Page 6 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

He walked toward her, his growl quieting to a low rumble as he stopped right in front of her. The mirror on the wall beside them reflected them like negatives of each other—his skin as cream as hers was umber, his eyes as hot amber as hers were elegant violet, his attitude as eager to kill as hers was not to die.

Theora kept her position, her expression level, despite her desire to run in the opposite direction. She slid the thick rope off her shoulders and held it with both hands in front of her. She’d straightened her hair just last night with a hot comb, but already her head was sweating, her roots turning thick and curly. Hopefully, this was the only proof of her anxiety.

She cleared her throat and stepped forward, her arms shaking a bit from the weight as she held up the loop. She stood five-nine, taller than most of her peers, but she still had to look up at this towering killing machine. It was a strange feeling, for once, to feel so small.

The Warrior reached behind her and pushed the door shut, and with this gesture Theora’s windpipe seemed to shrink. The room was smaller than she’d thought with the door open, and she had a sudden fear that the walls might crush in on her, that any moment stabbing pain might follow.

For a moment she couldn’t catch her breath, in the worst way. All she could see was Queen Leveya, with her gorgeous box braids and full cheeks constantly rosy from laughter—often at the most inopportune times, forcing her to find somewhere hidden from the public eye to express herself. Theora didn’t care how people had hated her, or whether she’d been fit to be queen. It was Leveya who had been her steadfast friend, even to her death. Leveya who had thought nothing of lying on top of Theora when their car was attacked by Vespulans. Who’d had a stinger tear across her throat…the same stinger to slash Theora’s hip before the enemy was finally dispatched, by someone Theora wouldn’t be able to identify if she’d been offered eternal life.

It was as if Leveya’s lifeless body were pressing her into the leather car seat now, her panic building in the small space—

Just like a year ago…the day her life nearly ended.

The day she became queen.

She took a moment to catch her breath, to level her fear into something manageable. She couldn’t afford to panic. Not now. Not here.

Not when there was someone standing in front of her who was far more frightening than memories.

Because she was trapped now, with the grizzly. Who had most likely killed a literal bear on his way here.

Boada had given her word that he would cooperate, but so far first impressions were not encouraging.

The Warrior had been waiting for Theora to gather her nerves, it seemed, but as soon as they made eye contact the slow rumble rolling through his body turned into an active growl, his fangs bared. Warriors were trained to access their venom, their magic making the learning process easier than it was for Dociles, but even if he couldn’t, the fangs looked deadly enough to pierce her neck and tear her head off. And, worst of all, he looked agitated enough to actually do it.

“Cease,” Theora ordered, but maybe the Warrior caught the slight waver of fear in her voice, because, if anything, his growl intensified. She forced herself not to run in the opposite direction and cleared her throat, managing a cleaner, more confident version of “Cease.”

The Warrior’s growl backed down to the slow rolling.

“Yield,” she said, and he went down on one knee…slowly. His gaze on her was intense, but it was not a look she quite understood. Hate, distrust, defiance? Maybe none of those things. Maybe all of them. But he had yielded to her, which was all she needed. Once she put the rope over his head, the charm would take over. She’d be safe. Not to mention, his Honor as a respectful mate wouldn’t allow him to kill her.

Realistically, Honor was the only thing keeping Warriors from senselessly killing every Docile in the colony. Honor, too, was what kept them protecting the colony from enemies. If Honor was the only thing these bloodthirsty animals ever offered her, she’d take it.

Theora went to put the rope over his head, and he turned his face away. She froze, her arms shaking from supporting the weight so long. They were supposed to keep eye contact for the entire ritual. Was he having second thoughts? She couldn’t have that. If he rejected her to the point of standing again, he was sure to end their little dance by tearing out her throat.

“Eyes here,” she commanded.

Instead of obeying, he began to growl again. Next, he would stand. Next, she’d be dead. Why was she doing this, again?

For her colony. Her people. Well, that was the purpose of the peace talks, anyway.

The bodyguard was, in theory, for her own peace of mind…but, at this point, that was just ironic.

“Eyes here,” Theora tried again, and this time he looked at her but leaned forward, as if to stand.

Theora took a thoughtless step back. Wrong answer. That small movement away from his challenge was enough to erase any shred of dominance she held. She stumbled backward into the door as the Warrior stood. “Cease!” she said, but there was too much trembling in her voice to make the command effective.

The Warrior let out a roar that made the entire room reply, that made Theora instantly want to curl up and cry. But she couldn’t do something so foolish. She was the colony’s leader. If she couldn’t stand up to one Warrior, how was she supposed to lead her people through to the end of this war?

One Warrior.

One large, muscular…terrifying…bloodthirsty…raging Warrior.

Sovereign light, what was she doing enclosed in a small space with this thing?

“Cease!” she yelled back. “I am the queen of Aranea, and I say cease!”

The Warrior slammed one hand on the door beside her head, taking her throat in the other. She winced from the impact on the door, her breath going shallow at his hot hand against her pulse. He leveled his glare with hers, muscles rippling with the urge to pounce, a growl so loud and vicious Theora felt it vibrating in her own chest. Whether it was an attack or simply a warning, she was too flustered to process.