2

kaira astor

His dark presence looms behind me like a shadow ready to swallow me whole, to fold around me and rip me to shreds. The guards lining the walls on either side of me turn to watch us as we stride down the corridor, on our way to the dining hall, and I can feel the anger scratching at the inside of my throat. It's not their stares that are causing me to falter in my strides, it's his. The heat of his eyes following my every step, observing my every move. My shoulders stiffen, eyes narrowing.

"Continue staring at me, and I'll rip out your eyes." That would be a shame. The rustle of guards shifting and glancing away fills the silent hall, every eye falling away from my body except for his. I contemplate spinning around and throwing a dagger at him, but that would only further anger my father, and I'm pretty sure he'll dodge the throw. I tug at the hem of my shorts, my fingers trembling as I reach the door leading to the dining hall. Here goes nothing. I step into the room and the striking sound of chairs scraping against the floor invades my ears. My mouth parts as I stare at the scene in front of me. As I stare at all thirteen of them. Standing. Staring. Directly at me. My eyes flint over the bulky guards, all of them littered with scars, tattoos and the pure scent of death.

These people aren't guards, they're warriors. "Kaira!" My father's angered voice shatters my stunned focus and I turn, meeting his livid glare. "Good God! What on earth are you wearing?" He scowls, the lines on his face harsh as he stands from his chair, striding toward me while shrugging off his black, elegant overcoat. I tip my chin, staring down at my attire. "A hoodie and sleeping shorts." Testing his patience isn't a smart move, but having the stoic, cold man behind me be right about the situation isn't an option. My father's frown deepens as he steps in behind me, draping the thick material over my shoulders and I push my arms through just as he rounds my body and stands in front of me.

"And, why, pray tell, aren't you dressed in proper attire?" He pulls the coat closed over me, tugging it firmly. I hold my breath for one, two, three seconds, anticipating the guards' words to cut in. To tell my father what he saw. That he caught me in the garden with Darian, but his voice doesn't come, and the only way that I know he's still in the room, is from the smallest trickle of a shiver running down my spine as the heat of his gaze falls over me. Can he just stop staring? I press the heels of my feet onto the floor, hard, refusing to squirm. My father raises a brow, waiting for my explanation. "Because I was going to sleep." I press my lips into a thin line, catching the cuff of my father's overcoat between my fingers and press, hard.

My father reaches forward and pulls the hood of my hoodie down, sighing as he retreats. "Without eating? Did Dax not deliver my order?" Taking a step back, he swings his gaze to the end of the hall where Dax stands firmly in his place, eyes watching the thirteen men with caution. I heave out a heavy breath, deflating as I step around my father. "He did, I was just tired." Dax didn't even know of my plans, not that the man isn't smart enough to have already known what I was going to do. I halt at the oak table, my hand wrapping around the back of the chair, my gaze sweeping over the men, still standing, rigid and tense. No longer staring at me, their eyes turned forward, unblinking.

My eyes roam over each of them until my gaze jerks to an abrupt halt. All except for his eyes, that are staring right at me with an intensity that burns my skin. So demanding and dark and lingering that the oxygen refuses to escape my lungs. I'm completely held hostage by his eyes, by his beauty, by the ruthlessness threading over his features. Windblown black hair, disheveled and unruly, straight black brows. A strong, sharp jaw, clenched. The slope of his nose straight, and my eyes flutter as they trail over the shape of his lips, very smooth, very desirable lips. The side twitches and I blink rapidly, lowering my gaze to the table. Get a f*****g grip-- finding the man who's going to be my shadow until f**k knows when, attractive, is the stupidest move ever. "Kaira?" My father calls out, grasping my attention.

When I meet his eyes, he clears his throat. "As I was saying, these are the men that will be protecting you from now on." Flicking his wrist, he gestures over the table. "Not all at once, there will be shifts and rotations that will be given to you tomorrow morning." His voice is steady, but I see the look in his eyes-- the harsh warning to not fight him on this. I clench my jaw. "For now, I want you to indulge in conversation and ask questions--" He sighs, scratching the side of his nose with his thumb. "Which I know you have a lot of. So, please," He nods toward the guards and lowers himself into his chair. "Sit and ask."

I push my tongue to the roof of my mouth, every guard seated and silent, waiting for my onslaught of questions. "What about Dax? I still want him as my personal guard." As the question slips from my lips, I feel his scrutiny glare on the side of my face. My fingers flex around the edge of the chair as I swallow the insults resting on the tip of my tongue. All I want to do is twist around and demand him to stop watching me like that. My father cuts in through my brimming annoyance. "Dax will still be your personal guard."

A sigh slips through my nose and I dip my head into a nod, sinking into the plush chair. Biting into the side of my cheek, I gather my thoughts, fidgeting with the thick material of the coat. My father falls into a conversation with the guard seated closest to him and the hall breaks out into hushed conversations. I flick my eyes up. "Name?" I splutter out the one-worded question.

My chest feels heavy as I stare at him. Something about the aura around him triggers my heart to near collapse. I've been around a variety of powerful men, Alpha's even, but none have made me feel like crawling under the table and curling into myself with just a simple glance. The man's expression remains void as he stares at me blankly. "Zyran." The way his name rolls off his tongue so flippantly, wrapped with his thick and deep voice, has me forcing down a gulp of oxygen.

