Page 8 of Guarded By the Phantom

I looked back at the paparazzi. Technically, it wasn’t my job to protect her yet, and he was most likely harmless. Mind manipulators needed direct eye contact, which he wouldn’t get. Man just wanted a picture.

And yet.

I glanced at the young woman, so perfectly seated, not a hair out of place under her helmet. She came here because the stable didn’t let in the paparazzi. And even if she didn’t know about the video, I did, and I couldn’t imagine the commentary under the riding picture would be kind.

They would tear her to shreds. Right after she was force-fed on screen and humiliated publicly. For an unfathomable reason, it made my mouth salivate with the need to bite, shred, and mutilate.

The unsuspecting paparazzi moved deeper into the shade of the bush, frowning and cussing softly as he fiddled with the huge lens. I stared at him, my fingers twitching. I just realized something, and it made my hidden skin itch.

Fuck. I cared.

It was all because of Fatima’s scheming, I knew. She was one of the few people who knew my full story, and so she’d rightfully guessed that video would move me to take the case. Because howcould it not? I knew what it was like to be exposed to public humiliation. To lose control over your body and fate, being at the mercy of another.

The people who had done it to me were dead, and it was all over, and yet, as I watched Barbara’s eyelid twitch in a futile fight to regain her control in the video, it reminded me of that time.

It was why I was here instead of back in my den, sleeping my night off. It was why I wanted to squeeze the paparazzi’s head until it burst like a melon.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered under my breath, shooting the riding princess a baleful glare. “Look what you’ve done.”

When the paparazzi straightened, satisfied with his camera, I was already moving on bent knees. As he raised it to take a photo over the edge of the bush, I slapped the back of his head, making him drop the camera and cry out.

“Hey, handsome,” I murmured into his ear, putting my hand over his mouth as I tackled him to the ground. “Who let you in?”

He released a muffled scream, but there was no one around to hear him. Barbara’s trainer stood by the course, instructing her, and the rest of the staff were busy elsewhere.

“There’s no need to scream, baby. We’re all friends here,” I said with a grin, enjoying the man’s futile struggle.

He was tall and slim, a runner rather than a bodybuilder, and he stood no chance. The monster inside me, the one that got off on games and pain, raised his head. Barely fed last night, he was ready for another meal.

Pity I had no reason to kill the paparazzi. Not on the job, at least. I briefly considered dragging him somewhere into a quiet corner behind the stables to play some more… But no. The day I crossed that line would be the day I became the very thing I hunted—a true monster.

I had to have a good reason to kill. Always.

“I’ll ask again,” I said softly while the man tried to twist in my hold, “and when I remove my hand, you will tell me. If you make a loud noise, even if it’s a fucking sneeze, I’ll squeeze your balls until they burst. Who let you in?”

He fell silent, his hot breath penetrating through my armor. I waited for a few seconds, letting my threat fully sink in, and slowly uncovered his mouth.

“G-Gary,” he wheezed out, trembling. “We’re friends.”

“No, you’re not. Not anymore,” I said, covering his mouth again. “On your way out, be so kind as to inform Gary he’s being sacked because of you, will ya? That’s a good boy.”

I patted the top of his head and stood up, putting my foot on top of the camera. The paparazzi reached for it, hesitated, and finally stood up, turning fast as his hands balled into fists. He was ready to fight me for his equipment, but there was one problem.

As soon as he saw my face, his defiance faded. The angry look froze on his face, then slowly morphed into an expression of abject fear. I grinned, reaching up to caress his cheek. He flinched away with a gurgle.

“Remember to send Gary my best,” I said with a grin.

He turned and ran, his camera forgotten, his body stinking of fear.

“Wonder how much I can get for it,” I said with a grin, picking up the camera and putting the strap around my neck. “Perks of the job, eh?”

On the training course, Barbara and her white horse jumped over a series of obstacles in a fluid, almost dancelike sequence. I stayed for a bit more, watching. I wondered how high-pitchedherscream would be when she saw me up close for the first time.

But then, maybe she wouldn’t scream. She was a princess, wasn’t she? And princesses didn’t waste energy screaming like common people. They went straight to fainting.

I went away humming under my breath as I imagined what it would feel like to let her fall to the ground with a thud as she fainted. She definitely deserved it for making me lose my cool.

When I got back to the office, Fatima was still in the conference room, her face perfectly blank beyond the glass wall. I couldn’t see the lawyer’s face, because his back was to me, but the set of his shoulders seemed unhappy.

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