The Royal Heirs #48: Theo

The Royal Heirs #48: Theo
The armored SUV hummed around us, its military-grade engine a reassuring rumble as we traveled the winding roads toward Blackwood Forest. Emma sat beside me, her dark hair falling from its careful braid, her hands resting protectively over her rounded belly. The twins must have been active—I caught her wincing occasionally, her palm pressing against a particular spot where a tiny foot or fist pushed back. I kept one hand on my phone, texting Christian with updates, while the other hovered near Emma, not quite touching her, still uncertain of my welcome in her personal space despite our morning's reconciliation.
Updates? Christian had texted for the third time in twenty minutes. My brother's concern radiated through even the brief digital message.
Still en route, I replied. ETA 90 minutes. Police ready to raid when we arrive. Will keep you posted.
Emma shifted beside me, her head coming to rest against my shoulder with a soft sigh that spoke of exhaustion beyond the physical. Artemis had been on high alert for days, the wolf's protective instincts driving Emma to a vigilance that couldn't be sustained indefinitely. Now, with the promise of rescue so close, the adrenaline that had kept her moving was beginning to ebb.
"Rest," I murmured, finally allowing my arm to circle her shoulders. "We have time."
Her eyes fluttered closed, though I knew she wasn't truly sleeping. The tension in her frame remained, her breathing too controlled, too deliberate. I pressed my lips to her temple, inhaling the scent of her—forest and sunshine and something uniquely Emma that called to both my human and Lycan senses.
"I meant what I said," I told her quietly. "We face this together, whatever comes. No more shielding you from truths you have every right to know."
She didn't open her eyes, but her lips curved in the ghost of a smile. "I'm holding you to that promise, Theo."
Aeson rumbled with approval within me, his golden presence settling into watchful alertness. Mate strong, he insisted, a sentiment he'd been repeating since our reconciliation. We must be worthy.
The landscape outside our windows had gradually transformed from manicured farmland to thicker woodland—the first fingers of Blackwood Forest reaching toward the road. Trees grew denser with each mile, their shadows lengthening in the late afternoon light. According to the navigation display on the dashboard, we were approximately three miles from Whispering Pines Estate.
I glanced forward, noting the rigid set of Victor's shoulders as he drove, the way Nathaniel's head swiveled with too-frequent regularity, checking the mirrors, the road, the treeline. Their tension might have been professional vigilance, but something in their movements triggered an ancient warning sense that predated civilisation—the instinctive recognition of predators watching for an opportunity.
Emma must have felt it too. She straightened beside me, her green eyes sharp and alert despite her fatigue. Her fingers found mine, squeezing once in silent communication.
The SUV suddenly decelerated, pulling onto the shoulder of the road with a crunch of gravel. Through the windshield, I could see the convoy continuing forward, the lead vehicles apparently unaware we'd stopped.
"What's happening?" I asked, leaning forward. "Why are we stopping?"
Neither man answered. Instead, there was the metallic click of the doors locking, followed by the sound that chilled my blood—the unmistakable rack of a handgun being prepared to fire.
"Don't move, Your Majesties," Victor said, his formal tone carrying an edge I'd never heard before. Both men turned in their seats, firearms now clearly visible in their hands.
"Victor, Nathaniel..." Emma's voice held confusion tinged with the first notes of fear. "What are you doing?"
My eyes flicked to the road, where the rest of the convoy had disappeared around a bend, only the final vehicle pulling over behind us, too far back to see what was happening inside our SUV.
"Sorry, Your Highness," Victor said, his expression professionally blank. "But we got a better offer."
Aeson surged forward, his rage bleeding gold into my vision as protective fury overwhelmed rational thought. "From who?" I growled, shifting slightly to place more of my body between Emma and their weapons. "Let me guess—Lord and Lady Humphreys?"
Victor merely smirked, offering a noncommittal shrug that confirmed my suspicions as surely as a confession. Beside him, Nathaniel's eyes had taken on a predatory gleam that belonged more to his wolf than the man.
"Now, my Queen," Nathaniel said, his gun trained on my chest. "Our employers don't want anything to happen to you, but the King is fair game."
"Don't you dare touch my mate." Emma's words emerged as a feral snarl, Artemis clearly pushing to the surface. Her fingers dug into my thigh, not restraining but preparing—muscles tensing for action.
I met her eyes for a fraction of a second, a silent communication passing between us. She nodded imperceptibly, and we moved together—my hand striking for Victor's weapon while Emma lunged toward Nathaniel.
The confined space of the SUV worked against us. Victor twisted away, his gun discharging with a deafening crack that left my ears ringing. I felt the bullet graze my side, hot pain blooming along my skin. Emma had managed to knock Nathaniel's aim off, but he recovered with trained efficiency, tangling his free hand in her hair and yanking her back.
"Enough!" he barked, producing a wicked hunting knife from his jacket. In one fluid movement, he pressed the blade against Emma's abdomen, just above where our daughters grew. "One more move, and I start carving."
The world narrowed to that single point of steel against the stretched fabric of Emma's sweater. Aeson howled within me, the sound echoing in the chambers of my mind with such force I nearly shifted right there.
"Let her go," I said, my voice a deadly calm that belied the storm raging inside me. "Your quarrel is with me."
"Actually," Victor said, his gun now steady in his hand, "our orders are quite specific. The Queen is to be delivered unharmed. You, however..."
The shot came without further warning—a thunderclap in the confined space, the bullet tearing through my abdomen with white-hot agony. I heard Emma's scream as if from underwater, the world already graying at the edges. Only Nathaniel's knife against her belly kept me from lunging forward, from tearing out their throats with teeth that weren't quite human anymore.
"Theo!" Emma's voice cut through the pain, her face contorted with fear and rage. She struggled against Nathaniel's grip, only stopping when the knife broke skin, a small dark stain spreading on her sweater.
I pressed my hand against the wound in my stomach, feeling hot blood pulsing between my fingers. Not immediately fatal, but bad—very bad. The bullet had missed my heart only because Emma had managed to kick Victor at the last second, throwing off his aim. I slumped against the seat, trying to focus through the waves of pain radiating from my core.
Nathaniel dragged the car door open, pulling Emma with him, the knife never leaving her belly. Her eyes remained locked on mine, terror for me overwhelming concern for herself.
"Theo, hold on," she begged as she was forced backward out of the vehicle. "Just hold on."
Victor followed them, pausing at the door to look back at me with clinical detachment. "Nothing personal, my King," he said with chilling formality. "Our employer just doesn't care what happens to you."
The door slammed shut, leaving me alone with the copper scent of my own blood filling the air. Through the tinted windows, I could see them dragging Emma into the trees—my mate, my queen, my heart—her struggles growing weaker as the knife remained pressed against our unborn daughters.
With trembling fingers, I pulled my phone from my pocket, leaving bloody smears across the screen as I typed a message to Christian: Betrayed. Shot. Emma taken. 3 miles fr—
The world swam before my eyes, darkness closing in from all sides. I hit send, not knowing if the message would transmit in these dense woods, not knowing if help would come in time. My last conscious thought was of Emma, of our daughters, of the promise I'd made to face danger together—a promise I was breaking by falling into darkness while she was dragged away to face Benjamin alone.