Page 8 of Royal Protector

The older woman, Martina, strides forward, throwing her arms around my neck. “Philip!” She cries. “It’s so good to see you! How are Rachel and the baby?”

“They’re doing just fine,” I say, offering my warmest smile. These words are the code words we set up in case anyone was listening in on us. “How was your trip?”

“It was awesome,” says Isabella, using a flat American accent instead of her native Spanish lithe. Again, all part of the act. She lifts her deep brown eyes to mine, and there’s no denying the truth now.

Isabella is my mate.

I swallow, taking a step back from her. “Can I take your bags to the car?” I ask. She shrugs, tightening the backpack around her shoulders.

“Doesn’t matter. I just have this for now,” she says. This, too, is part of the facade.

One of Martina’s employees is coming with their suitcases on a separate plane, preventing any tampering of baggage while the Untouchable is so close. I turn and tip my head towards the sliding doors at the exit.

“Let’s get going then.” I stride forward quickly. I need to get away from her as fast as possible, just so I can clear my head enough to do my job.

Isabella follows us silently to the cell lot, fiddling with her headphones around her neck like a bored teenager. Meanwhile, Martina and Bastien keep up a basic conversation discussing the weather, and the usual frustrations of airports.

Everything is so fucking casual. But inside my brain, everything is a mess. I have a mate. I have amate. I never thought I would; I never even wanted one. And I have one, and she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—and she’s also the Untouchable.

The ramifications of that hit me and I freeze, my hand on the key fob. She’s the Untouchable.

Bastien gives me a funny look, and I quickly hit the button to unlock the doors. I lean my head against the side of the Jeep, sweat pouring down my neck.

“Are you all right?” asks Isabella, still in that fake American accent.

“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “A little overheated, that’s all.”

“Should we stop and get you some water?”

Of course, she’s kind as well as beautiful. “No thanks, I’ve got something in the car.”

I open the driver’s door and sit down, gripping the steering wheel as Bastien gets in the back seat with Isabella. I received a text from Maura, confirming that they are loaded and ready to leave with Martina secured. Starting the vehicle, I risk a glance back through the rear view mirror.

My Mate is the Untouchable. This moment right here is the beginning of the end of my life.

Untouchables can’t have Mates. They can’t even sense when their true mate is near, having been given magical herbs throughout their developing years to hinder that realization.

It isn’t often that an Untouchable’s Mate is found, but I’ve heard the horror stories and cruel protocols. I’ll have to report myself to the werewolf council, and after that, they will send me somewhere to live in solitude, constantly guarded to ensure that I never go near Isabella.

The last identified mate of an Untouchable was probably eighty or so years ago. He was separated from his pack and sent alone to live in the Rockies alone. His desire to be with his mate grew so strong that they eventually had to sedate him.

That’s what my future holds. I’m going to be a drugged prisoner, doomed to die alone. My stomach roils at the thought.

“Do you want me to drive?” asks Bastien.

I shake my head slowly.

No matter what my inner turmoil is, the security plan is that I drive the vehicle. I have more experience as a getaway driver than Bastien. I turn the key and swallow again as my gorge rises.

One more glance towards the rear view mirror shows Isabella smiling prettily, looking out the window with wide eyes. She is innocent and pure, just as she is supposed to be. Even looking at her like this makes me feel dirty, and yet overwhelmed with desire.

My dick thickens in my pants, as if it hasn’t gotten the memo that we are doomed for the rest of our lives. I shift uncomfortably, and begin the long drive back to the village.

ISABELLA

The evening drive through New Orleans is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever experienced. Night has fallen, and though we cannot see the stars directly from the city as clear as they would be out in the country, the skyline, glittering with blinking lights, makes up for it.

I can’t get enough of it in one glimpse, and my head spins back and forth between both windows as I take in all the sights.

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