Page 51 of Consort's Glory
Margot stilled. Her fists were balled against his sides, her body stiff; she didn’t even breathe. For a second, he could have mistaken her for the statue of Glory in the Solbourne family shrine.
And then she relaxed.
Small fingers curled into his coat. The muscles of the shoulders under his arm unlocked. It was his turn to hold his breath as he felt the slightest shift of her weight, her body leaning into his. Her weight was familiar to him now, and more comforting than he could ever articulate.
He took in a shuddering breath. She’s okay.
“Frankie and his brother have come to see me several times,” Margot explained, tilting her head up to look at him with wide, concerned eyes. “I’ve healed all ten of his fingers and three of his toes. He’s not a threat. I promise.”
Theodore glanced between his consort and the boy, who couldn’t be more than eighteen and who looked ready to collapse at any moment.
He knew that Frankie wasn’t a threat. He knew that, but the beast in him didn’t care. It recognized only split-second decisions, and once that decision was made, it would not change its mind.
Despite the rage burning in his stomach, Theodore paled.
This was what Kaz warned him about. This was what Valen meant when he said the pull makes even the sanest elf crazy.
Frankie isn’t the only one with impulse control problems.
Theodore forced himself to slide his hand down the back of Margot’s head, skimming the fall of her hair, until both of his arms were loosely wrapped around her waist. Gritting his teeth, he said, “I apologize, Frankie— Angelique. I should have reacted with less aggression.”
Looks of surprise flashed across the faces of the gathered weres, but Theodore had already turned his attention away from them. Releasing a sigh, he offered Margot a wry smile. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. Your friend surprised me.”
“I…” Margot’s eyes darted around his face. He could feel her fingers flexing on the fabric of his coat as her throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “It’s okay,” she whispered, surprise making her voice and expression softer, somehow younger than before.
Except it wasn’t okay.
He was Sovereign. More than that, he was a grown man. He knew how to control his impulses, how to keep his claws to himself. Theodore was appalled that he came so close to attacking a teenager who would have stood no chance of surviving even a glancing blow from his claws.
Elves trained their youth in combat so hard for that very reason. It wasn’t about knowing how to fight. All elves were born with that instinct. It was about controlling that impulse, and keeping a steely grip on a strength that could destroy someone so easily.
Theodore’s claws were made of an almost molecularly identical material as diamonds. He had a bite force that could snap metal. His bones were as dense as concrete and his muscle mass outstripped most other races. He had to be in control, to keep a rigid handle on his strength and his temper, or else he would end up just like his father — a narcissistic madman who killed without hesitation or remorse.
Angelique muttered something in Frankie’s ear before turning him around by the shoulders and pushing him towards a thickly muscled cook. The cook clasped the boy’s nape with a wary glance at Theodore before stepping away, taking the boy out of sight with a muttered word of reassurance.
“Apology accepted.”
Theodore looked at Angelique with open surprise. She wore a no nonsense look as she began to guide them toward a small door in the farthest corner of the kitchen once more. “I didn’t realize,” she continued, shooting the pair a suspiciously knowing look over her shoulder. “If I had, I would have cleared the kitchen before you got here. New mates are always edgy. This was my bad.”
Margot sputtered. “Oh, we’re not—”
“Thank you for understanding,” he firmly interjected, giving his consort a squeeze. Margot’s mouth snapped shut, but she still leveled him with an indignant look.
Theodore kept his eyes trained on Angelique’s back as he rearranged his flustered consort under his arm. They followed her at a brisk pace until she reached the door. Angelique’s fingers were a flurry of movement as she entered a code on the attached keypad. He watched grimly, aware of the fact that every were in the room now knew exactly what Margot was to him.
The weres had their own pull, after all. They might not be born with the beast in them like he was, but they were as beholden to their instincts as any elf. Those instincts would recognize exactly why Theodore reacted the way he did. Any being who felt the call to a mate would understand.
The news was going to come out anyway, he reminded himself as Angelique pulled the door open to reveal a narrow staircase descending into a dark basement. At least the weres appreciate the seriousness of matehood.
He squeezed Margot’s shoulder. If only witches did the same.
* * *
Margot watched Angelique disappear down the rickety wood steps into the basement and was momentarily glad for the heavy arm around her shoulders, the heat radiating through her side from the man who held her. A shudder of deep unease worked its way through her body.
Without meaning to, a confession tumbled out of her. “I’m not great in dark spaces.”
No, not since she turned sixteen. Not since she spent that torturous week in that awful padded room, her ligaments pulling taut until her bones snapped and rearranged themselves. Not since strangers locked her in that dark little room and watched as madness ate her alive, only to leave without a word when clarity returned.
