Page 16 of Royal Protector

Despite Kwan’s speech, the first person to address the room breaks half the rules all at once. His name is Buck Galston, and he’s the Alpha of the Texas pack, the nearest pack to the Rougarous. He’s loud and brash, with a thick Texas twang. He’s as big as Antoine, with broad shoulders and blonde hair that is cut close to his head.

He begins to blather on about broken promises and how his pack doesn’t feel safe being so close to where the attacks were. However, when he raises his voice and proffers the idea that perhaps the treaty would be better off broken, Leo stands instantly, and the room hushes.

“There will be no talk of breaking the peace treaty in this room,” he announces, and his sunshiny demeanor is gone, replaced with a coldness that is reflected in his icy blue eyes. “Peace is the goal. How we reach that peace is what we are discussing, not whether or not it should exist.”

Jack stands, his shoulders touching Leo’s.

As a duo, they emit immense power, and for the first time, I wonder if maybe these two will be the ones to flip the status quo that has plagued our people so long. Perhaps they will bring about significant change. I just don’t know what that change could be.

Buck, however, is not thrown off.

Instead, he puffs out his chest, glaring at the two leaders. He is essentially their equal, being an Alpha himself, but he isn’t in charge of this meeting. If he knows better, he should sit down and let the proceedings continue.

But, instead, he whips his head toward me, narrowing his brown eyes. “Maybe we should ask the Untouchables,” he sneers.

Antoine instantly tenses at my side, but Buck continues. “Maybe, since we pay for them to fly around in luxury jets and wear million dollar dresses for no reason at all, they should participate for a change.”

Jack starts to protest, but I hold up my hand, stopping him.

I turn my attention completely to Buck, who looks taken aback. “Fine, Mr. Galston, was it? What would you like to know?”

ANTOINE

That bastard Buck Galston better watch himself, or I’m going to rip him limb from limb and toss each part into the Mississippi and hope the gators use his bones as toothpicks. He’s the worst kind of bully, the kind that likes to push others all in the name of protecting his pack when in actuality, it’s just to protect himself.

As soon as he calls out Isabella, a warning growl grows in my chest until Isabella puts a delicate hand on my thigh. Instantly, I calm down, like I’ve been given a minor sedative. I lean back in my chair and fix my deadliest glare on Buck while Isabella begins to address him.

“If you could clarify your exact issue, please?” she asks in her calm, sweet voice, her accent making the words sound like beautiful music.

Buck looks slightly chastened, but it’s too late for him to back down now, not in front of all his peers. “I was saying that perhaps it isn’t best to cater to the vampires. We were fine before the peace treaty. We should focus on our own kind. It isn’t personal or anything. Things just ran better when our interests were separated.”

He’s absolutely wrong. We lived in constant threat of war before the peace treaty, but fundamentalist thinking is never very logical.

“I see,” Isabella tilts her head slightly. “If I recall, you’re the head of the Houston pack, am I correct?” Buck nods, and she continues. “That’s a very successful pack. You’ve done very well for yourselves.”

The Alpha’s eyes round in surprise, but his “come at me, bro” stance calms just a little. “Yes, ma’am, thank you.” Oh, we’re atma’amnow, when just five minutes earlier, he made her sound like a spoiled teen idol. “Under my leadership, we’ve increased the profits of our pack by ten percent.”

“Wonderfully done.” She flashes him a smile that would melt an iceberg. Then, she turns to Leo, who is studying her with a puzzled expression. “Alpha Leo, could you clarify for me—do you drink human blood on a regular basis?”

Gasps and murmurs fill the room. Discussing the more violent nature of vampires is a terrible social faux pas, like reminding someone in a room full of churchgoers that their brother is a serial killer.

Leo, however, takes it in stride. “No, I do not. Drinking blood from anyone who is not our Mate is strictly forbidden.”

“What about werewolf blood?” Isabella presses him, and he shakes his head emphatically.

“Again, I have not. The same rule applies.” He would be hard-pressed to find a werewolf Mate, though cross-species Mates occasionally happen.

“Leo, what is your favorite type of blood to drink?” she asks, continuing down the bizarre train of thought.

“Like most vampires, I prefer cow’s blood.” He pauses. “Warmed to 98.6 degrees, on the stove. None of that microwave nonsense.”

A few people in the room laugh at this, breaking the tension after Isabella’s shocking inquiry.

“I completely understand.” Isabella redirects her brilliant smile back to Buck. “Mr. Galston, what was the chief industry again for your pack?”

The man turns red as a strawberry and looks down at the ground before muttering, “Cattle.”

“I see,” says Isabella, her eyes twinkling. “And who are your main customers?”

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