Chapter 1 #5
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.
Regain control, Theora. You’re almost there.
Still, it wasn’t so much his aggression as his proximity that threw her off—she wasn’t used to standing close to strangers like this.
And he was so close. Unbothered by the intimacy of it.
He was…touching her. He wasn’t supposed to touch her, was he?
His strong hand heated her on one side, his fingers pressing against the tender skin of her throat, the massive presence of his body making her so aware of her uneven breaths that if she hadn’t been anticipating imminent death, she might have mistaken the gesture for foreplay.
“I don’t care what Boada says,” he said, his voice deep and threatening. “I don’t belong to you.”
Theora swallowed, maintaining her quiet until she was sure her voice wouldn’t tremble when she said, “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of being claimed by a Docile for two measly weeks?”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
The Warrior’s face remained blank, and the growl continued, but if his eyes could’ve dictated his face’s expression, Theora had a feeling he’d be gaping with shock.
Theora’s question was the checkmate to end the game.
By challenging her in return, he’d be admitting to fear.
By yielding to her, he’d be admitting defeat.
The only thing for him to decide now was which of the two options was least shameful.
Theora forced the tension from her body as the Warrior’s eyes burned like molten gold. Tension meant fear. A wavering gaze meant discomfort. Both of which Warriors could sense.
But he could also smell the sweat dripping down her neck. Hear her heart pounding heavily and the breath leaving her nose in quick huffs. Those she couldn’t hide.
Even so, when she told him to cease, he stopped growling. When she told him to yield, he did so. And he kept her gaze long enough for her to rest the rope around his neck, and even after.
She tightened the rope loop, turning it into a thick leash that kept the Warrior from bowing or turning his neck, kept his eyes on her. He was hers to command now.
Theora took a deep breath and touched her fingertips against her bottom lip. “Theora,” she said, and then touched his bottom lip the same way, forcing herself not to cringe as her fingers slid a little from the slick blood.
He stared at her, that same distrustful look he’d had since the beginning mixed up with the bit of awe he’d just recently adopted, both accentuated by that ever-rolling growl.
Then he touched his own lip briefly, and Theora felt a small tremor up her spine as his bloodied fingers gently brushed her lip in return.
“Argos,” his deep voice rumbled, almost reluctantly.
But when she held his rope and led him toward the door, there was no reluctance in his movements.
Whether he liked it or not, he was hers.