirk, cocky and knowing.
