Page 22 of Love of the Bladed Dove
She winced, instantly regretting it.Of course not. What prisoner asked for luxuries? What captive deserved comfort?She bit her lip and kept her gaze fixed on the dirt path beneath her boots.
“I know I probably can’t,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… I’m disgusting. I can’t even stand myself anymore.”
Still, no answer.
Her chest tightened, the liquid courage doing nothing to dull the humiliation surging through her. She risked a glance up—only to find him no longer walking. He had stopped in the path, his broad back rigid. The silver light kissed the sharp angles of his shoulders, the coiled tension in his frame. Slowly, he turned his head, casting her a look over one shoulder. His expression was unreadable, his eyes shrouded in the dark—but something flickered there. As if he was weighing something. Something he wasn’t sure he had the right to give. Something she wasn’t sure she had the right to ask.
“Come,” he said simply, then turned off the path and headed into the trees. Confused but hopeful, Layla followed, quickening her pace to stay close. The forest thickened around them, cloaked in dusk, her heart thudding louder with every step. He wouldn’t hurt her.Would he? Surely not. ...Right?Still, a voice in the back of her head whispered:Dirty is at least still alive...She keptwalking anyway.
Eventually Theron slowed, and Layla’s breath caught as she glanced past his shoulder, not at all knowing what to expect in this part of the forest. Well away from the main hub of their village. She was met with a vision pulled from a forgotten dream. A crystal-clear pond stretched before her, rimmed in silver by the rising moonlight. Fireflies danced over the water’s shimmering surface like drifting stars, casting glimmers of magic into the night. A soft gasp escaped her lips. It was stunning. Ethereal. The kind of place songs were written about. Had she stumbled upon this pond as a free woman, she might have considered it her favorite place in all the kingdoms. But she wasn’t free. And that truth twisted like a knife in her gut.
Theron stopped ten paces from the edge and turned toward her, his expression still so unreadable, especially in the dark. “Don’t try anything,” he said, voice rough but calm. Then, without another word, he turned his back to her. A silent offering of privacy.
For a heartbeat, Layla stilled. The pond beckoned her, but it was the gesture that sent a strange warmth trickling through her chest. She rose on her toes and leaned toward him. “Thank you,” she whispered, soft as the breeze, then padded to the edge of the water.
She kicked off her boots and reached for the laces of her leather top. The material fell to the ground with a soft thud. Her skirt followed, and then she stood bare beneath the moon. She paused, casting one last glance over her shoulder. Theron hadn’t moved. A mix of relief and disappointment fluttered in her chest. Part of her wanted him to look. Part of her wanted to want him to. She quickly blamed those thoughts on the ale and slipped into the water with a hiss of breath.
It was cool, but not cold—just enough to send a shiver up her spine as she submerged, scrubbing frantically at her hair and skin. She worked the blood, ash, and grime from her limbs as though she could also strip away the weight of the last few days. When she emerged, breathless and cleaner than she’d been in a week, she felt like herself again… almost.
The air bit at her damp skin as she stepped out. Water traced rivulets down her curves as she moved. Layla swiftly gathered her clothes and slipped into her skirt. She reached for the thick leather top and hesitated. There was no way she could lace it herself…well probably not.... Clutching it tightly to her chest, she turned toward Theron. He still faced the trees, motionless as a statue.
“Um… Theron?” She called, her voice soft and apprehensive. He shifted, glancing over his shoulder just barely, clearly trying to respect her privacy. “I—could you help me again?” She asked, holding up the top so he’d understand. Theron turned fully now. His eyes dropped to the garment pressed against her chest as his jaw tensed. The muscle on the side of his neck flexed as his gaze slowly dragged upward to meet hers.
Gone was the familiar glacial blue in his eyes. What looked back at her now was molten and dark, burning with something far more dangerous than annoyance or irritation. He didn’t speak. Instead, he moved toward her, slow and deliberate. Layla’s breath caught as she turned to offer him her back. Her heart pounded as she felt the heat of him at her spine in and instant. Then—his touch. Barely there, like a whisper of wind against her skin. His fingers brushed her neck as he swept her wet hair forward over her shoulder, letting it fall in damp waves across her chest. Goosebumps erupted down her arms. He didn’t say a word as he laced the top, but she could feel every measured breathhe took behind her. The leather tightened slowly, cinching against her breasts, each pull of the cord making her gasp softly. His hands grazed her shoulders, feather-light but searing. Her nipples tightened against the cold leather.
