Page 7 of Royal Protector

In the other car, a black SUV with mud spattered on the wheels and the other two bodyguards are trailing me on the highway.

The first, Grady, is muscular, a little shorter than me, and extremely good with weapons, which is essential if you are in a situation where you can’t shift into your wolf. Maura, the other guard, is cocky and clever and reminds me a little of Harper from back in LA.

“Do you think the vampires would be stupid enough to attack us in an airport?” asks Bastien, looking out the passenger window like an excited puppy. I’m surprised he hasn’t thrown his head out of the window and let his tongue wag in the wind.

I choose my answers carefully. “We aren’t necessarily watching out for vampires based on the fact that theyarevampires. That’s discrimination. Remember, we’re at peace with the vampires, despite what happened last week.”

He mutters something under his breath. I think about calling him out, but this is also a man who just watched some of his pack die at the hands of some of the people I am half-heartedly defending.

“The vampires that attacked the village were a rogue group. Rebellious. That is just as dangerous as any full-on attack. People that can get other people to stand behind them, whether for good or evil, are a force to be reckoned with.”

“But Jack cut off Louis’s head, and he was leading the rogue vampires,” says Bastien. “Isn’t this just like that saying, what it is? Cut off the head, and the body will follow? We haven’t had any other issues since.”

“I know. And this whole renegotiation of the peace treaty could be just one big Band-Aid over the entire situation. It could be that all the surviving vampires, and their new Alpha, are just fine with the treaty and that all the surviving werewolves have accepted what happened. But we still have to be careful. Louis could have inspired other rebel groups. It could be that there are people that follow his beliefs, or maybe copycat groups.”

Bastien’s expression grows grim, and I feel a little guilty that I took that happy, Taylor Swift-singing, seat-drumming spirit away from him. But it’s good that he’s learning how tough the real world is.

I take the exit for the airport, checking to make sure the other car is behind me, relaxing a little when I see the black vehicle in my rear view mirror. Even if we get separated, we all have GPS activated on our phones to track us, and Jack also has access to that same GPS data on his laptop back at the village. We will be able to tell if something goes wrong very quickly.

Since we are going into an airport, we can’t bring any human weapons inside, which makes the entire situation difficult—we’ve got to rely on brute strength alone.

We park in the cell phone lot and head for the sliding doors, looking as casual as four muscular secret werewolves can look.

Spoiler: it’s not very casual.

We head toward baggage claim, and try to adopt a relaxed stance while we wait for the werewolf Untouchable. She is supposed to meet us here, accompanied only by her advisor, a woman named Martina whose sole job is to mold the young Untouchable to the strict rules required for someone of her position.

I suppose if I’m already thinking of her advisor by her name, I should probably give the same courtesy to the Untouchable.Isabella. I know a few details about her basic looks, but nothing more than that.

The Untouchables very rarely appear in public, and with the information and time I had today, there was no way I was going to be able to dig through our files looking for photos.

I feel a shock of sensation before I see her, a strange hum beginning deep in my chest, like a single guitar string being plucked and allowed to vibrate until it fades away, except this one grows in intensity the longer it goes on.

I inhale sharply, hand grasping at my chest.

Bastien feels me tense up beside him and leans toward me. “You okay?” he asks out of the corner of his mouth.

The mission, the mission. Focus on the mission.“Yeah, just a little indigestion.”

“There’s a travel shop up there. I could go get you some antacids,” he offers.

Poor cute kid, I kinda want to strangle him and hug him at the same time.

“No need for that. I’ll be just fine. Focus on your job.” I crack my neck and roll my shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant, which is hard when my entire body feels like I have a fever.

He shuffles his feet, and returns to his relaxed position. My ears are starting to buzz like a beehive, and I shake my head several times in an attempt to clear it.

And then I look up—and theresheis.

A growl begins low in my chest, rolling upward like thunder through the tightness in my throat.

Bastien startles next to me and looks at me, eyes widening. “What is going on with you?”

I don’t answer. I don’t have an answer for this, except for one thing, and God, I hope it isn’t that. Two women walk toward us, and I know instantly that it is Isabella and Martina.

Isabella is dressed like a typical traveler. She wears a blue athletic T-shirt, one that doesn’t cling to her curves. She has on long black sweatpants, one of the cuffs higher than the other, showing white socks and dirty sneakers. She has a pair of headphones around her neck, and her long black hair is tied up in a messy bun, pulled through the back of a New Orleans Saints ballcap.

To anyone else, she would look like she had just returned from a trip with her mother or aunt by her side. But I know who she is, and I’m starting to fearwhatshe is. My hands are shaking.

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