Focus. Focus. Focus. Tucking strands of my brown hair behind my ear, I shift forward in my chair and drag the wine glass across the table toward me. "Well, Zyran, my name is Kaira." I lift my chin. His expression remains cold as he leans back into the chair, resting his elbow on the armrest. "I know." Amusement flashes in his eyes before falling away, fading back to that cold, suffocating stare. Heat crawls up my neck. "I thought it would be nice to formally introduce myself." I mumble, ice prickling at my scalp.

Zyran swiftly runs his forefinger over his bottom lip, before lowering his hand to the table, tapping against the wood rhythmically. Tap. My eyes fall down to the movement, transfixed by the sight of the tendons and veins shifting with each lift and fall of his finger. The silver ring wrapped around his index finger glints under the harsh light cascading down from the chandelier. Tap. The sight of his hand makes my stomach tumble over, not only because my mind conjures up images of what he can do with his fingers-- but with the solid knowledge of whose life he has taken with those hands. Tap.

"I'm not here to be your friend, so formality isn't needed," Zyran's dark, silky voice wraps around me and my gaze flashes to his, my throat closing up. "Neither is you being nice anything I want." Right. He's not here to be anything other than my guard. My eyes fall away as I lift the glass to my lips and take a leisure sip, the wine sliding down my throat. I'm here to ask questions. "Where did you train?" I straighten in my seat, meeting his unwavering gaze.

"Lendorr." His expression is immovable marble. My stomach rolls into a knot despite already knowing this information. I press my lips into a thin line. "How many years?" My voice flows out strained. Zyran pushes the ring with his thumb, the silver twisting around his finger. "Since I learned how to walk." The kingdom of warriors. Born and bred for exactly one thing-- brutality. A rush of horror flows through me. My fingers tremble as I slide the tips over the rough skin on the left side of my wrist.

I hold my breath as I watch him, intimidating coldness seeping from his skin and I know my question is feeble, but still, I ask in a whisper, "How many people have you killed?" Zyran's eyes blaze over with an emotion I can't quite grab hold of, and he slants his head to the side so slightly that if I wasn't watching him so closely, I wouldn't even have noticed it. "Too many to count." I cease breathing, my heart jolting into my throat. "That's not a very proper question to ask." Zyran leans forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the oak table and for some reason, it feels intruding and intentional.

I keep still, my eyes narrowing. "Figured since you don't want me to be nice, I would resort to being invasive." Annoyance builds in my throat. Zyran's jaw flexes. "Nice is the last thing I want you to be." My lips part at his words, my fingers splaying out wide on my thighs and I slide my palms to my knees. I clear my throat. "If you're so heavily trained and skilled, why take on the job to protect me? I promise you, it's going to be boring." My attempt at changing the subject is impotent, but his presence and lurking gaze are smothering enough.

"Three assassination attempts in four weeks, paired with your demanding personality? I bet it'll be anything but boring." His hand wraps around the wine glass, and he lifts it to his lips, watching me over the rim. My lips part and I drag a thin inhale into my lungs, not missing the way his eyes dart down to my mouth. "Staring at me is rude, and is considered an offense, you know." I clench my jaw, my fingers biting into the side of my thigh. Never have I met anyone who has stared at me so openly, and aside from that-- I've never had someone gaze at me so intently, so observantly, as if he can see into my soul, as if he can hear my thoughts. So intense that his eyes feel like they're on fire.

His mouth parts slightly, his jaw strenuously tightening as his tongue runs a smooth trail over his bottom lip, trying to conceal his apparent amusement. "You don't seem to mind, since you haven't asked me to stop." He taunts, his voice dropping an octave. My breath hitches in my throat, frozen as my mind falls over his words. I haven't asked him to stop. "Kaira," I jerk at the sound, the tension cracking. I blink rapidly, having completely forgotten about the people surrounding me. I release a breath and turn to my father. "I see you're getting along with Sergeant Ryder." A pleased smile stretches over his lips. Sergeant? I'm not surprised.

He clasps his hands together. "Sergeant Ryder has trained thousands of soldiers, and I thought it be best for him to take over, lead and teach wherever he sees room for improvement in our warrior's tactics. He'll take over as Training officer, and I bet if you ask nicely, he'll train you too. Given his rank, I think the experience would be beneficial for you." The table falls silent as he speaks, roaring anger rising in the hollow of my chest, all other feelings dispersing. One, two, three long seconds tick by before I blink. "What?" I grind my teeth together, pinching the coat between my fingers. "Dax is the training officer."

"And, will resume to be, once Sergeant Ryder and his soldiers leave." My father raises a brow. I can say nothing, do nothing, deny nothing. I press the tip of my tongue to the roof of my mouth and swing my gaze toward Zyran's. The chatter picks up again, and surrounds us. I stare at him with wide eyes. Not only is he my guard, but he'll be Training officer too. The fire in the pit of my stomach grows, along with the terror in my mind.

Slanting his head a degree, he faintly presses the tip of his tongue into the side of his cheek, observing my expression. A soft hum rumbles from his throat. "Six a.m sharp, I don't tolerate tardiness." Lifting the glass, he gulps down a few sips before lowering it. He arches a dark brow, and my heart stumbles. "And, please do leave your formalities and kindness at the gym door. I would like to see you follow through with your earlier threat of ripping out my eyes." His voice is like rough velvet along my skin, my breath abandoning me in a sharp exhale. "Because, I promise you, I won't stop staring if you don't." Then, he turns to the soldier next to him.