The Boyguard Novels & Stories

The leader mumbled, glaring at his watch. "Hey, you!" He shouted at a teenage boy and pointed to another behind him. "Move in to check the situation." "Yes sir!' they saluted and stepped into the building. The teenage boy found the switch to the light and turned it on. He slinked back and rounded his eyes. "What the fuck?!" The heart of the guards had been pulled out, and they were covered with blood. His eyes rounded more, and his heart almost leapt out of his chest as he heard footsteps.

"She is here! She has to be! You have taken her! Please ! Let me meet her ! Please!" The boy looked vulnerable,his cheeks were turning red as he cried , struggling in the guards grip. I could see the guards grip leaving bruises on his thin arms. I approached the gates,the guards back still on me. The boy was wearing tattered clothes,his eyes had dark circles and anyone could say that he looked nothing other than a beggar. But regardless his eyes. Those brown orbs looked ordly familiar and they screamed so many things, desperation, sadness and hope which made me interested.

The mysterious boy smiled cynically. At that moment, the dark-haired boy lunged forward, but before anything could happen, the guard intervened. "Any problem, candidate? You know that fights lead to disqualification. Would you like to be disqualified?" The guard asked seriously. "I imagine not!" The mysterious boy laughed. "No, sir!" The dark-haired boy responded, teeth clenched in anger. "Then go back to your place!" The guard pointed to the table where the other boys were sitting. "You two, since you like provoking others, go straight to the dorm!" The guard shouted, addressing us.

That felt like a dagger piercing my heart repeatedly. Actually, I am a guardian to a mafia king, Romano Starvo. We called him Lord Romano, but not me. I called him father. He found me on the lying road almost lifeless when I was ten and kept me under his roof. In return, I served him. I became his right hand, and he was the only person who knew my real identity.

she cries, her small hands scraping the ground as tears fill her wide eyes. “M!” a boy’s voice calls out. A boy, not much older than her, rushes over, his brows pinched in concern. “Stop crying. I promise I’ll protect you, okay?” She sniffs and glares at him through her tears. “How are you gonna protect me? You’re just a kid.” He puffs out his chest like a soldier and says proudly. “Have you forgotten? I’m gonna be a warrior. Your personal bodyguard.” “You can't protect me if you can’t even catch a rabbit”

“Bodyguard.” Cassian blinked. Then laughed. “Oh, my father must be livid.” Rowan didn’t respond. He wasn’t here to laugh. He was here to protect something or someone that clearly didn’t want to be saved. Cassian dropped the ice and stood, eyes flicking over Rowan’s frame tall, built, black T-shirt stretched over muscle and discipline. “Not bad. At least they sent someone with arms this time.” “Try anything and I break your arm,” Rowan replied.

The guards had already formed a cautious half-circle around the stranger. He wasn’t tall, but he stood like someone who’d fought battles he didn’t speak about. Hooded, cloak slightly damp from the morning mist, and a stillness in his limbs that told me he was too calm. Too sure. And beside him… was a child. A boy, small and barefoot. Dressed in an oversized tunic, arms wrapped around himself loosely. He didn’t speak. Didn’t even look around. His hair was dark, his skin pale under the overcast sky, and his expression unreadable.

A shifter boy stood over her, eyes wide with panic, his claws half-shifted. “I didn’t—she scared me…” Guards surged forward. Elara ran faster. She reached the girl—already being tended by Lyra. Then she turned to the boy, who trembled. “What happened?” “She slipped,” he whispered. “I caught her. But my—my fingers—” Lerder arrived, reading the air. “Not an attack.” Goran’s guards hesitated then backed away. The boy was led gently to the healer’s tent. The girl, after her wound was cleaned, asked if she could finish her bread stand. The crowd exhaled, but Elara knew what had nearly happened. The fracture beneath the golden surface had widened.

Silence followed, heavy, thick with smoke. The boy’s eyes were wide, his lips trembling. “You protected me.” My breath shook. “I almost killed you.” “But you didn’t.” His voice was small, certain. “You saved me.” The Beta watched us, grim and knowing. “The bond is real.” The dream began to fracture—smoke pulling into mist, the fire dimming. The boy’s voice clung to me, desperate. “Don’t let him push you away,” he whispered. “He’ll try. He always tries. But you—” his eyes searched mine, “—you’re supposed to be my shield.”

The emo guy’s shirt catches on the sill and pulls up, exposing his pale stomach and—my mouth goes dry—a fucking gun sticking out of his pants. Current history was the hardest thing to learn when I woke up, but I’m not stupid. I know tall white guys in all black with guns mean I’m about to be on the news with the caption “first victim.” I hold up the flyer like it’s a shield and back toward the door to shut it. “Is that real?” He finally finishes slithering inside—fuck, he’s tall too—and shoves black hair off his face. A lit cigarette dangles from his lips.