Theron’s breath brushed her ear. “Turn,” he murmured.
Layla did—slowly. Her chest brushed against his abs as she faced him, forced to look up to meet his gaze. He was so close, towering over her. Every part of her buzzed with awareness of him. He reached for the warrior strap, hands skimming up her arms until they hovered near her throat. Her heart skipped in response.
Theron lifted her heavy hair and let it fall again in a single sensual motion, fingertips dragging down her spine as he fastened the strap in place. Every inch of her skin burned with his nearness. And then she felt it. His hardness—pressed against her stomach. Bold. Unapologetic. Layla’s breath hitched. Her thighs squeezed together instinctively, trying to quiet the pulse of aching want that bloomed deep inside her.
Theron’s hands slid down, brushing her bare sides—touching the soft skin between her skirt and the cinched leather top. His calloused thumbs rested against her hips as he looked down at her like he was drowning in her. Everything inside her saidyes. She parted her lips and nodded—wordlessly begging him to kiss her. To end the agony of this tension they kept pretending didn’t exist.
Then— “Ahem.” The sound shattered the moment like a stone through glass. Layla and Theron snapped their heads toward the voice. Kain.Of course it was Kain. He stood a few yards away, arms crossed, a smug smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, absolutely delighted to be doing just that. Theron’s hands fell from her hips as he stepped back, his jaw tight with frustration. Layla was still breathless, her body burningand unsatisfied.
"Mother sent me to find you,” Kain continued, keeping his eyes on Theron. “She says we’ve got a lot to discuss.”
Layla watched Theron nod curtly. He strode past her, the fire in his eyes shuttered. Kain glanced over his shoulder and caught her stare—then winked. Layla’s cheeks flushed, not with embarrassment this time, but frustration. She followed them in silence, the ache between her thighs a cruel reminder of whatalmosthappened. And what, gods help her, she was starting towantto happen far too badly.
Chaptertwelve
Theron.
Theron begrudgingly followed Kain back toward the village, Layla trailing just behind them. Every step was a cruel reminder of how close he'd come to losing himself in her—how her soft breath, her parted lips, the way she’d looked up at him with absolute surrender… Gods, he’d been seconds from kissing her. From pressing her against a tree and letting go of every rule, every shred of duty. And then Kain. Damned Kain.His groin still ached from the denial, a dull throb that mocked his restraint, but the moment was gone. The mission ahead demanded his full attention now. War didn’t wait for lust. Or love.
Sparrow waited near the outskirts of the camp, arms crossed, his posture relaxed but Theron could see it in his eyes. He knew. Kain must have run into him first and gleaned the story. Of course Sparrowwould’ve known Theron would want to hear from Kain the moment he returned. Still.Couldn’t the bastard have taken just a little longer?
Theron cleared his throat and tipped his head toward Sparrow as he passed, a silent order.Stay with her. Don’t let her out of your sight. Sparrow nodded without a word and moved toward Layla. Theron didn’t dare look back at her. He couldn’t. Not now. One more second of her gaze and he might've turned around, dragged her back into the trees, and kissed her like he’d been dying to since the first time she screamed at him.Focus.
He walked beside Kain in silence, tension thick between them. He could feel his brother watching him—smirking. Probably thinking the whole thing was hilarious. Theron didn’t return the glance. Didn’t need to. He could hear Kain’s barely-contained laughter rumbling away.Fucker.
They promptly reached Queen Okteria’s hut. She stood just outside it like a carved statue of war, flanked by the warriors who had returned with Kain. Her eyes were sharp, her body still, and Theron could feel her impatience radiating off her like heat from a forge.
“Speak,” she commanded the moment they were within earshot.
Kain stepped forward, the air seeming to thicken with the weight of his arrogance. Theron stood beside him, shoulders squared, curious to hear exactly what the state of Graystonia was when Kain found it, and more importantly, how he left it.
