Page 6 of Consort's Glory
The newsof his consort’s brush with Grim didn’t put Theodore in a good mood.
Arriving at the scene to find said consort in the arms of a notoriously charming coyote alpha put him in a really fucking bad mood.
Theodore tried to think past the immediate burst of protective rage that came with his first full inhale of Margot’s scent; to reason past the initial, blinding burst of chemicals now infusing his bloodstream; to quell that first, furious urge to clutch her to his chest and never, ever let her go.
Calm except for the churning, volatile hormones sinking their teeth into his psyche, he forced himself to look away from Margot with sheer, teeth-gritted will. He wanted— needed to drink in the sight of her. It was a need he’d forced himself to satisfy with surveillance shots sent in by her guard until this moment, but now that he was faced with her, Theodore knew he could not go on the way he had.
Still, he had to focus.
Wrapping his authority around himself like a cloak, Theodore arched a brow. “Stand down, Vik.” He kept his gaze locked with Viktor’s. “This situation is under control. Go back to your territory and stay there.”
Viktor’s eyes went from vivid blue to deep, menacing amber in an instant. “She’s a friend of the pack. Might as well belong to—”
“No, she does not belong to you,” Theodore replied, the whip of command in his voice. A blue flush darkened the tops of his cheekbones and the tips of his ears as he struggled to restrain every protective, possessive instinct. “If she had joined your pack, I would have heard of it.”
Margot Goode was not under Viktor Hamilton’s authority or protection. Theodore knew for certain that the responsibility for her protection belonged solely to him.
And I failed her.
He didn’t need to glance at the burned husk of her home to feel the acid of shame that ate at his insides. It joined the elemental crush of his instincts to make a potent, bubbling fury.
But the recriminations had to wait until Margot was safe, and definitely until she was no longer holding onto the coyote shifter and looking at him with that battered, stricken look, like he was the one who would take care of her in her hour of need.
Taking in a deep breath through his nose, he said, “If you do not stand aside so that I can assess the situation and see to Healer Goode’s welfare, Vik, I will be forced to use my claws.” Theodore slowly canted his head to one side, assessing the man he once called a friend. “I think we both know how that will turn out.”
Viktor’s grin was all coyote — sharp-toothed and cunning. “You wanna start a war over a girl, Teddy?”
He would. In a heartbeat, he would.
He allowed himself a single look at Margot’s pale face before he answered, with the utmost sincerity, “That is up to you, Vik.”
Theodore could feel the commander of his guard a little ways behind him, as well as the shadows that were his elite unit hovering just out of sight, ready to defend him at a moment’s notice.
Kazimier knew better than to interfere, though. If Theodore truly needed the back-up, Kaz and his guards would be by his side in a heartbeat, but there was no way Theodore couldn’t subdue two coyote shifters on his own. He wouldn’t even break a sweat.
“No, no, no.” Margot elbowed her way out from behind Viktor. The shifter made to grab her, but one venomous look from those copper-colored eyes put him in his place. Not even an alpha wanted to piss off a gloriana.
And then Margot Goode, the bloody center of his universe, stepped forward.
Theodore’s heart squeezed hard. His lungs expanded in a huge inhale, the scent of her skin burning a path through his chest, sizzling through every vein, every capillary, until it branded him from the inside out. Theodore’s heart hammered against his nearly unbreakable ribs as sweat slicked down the length of his spine.
He could feel his body kicking into overdrive, making him into something new, something just for her.
My consort. Finally.
He imagined their meeting a thousand ways. In the six months since she snapped into focus in his mind, Theodore became even more obsessed with their meeting than he was the past twenty-five years. He planned it down to the minute and inhaled every scrap of information about her that existed so he could get the moment exactly right.
Nothing had gone according to plan, but the impact of it, the enormity of seeing her in the flesh, was as he expected: Margot Goode knocked his entire world sideways.
“No war. No fighting,” she said, her prim voice only slightly roughened by her ordeal. The sound of it sent a rush of adrenaline through his system, sharpening every one of his senses to her and her alone. “I’m fine. Just— what exactly can I do for you, Sovereign?”
For a taut moment, all he could do was stare.
Margot was awfully small compared to him. All five feet and three inches of her fell well below the elvish average of seven feet. Her bones were fine; her features delicate, breakable, almost fey. Her hair, full of plaster dust and half-fallen out of a twist, was a red that leaned closer to gold.
Her eyes were a deep copper, almost red. Despite the head wound, they were clear, focused, guarded in ways that made him want to stroke the tension out of her spine with slow, gentle touches.
Theodore watched, rapt, as blood trickled down the elegant column of her throat, marking the place where he would — Glory willing — use his fangs to subdue her, gentle her, make her his.
