Page 38 of WarBride

I fling back the tent flap and stride out so fast, Lurodos is forced to back away several paces or risk being run down. The Noxaurian smiles cruelly, his teeth sharp in the new dawn light. “Good morning, half-breed,” he purrs. “Is she begging you to turn her over to me yet? Are her tears as hot and wet as her—”

“Begone, Lurodos,” I snarl, drawing myself up to my full height and meeting him eye-to-eye. “There’s nothing for you here.”

There’s a crowd gathered around the tent—all the same foul onlookers who congregated last night, hoping to hear the salacious screams of my victim no doubt. They watch Lurodos and me with unabashed interest, eager to see us rip each other apart. Ruvaen is among them, I notice with some discomfort.Of course this pavilion belongs to the prince. He has every right to be here and to evict us if he so chooses. But he only stands a little to one side, arms folded, eyes hooded, an expression of mocking amusement on his face. Ordinarily I would consider Ruvaen an ally; he and I have forged a certain degree of respect for one another over the years of our alliance. But Ruvaen is a Noxaurian, a pure-blood fae. He is no more trustworthy than any of these fiends. I cannot count on him to take my side when it comes to Lurodos. While Ruvaen may hate his most brutal warlord, he won’t openly side against him.

I am alone. And my people aren’t here to stand with me between this monster and the girl. The girl who has no real claim on me at all, but to whom I vowed my protection.

Lurodos sniffs loudly, nostrils flaring. “I don’t smell virgin’s blood on you, my friend,” he says, that leering grin twisting his face once more. “You didn’t do it, did you? You didn’tshakhher.”

“What takes place between me and my wife on our wedding night is no one’s concern but ours,” I answer coldly, even as rage roars in my gut.

Lurodos laughs. “Yourwife?” he says. “Your warbride, you mean. She is no wife—she is a plaything. And if you don’t intend to play, you must pass her on to the next player. Such is the law of Noxaur. Is that not right, my prince?” he adds, turning to Ruvaen.

The prince gives me a narrow look. “Technically our friend Lurodos is right.”

My eyes flare. “You said,” I answer in a deep growl, “that our wedding ceremony might follow Licornyn traditions, not Noxaurian.”

“Indeed.” Ruvaen shrugs.

“Does it not follow that Licornyn custom would also hold sway for the wedding night?”

Lurodos throws back his head and howls with laughter. “Are you half-breeds such limpshakhers,you can’t shaft your own brides on the first go?”

All the Noxaurian spectators join their voices with his, a cruel chorus of cackles and hyena yodels. Even the women in their midst shriek in amusement, teeth flashing, though there’s hardness in their eyes as well.

I ignore the rest of them, addressing myself to Ruvaen. “Last night my wife and I consummated our marriage according to Licornyn tradition. We fulfilled the law. She ismine.”

Ruvaen quirks a silver brow. “I’m sorry, Taar. But, as Lurodos so baldly puts it, the law of Noxaur requires coupling. Did you spill your seed inside the woman?”

I swallow. Otherwise I don’t move a muscle, not even to breathe.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Ruvaen says with a sigh.

“That settles it then.” Lurodos claps his hands together and rubs them, delighted. “You can either fetch her out, Taar, my friend, or I can go after her myself. Either way, she’s mine by right of law. And you can be sure,” he adds, turning to the rest with a lewd leer, “that within the hour, she’ll be moaning and weeping her virgin’s tears while I split her in half.”

Laughter and jeers batter inside my head. I stare at Ruvaen, disbelief coursing in sickening ripples up my spine. The prince merely lifts his chin, that damned eyebrow of his still slightly cocked. Suddenly I realize he anticipated this all along. He knows me, knows I’m not the kind of man to take a woman by either force or coercion. He is also familiar with Licornyn customs, more familiar, perhaps, than he lets on. He allowed this whole situation to take place because he wanted this very outcome.

And now I know what I must do. I know how I will save my bride.

Lurodos is still laughing, thrusting his pelvis for the amusement of the crowd. Then he turns and takes a lunging step toward the tent flap. I block his way, planting myself firmly as a wall. I stare into his face, our eyes mere inches apart. “If you want her,” I say, “you’ll have to go through me.”

Lurodos laughs again, his lips pulled back in a snarl. “You don’t want to play games like that with me, half-breed.”

“I do not play games, Lurodos.”

The warlord draws back an arm, intending to strike me here and now, initiating what must become a bloodbath. Before his blow can fall, however, Ruvaen’s voice rings out: “I would not do that if I were you.”

Lurodos turns to his prince. “What’s this?” he demands, gnashing his teeth. “Have you two concocted some sort of plot against me? Are you so determined to keep me from my lawful property?”

“Certainly not,” Ruvaen replies with an easy grin that turns my stomach. “But, according to Noxaurian law, death’s blood is a fine substitute for virgin’s blood to seal a marriage. If our good Licornyn king wants to claim his warbride via mortal combat rather than more traditional—or pleasant—means, I have no qualms with it. So long as you are keen, Lurodos, my friend. Otherwise I’m afraid you must give up your claim on the human entirely.”

“A fight to the death?” Lurodos speaks the words slowly, savoring them. He looks me up and down, his expression almost lascivious, as though he gazes upon his intended maiden victim. Finally he turns to Ruvaen. “And are there restrictions on what weapons may be used?”

“You are both riders,” Ruvaen says, “Taar a Licornyn, and you a Reptant Master. Let you decide this matter mounted and armed with the traditional weaponry of your people.”

A vicious smile slashes across Lurodos’s mouth. He turns to me once more and points his long nail straight at my nose. “Mark my words, half-breed: I’ll cut off your head and add it to my collection. Then I’ll saw off your beast’s horn and use it as a toothpick.” He licks his lips slowly. “When I’m through, I’ll let my reptant feast on its guts even as I feast on my new warbride.”

I lean in closer, breathing in his foul air. My eyes burn into his, and I see tongues of fire on the edges of my vision.

---