Page 72 of Angel's Conquest
Just as he was beginning to consider the merits of anticipatory anxiety—because no one had to tell him he wasn’t capable of bleeding before he was wounded, thank you very much—murmurs of conversation from that giant electric box on the wall started worming their way into his brain.
“ . . . a great player on the field and off. We’re joined now by Emmanuel Valdez’s parents, Maria and Leo Valdez, to talk about their son’s charity, Does the Buzz, which features professional athletes shaving their heads in solidarity with young children undergoing cancer therapy and helps raise money to cover the costs of their treatment. The program is truly unique because all the patients who are enrolled never see a bill. Their treatments are scheduled by the parents and children’s doctors, but the bills for those treatments go straight to the charity to pay. No insurance approvals. No middlemen. Just one-way funded care, no questions asked. It began when Manny was in high school, and he had been diagnosed with thyroid cancer . . .”
A thousand and one stimuli vied for Bronze’s attention in that bar. Muscle bros hollering over at the dart board. A group of women at the table behind him celebrating someone’s thirty-umpteenth birthday. Competing broadcasts from the three TVs all lined up next to each other on the wall in the dining room to his left.
But all that noise faded away as whatever was left of his woozy attention got ramrod straight, tucked in its shirt, and covertly swiped a tongue across its teeth. Tendrils of an idea began to form in his mind, and before any intrusive thoughts could rise up and remind him of how much of a piece of shit he was and how it would never work, he paid his tab and fled the bar. Once he found a dark corner of the parking lot, he unleashed his wings and headed east.
Chapter 35
The stifling sun sat high above the treetops bordering the lycan lands, and Clara had never been more grateful to be on the other side of the perimeter. Not that it was cooler or different in any way from how the oppressive sunlight leaked through the leaves where she was standing. When she was going to let her wolf out beyond the stronghold’s borders for the first time since she’d been crowned queen, she figured it was best to trick her mind into thinking the experience was something significant.
Yesterday, on the morning of the summer solstice, her father’s sentence had been carried out. To say there was some dissent with her ruling would have been like saying a bonfire had a bone to pick with the rain that was snuffing it out.
The tide her words had ushered in was inevitable, but she hadn’t been prepared or particularly interested in the backlash that followed. Gasps and cries and groans had bubbled up around her declaration when she’d first voiced the intended repercussions for her father’s attack on her life. That had been a week ago, after which she’d promptly fled the room because she only had so much interest in hearing her advisors’ opinions. Words like unconventional and unprecedented had floated along the stone walls, chasing her out of the great hall and constantly prodding her mind with doubts about how she wasn’t equipped to rule the monarchy on her own.
As if she needed another reminder of just how horribly backward her life had become.
So, with a new fleet of guards at her command and no one on the premises to tell her otherwise, she decided that being off-premises sounded like a fine idea. Definitely the best she’d had in days.
Her wolf, at least, agreed with her. Besides, it would be the first time in her life she’d let her wolf run free beyond her father’s borders.
Not the first time, Clara. You shifted in these woods once before.
And just like that, her throat tightened up again with the familiar remorse she’d toiled at choking down over the past few weeks. She’d done so well, working herself up to a full four hours of sleep each night instead of the one or two she’d managed in the early days following Bronze’s betrayal.
God, she hated thinking of that word. Betrayal. Even its own letters seemed like daggers, with its towering T and underhanded Y. The bold B was the most ruthless of all, as it was a constant reminder of the male who’d stolen her heart, then struck it through with a blade so well concealed, even her wolf hadn’t been able to sniff it out.
“Lady, do you wish to shift here? The guards will hang back,” Broderick offered, his sandy blond hair and broad shoulders catching the sunlight on its way to the forest floor. He had escorted her to the perimeter with two other males, and while the rest of the guard followed Broderick’s orders closely, he followed her exclusively. It was a protocol she appreciated, but one that had quickly advanced from endearing to overwhelming at times.
It was also not lost on her that part of his duties as the newly appointed chief of arms was accounting for the security of both monarchs. A hard thing to achieve when the queen had chased away the days-old king and not addressed his absence publicly yet.
There was no need. They all knew. Gossip wasn’t exclusive to humans. If anything, it spread faster among the lycans, who had the benefit of keener senses on their side with which to grasp the whispers faster.
So, yes, everyone knew what had transpired between her and Bronze, and Broderick had been showing her immense kindness in not bringing up the subject. That courtesy wouldn’t be afforded her for much longer, though. Soon she’d have to declare the facts of the matter and officially give voice as to why the rightful winner of the Betrothal Games, the champion she’d selected, had not shown his face in?—
“Oh, Lord Bronze! I had not expected to see you today.” Broderick stepped past Clara, casting a shadowy blur in her periphery that blocked out the approaching figure.
“Hey, my man.”
That voice. By the Moon Mother, that voice.
A painful twitch pricked beneath her ribs at hearing the resonant baritone, and damn her foolish heart, the stimulus wasn’t anything she could resist. Her head had already jerked up in response, swiveling back and forth in frustration to try and get a peek beyond the mountainous width of Broderick’s back.
A slap, as if arms had been grasped, resounded off the tree trunks surrounding the males, but it was quickly muted. Had that been a . . . handshake?
Broderick’s voice followed up the out-of-place greeting. “Pascal did not?—”
“Actually,” Bronze cut in, “you mind if I speak to Clara alone for a bit?”
And that was when Broderick stepped aside, and her jaw nearly hit the ground.
Gone were the magnificent waves of auburn hair that always dusted Bronze’s shoulders and seemed to dance with enthusiasm every time the wind caught them. He’d shaved his head nearly to the root on the sides, while the top was fashioned into a neatly and only slightly thicker trimmed patch down the center. The high-and-tight appearance was so at odds with what she’d remembered of him, and yet her heart still clenched at the sheer brilliance of all he commanded. Ever so handsome, ever so domineering. And despite the painful nudge of his mark’s heat radiating from her wrist—or perhaps because of it—he was still ever so hers.
The reminder stung almost as much as his betrayal.
Clara collapsed onto a nearby log, and, not trusting her legs or her wolf to carry her away quickly enough, protected herself in the only way she could: she turned away from him.
She couldn’t look at him, not like this. He had no right, no right to walk back here, regardless of whatever claim fate dared to make of them. It was on the tip of her tongue to say so when more male murmurings rose up behind her, and Broderick’s great hulking shadow glided past her in the exact opposite direction of who she considered the enemy.