Page 6 of Wrestling With Werewolves

But it’s the lascivious way those black eyes trail down my body and back up that sets my teeth on edge.

Thankfully, one of the guards comes to my rescue with a quick retort. “It’s our job. We’re happy to do it, and we have lunch plans, Second.” He spits Eliel’s title like a cuss word.

Eliel shrugs, waving the guard’s comment away. “No matter. I’ll join you.”

Ugh.

Technically, as Papá’s Second, he ranks higher than my guard. They can’t tell him no.

But I can.

“No thanks, Second,” I say cheerfully, using his title to remind him that he doesn’t run this pack.

Eliel steps off the sidewalk and slips both hands into white linen slacks that accentuate the bulge between his thighs. His cock is hard, the swollen edges of the fleshy knot at the base of his penis clearly visible through the thin fabric. He probably thinks I find that hot, that if he shows me what he’s packing, I might throw caution to the wind and beg him to knot me.

Gross.

I don’t think there’s ever been an alpha who appealed to me less than this one.

My guards hover behind me. They work for the crown, not Eliel, but the lines of seniority blur this high up the shifter food chain. Technically speaking, Eliel isn’t a threat. I just find him skeezy.

He stops in front of me, so close we’re almost touching. Dark eyes travel a path down to my chest and back up, his full lips curling into what he likely thinks is a seductive smirk. “You should really give me a chance, Princesa. I could be so good to you.”

Yuck.

I beam brightly and wink at him. “I’m married to the music, Eliel. There’s no place in my heart to test out your theory.”

His smirk grows into a full, fang-toothed smile. “For now, Lola. But not forever. At some point, you’ll be expected to take a mate. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

Boiling fury joins the chill traveling down the back of my neck, all the way down my spine as my body violently rejects his suggestion. Still, I know when no reaction is the best reaction. When I say nothing, Eliel chuckles and curls his upper lip backward, showing me his fangs.

“Step away from the princess,” one of my guards orders.

Eliel mock salutes and turns away, but he’ll be back, I know it. Because that sinister look in his eye? I’ve seen it before.

Hours later, a knock at my bedroom door draws my attention. “Come in!” I call as I turn. I’m struggling to get the vision of Eliel’s commentary out of my head. Fuck, that’s the least of my troubles based on the grim look on Nuñez’s face as he enters my room. I suspect I’m about to get an ear chewing from Papá about last night. Seems like today is the day of rough conversations. Not even a morning of rounds absolves me of what I did.

My head bodyguard cuts me a harsh look. Dark circles underscore both of his eyes. “Your father wants to see you immediately.”

I cross the room to gaze up into his weathered face. “I’m sorry if I made your job difficult, old friend.” My apology comes out as a whisper.

Nuñez runs one hand through his sun-kissed dark hair. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter now because I’m no longer your head bodyguard.”

Shockwaves ripple through me, my mouth dropping open. “What do you mean? You’ve been with me since I was a child!”

His expression flattens, his nostrils flaring. “Yeah, that was before you planned an entire concert and escaped the castle right under my nose for the millionth time. The king no longer trusts me to guard you, and I don’t blame him. Last night was the last straw, Lola.”

Oh moons. I bring a hand to my mouth. “Why? What’s different this time? Nuñez, I’m so sorry.”

My guard waves the question and apology away. “Get dressed, Lola; let’s not keep him waiting.”

He steps out as I grab my crown. It’s still in the pocket of my skirt from the concert. Shock and shame war within me. I thought through the consequences of what I did, but I never expected Papá to go this far. He never has before, and I’ve probably snuck out two dozen times in the last decade. He loves to remind me that my future is the people of Santa Alaya, not a musical career, but he’s never come down that hard on me for pursuing music.

Two minutes later, I follow my bodyguard through breezy, sunkissed hallways from my suite to my father’s office on the far side of the castle. Every archway we pass through shimmies and shakes, almost like a reassuring pat on my back. But by the time Nuñez and I get to the door to Papá’s office, even the castle is quiet.

My heart pounds in my ears as Nuñez grabs the door handle and swings the whitewashed door open, gesturing for me to enter. I walk quickly down a short hall filled with bookshelves on either side. It opens into the office, a giant open space, the back wall of windows looking out onto the city and the bay.

Papá sits at his desk, a thunderous look on his face. He rises as I enter the vaulted room. A figure kneels to the left of his desk.

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