Page 31 of Love of the Bladed Dove (Drakaren #1)

Chapter fourteen

Layla.

L ayla stirred awake, her body a tangle of limbs with Theron’s, his bare skin pressed hot and firm against hers. Her cheek rested on his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing calming her racing mind. For the first time in what felt like ages, she felt safe.

Her lips curved into a smile before she could stop them. The warmth of his embrace, the scent of rain and leather clinging to him, the protective way his arms curled around her like a shield from the world. Every inch of it filled her with something dangerously close to contentment.

She nestled closer, her fingers grazing across the ridges of his chest. Theron stirred beneath her touch, and as she tilted her head to look up at him as his eyes opened slowly.

The moment they found hers, he smiled. Not his usual tight-lipped, brooding smile, but something unguarded and real.

Layla’s heart squeezed. She leaned up and kissed him gently, just a small press of her lips against his.

But when she started to pull away, his arms tightened, pulling her back to him.

She laughed softly, the sound muffled against his neck.

Theron’s smile widened—but then, almost instantly, it was replaced with something deeper. His gaze darkened, molten with hunger.

He leaned in again, kissing her with slow reverence.

There was a question in the way his lips moved, and she answered by parting hers.

His tongue slid into her mouth, and with it, the embers that still smoldered between them flared into life.

His hands drifted from her spine to her hips, gripping her there as he rolled them with ease, guiding her on top of him.

Layla’s breath caught as her thighs spread across his waist, her body fitting against his like it had been carved for this.

He leaned up, capturing her nipple with his mouth. His tongue circled the tight peak, teasing until she moaned, arching her back in a desperate attempt to get closer. His other hand slid up to cup her other breast, thumb rolling over her other nipple until it too ached for him.

“Gods,” she whispered, the word dissolving into a whimper.

Theron’s hand slid down her back and gripped her hip firmly.

His other hand wrapped around his length, guiding himself to her entrance as his gaze met hers with blistering intensity, pupils blown wide, breath ragged.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded. Then he eased into her, slow and unrelenting.

Layla gasped, back arching, hands bracing against his chest. She could feel every inch of him stretching her, filling her completely.

Her body trembled from the overwhelming pleasure as she sank down fully, letting him bury himself inside her.

Theron’s hands anchored her to him, fingers digging into her hips as he began to guide her, helping her roll and rock on top of him. Every movement sent sparks racing through her, heat pooling deep within her core. She moaned freely now, no longer shy about the sounds he pulled from her.

His thumb found the sensitive bundle at the front of her center and began to circle, sending streaks of white-hot lightning through her.

Her breath hitched as her hips stuttered.

She gripped his shoulders and ground herself down harder against him.

Theron’s head dropped back against the cot, a guttural groan leaving him as he bucked up into her.

Again and again, faster now, harder, deeper.

Her vision blurred. Her thighs quivered around him.

And when the wave finally crashed over her, she cried out, body convulsing violently with pleasure.

He sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms tightly around her and pulling her flush to his chest. She buried her face into his neck as he grunted against her ear, his thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate.

He growled her name like a prayer before gently lifting her and setting her down beside him.

Then he turned swiftly and spilled himself onto the ground beside the cot, his body shaking from the force of his climax.

They both laid there panting. Now breathless and tangled in sweat.

Theron turned to her again, wrapping an arm around her waist and yanking her to him with a possessive sound in his throat.

He buried his face in her hair, and she could feel a soft smile curving on his lips as he exhaled deeply.

Then he kissed her temple, and for a moment, there was only peace.

Though that peace was quickly interrupted when he whispered into her hair, “We have to go.”

Layla nodded, her body still humming, and reluctantly pulled away from the warmth of his chest. She sat up, reaching for her clothes.

As she slid her skirt over her hips, she could feel his eyes on her.

Her lips twitched with satisfaction. She grabbed her top and pressed it to her chest just as Theron pulled on his pants, the muscles in his arms and abdomen flexing with every move.

Layla’s couldn’t help but let her eyes linger at the amazing sight before her.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. That wicked, knowing grin returned to his face, and it made her stomach somersault.

Theron walked over and gently laced her top back up, his fingers grazing her skin with such tenderness that she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from melting into him again.

When he finished, he grabbed his leather armor, threw it all on quickly, and without another word, led them out into the early morning.

The storm had passed. The world smelled like wet earth and pine.

The sky was beginning to lighten, streaks of rose and lavender cutting through the tops of the trees.

Sparrow was at his post just outside the hut.

The man didn’t react when Theron emerged with Layla in tow.

He simply fell into step beside them. Layla’s thoughts tangled in a restless haze.

She didn’t know how to act now. She couldn’t stop staring at the back of Theron’s head, wondering— Did last night change anything?

Did it mean something to him? Or was it…

just heat? He had said she was his—but what did that even mean?

Whatever it was, Layla knew one thing with certainty: she didn’t regret giving herself to him.

Not for a moment. Because when the time came, when she returned to Graystonia, saved her family, and was bound by duty to marry a man for the good of the kingdom.

A man chosen not for love but for alliance—she would still have had this.

She would remember what it felt like to want someone, not because she had to, but because she couldn’t not.

She would remember what it was like to burn for someone.

To feel pleasure and passion so powerful it left her breathless.

For once in her life, she hadn’t been a princess.

She hadn’t been a symbol, a pawn, or a future queen.

She had just been Layla —and she had been wanted.

When they reached the tribe, Layla instinctively halted as Sparrow did.

She expected Theron to walk to the front, to give orders, to ignore her like he had so many mornings before.

Instead, he turned around and faced her fully.

She blinked up at him, confused—just in time for him to lean down and press a soft, unhurried kiss to her lips.

The kind of kiss that said mine more than any word ever could.

When he pulled away, he murmured so only she could hear, “Stay with Sparrow.”

And just like that, he was gone, striding toward his mother without a backward glance.

Layla stood frozen, lips parted in shock.

The whole Circle had gone quiet. Dozens of warriors had seen.

Her face flushed hot, and she turned slowly to Sparrow, who looked at her from the corner of his eye with the smallest hint of a smirk before returning to his stoic silence.

Layla stared down at her feet, heart pounding.

Apparently… last night had changed everything.

Theron .

She is mine. The thought echoed through Theron’s chest like a battle drum as he pulled away from kissing Layla— my Layla —in front of the entire tribe.

He wanted there to be no doubt. No question.

No room for misinterpretation. The warriors could gawk, whisper, or question behind their teeth, but they would never lay a hand on her now. Not without consequence.

He knew his mother would be furious. She’d see it as weakness.

As irrational. As a disruption of control.

But Theron didn’t care. He would face her wrath head-on if he had to.

For the first time in a long while, his decision hadn’t stemmed from strategy or obligation.

He wasn’t defying orders—he simply wasn’t acting because of them.

This wasn’t duty. This was want. This was instinct. This was her. And it terrified and thrilled him in equal measure.

As he turned from Layla, her lips still tingling on his, and walked toward the front of the Circle, he ignored the stunned expressions of the warriors.

Their silence was almost louder than any insult.

But Theron kept his head high, his steps measured.

What he had done wasn’t a declaration of weakness. It was a warning.

He made his way over to the weapons stockpile, grabbing several small throwing knives and a thin leather belt designed to hold them securely.

He needed to be prepared. More knives. More blades.

More death tucked into every fold of his clothing.

He also grabbed the small clay bowl filled with fresh, earth-rich, dark mud.

Warrior paint. Ritual. Camouflage. Identity.

Sparrow, ever dependable, silently peeled away when Theron returned to Layla’s side. She was still watching him like he’d sprouted wings and flown.