Page 7 of Consort's Glory
The part of him that was not in any way civilized let loose a howl of rage as fresh blood dribbled down her throat to stain the sweetheart neckline of her ruined dress, breaking the sensual spell.
His own blood rushing hot and furious in his ears, Theodore shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks before she could see the way his claws flexed hard. The instinct to hide anything that might make her fear him could not be ignored.
Put her at ease, his rushing blood told him. Gentle her.
Instinct both muddied his thoughts and made them more clear. The demands of his blood whipped across his psyche with ruthless confidence, honing his focus to a claw’s edge.
Make her see you’ll take care of her, instinct pressed, a force of will and a want so furious it felt barely under his control. When she’s well, let her use her claws on you, then pin her down and lock your jaw on her throat and—
Theodore cleared his throat. Not yet. “A healer was attacked in my city,” he finally answered her, his voice a touch rougher than normal. “The granddaughter of Sophie Goode, no less. Of course I came to investigate.”
Margot stood very still, only stray strands of her hair moving in the damp breeze. “I… didn’t realize anyone paid attention to who I was.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Didn’t you wonder why you got approval to be in the Protectorate so quickly? Your grandmother made it very clear that the Collective would view your residency at the Healing House as a sort of… diplomatic exchange.” He fought a grimace. “A trust exercise, if you will.”
“Oh.” Margot swallowed hard. “Have I been under surveillance this whole time?”
He didn’t bother to lie. “Yes. Your safety has been a top priority for Patrol since your arrival.”
Theodore knew he should blink. Look away. Let her think, for just a moment, that he was not utterly consumed by the sight and smell and presence of her, but he couldn’t. He could barely stop himself from closing the distance between them when he finished, “This is going to be investigated to the fullest extent of my power, Healer Goode. Whoever or whatever did this will not get away with it.”
Attacking a healer was breathtaking in its audacity; an act of unrivaled stupidity. Considering the rarity of healers and the fact that they were under the direct protection of whoever controlled the territory, it also carried the weight of a slight against three separate gods.
Theodore could only imagine the kind of desperation that went into committing such crime. What could possibly compel someone to attack a healer, of all beings?
Even if his elite guard didn’t already confirm the scent of explosives from the back of the Healing House, Theodore knew it was no accident. It couldn’t be. Not when Margot Goode was the granddaughter of the most powerful witch in the United Territories and Allies, and not when she had been connected to him from her very first breath.
Margot was far, far too important to be the focus of simple bad luck. Someone targeted her.
If that someone had a motive related to politics, they would be dealt with in the traditional elvish fashion — with tooth and claw. Attacking a healer in his territory was a high profile hit to his image, a challenge to his ability to keep his territory safe.
Attacking a Goode was an even ballsier move, since her very presence in the Protectorate acted as an expression of tentative trust between the Protectorate and the Coven Collective. Damaging that relationship could have dire political consequences.
But if that motive turned out to be about her very personal, if currently unacknowledged, connection to him, then Theodore had much more to contemplate than a clear challenge to his power.
Margot raised a hand to her bleeding ear as she replied, “We don’t know it was an attack, though, do we? It could just be an accident. There’s no reason for anyone to target me.”
The back of Theodore’s neck tingled with unmistakable warning. His stomach sank. She’s lying.
Theodore took careful note of the distance between them. Seven or eight feet, he guessed, stood between him and the woman he’d thought of every day since he woke from a dead sleep in a cold sweat twenty-five years ago.
It would be the easiest thing in the world to close that distance, scoop her up, and throw her in the m-enhanced town car that waited by the curb inside the now fully cordoned off block. It would be so easy to whisk her off to safety, social niceties be damned, where he could force her to tell him exactly why someone might want to harm her.
He couldn’t do that, though; not without making her an even bigger target. It was the same reason she wasn’t immediately swarmed by her guards after the bomb went off. As soon as it was determined she wasn’t mortally wounded, they backed off, following strict orders to be wary of drawing unwanted attention to their charge.
Until their bond was secure, and until Theodore sniffed out the traitor in their midst, that kind of attention could — would prove deadly.
So he couldn’t do what he wanted to, which was mainly throw her over his shoulder and hide her away in his suite until the world was a safer place for her. He couldn’t even reassure her, not in front of so many witnesses, even though it went against every instinct now thrumming in time with his pulse.
“Why haven’t you healed yourself yet?” he found himself snapping. His temper couldn’t be checked when warring impulses were shredding his composure. “You’re bleeding.”
Those copper eyes narrowed. “I’ve been healing myself for the past several minutes, Sovereign. I can multitask.”
Her tone was flawlessly polite, measured in a soothing, very healer cadence, but the small flash of temper in her eyes was unmistakable.
The elf in him loved the bite of her verbal claws, the whisper of challenge she presented, but the man wanted to wrap her in blankets and shove her into a padded room as quickly as possible. He had no patience for watching her suffer.
He opened his mouth to direct her towards his waiting vehicle, but Viktor’s drawl cut him off.
