Page 10 of Dragons' Mate
“What kind of errand?”
“An Ettienne kind of errand.”
Rut.
“Speaking of Ettienne,” Cyril said, smoothly stepping into the conversation, “we owe him an apology. His heavy-handed antics aside, he did do right by everyone last night.”
“Did he?” Quinton’s voice was flat, but he accepted the pivot.
Cyril nodded, squaring his shoulders. “As Tavias and I discussed earlier, the last place Kitterny needs to be is on the trial grounds. Now that I’ve calmed enough to get my wits back about me, I find myself grateful for Ettienne ensuring she doesn’t have to go there. More than grateful. And he deserves for us to acknowledge as much.”
“Kitterny would have given us an advantage at the trails,” Quinton said coolly, as if the wildcat in question was nothing more than a commodity. “We’d have a better chance at victory with her than any other human.”
A fury simmered within Tavias at that, a seething pool that threatened to spill over. “May I remind you, that Kitterny risked her life to pull a venomous spike out of your dragon’s hide,” Tavias said too quietly for the anger inside him. “Treating her as a living being and not a weapon is the least you owe her.” His fingers clenched reflexively at his sides and he shook his head in disgust. “Kit’s life is worth more than an advantage at the trials. If you don’t see that, I pity you.”
Quinton cocked a brow. “What I see is weakness speaking for the heir apparent to the throne. It’s your duty to put Massa’eve first, brother.”
"Massa'eve first?" Tavias echoed. A low sort of growl filled Tavias’s chest, his breathing turning shallow as each exhalation pushed against the growing rage. "Youwish to lecture me on duty and commitment? Who do you think defends our land and people from the blight, while you are out playing with shadows? Who holds the line while you slink off to kill?”
“Kitterny—”
“No.” Tavias cut Quinton off. Blood pounding in his head, Tavias stepped so close to Quinton that mere inches of crackling air stretched between them. “You don’t get to speak of her. Ever. Not after the way you tormented her on the Phoenix for your own bloody -”
Quinton punched Tavias.
CHAPTER5
Tavias
Quinton’s fist landed on Tavias’s jaw, the impact splitting both his lip and the last shreds of control he had over himself.
Tavias launched himself at his brother, slamming him into one of the marble pillars. Quinton grunted and swung, the air whistling with the speed of his punch.
Tavias pivoted, narrowly avoiding the blow. The relief was short lived as Quinton’s next attack caught Tavias in the ribs. It bloody hurt. Not stopping for a moment, Quinton dropped low and savagely swept Tavias’s feet from under him.
A muted thud sounded as Tavias went down, the thin rug offering no protection from the marble beneath.
“Stand down both of you.” Cyril lunged between them.
Quinton shoved Cryil away without breaking stride just as Tavias jumped to his feet. If this was how Quinton wanted to play, then so be it. Spinning, he thrust the heel of his boot into Quinton’s chest. Hard.
Quinton stumbled back into a pedestal holding the carved bust of their great grandfather. The satisfying grunt he let out was barely audible over the sound of the statue toppling to the floor. As it crashed, Quinton unleashed himself with a blur of movement, each attack pressing Tavias back, back, back. The thuds of Quinton's strikes against flesh and bone echoed through the hall, each one a metronome of a fury filled orchestra.
Red pulsed at the edge of Tavias’s vision. Gritting his teeth against the onslaught, he saw his chance when Quinton pulled back his fist for another punch.
Tavias whipped around with a spinning roundhouse kick, the toe of his boot connecting with Quinton's face.
Quinton’s head snapped to the side. There was the distinct sound of cracking bone and a spray of blood making an arch in the air. Yet, the silver dragon barely flinched. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, smearing the red liquid across his cheek. Then, with a roar, he launched himself at Tavias, their bodies colliding with the force of two charging bulls.
Cyril was shouting something in the background, but Tavias couldn’t care less what it was.
Quinton kicked. Tavias sidestepped the attack but was suddenly jerked around as his foot caught the edge of an ornate rug. Momentum carried Tavias backwards, but he managed to grab Quinton as he stumbled.
Tavias’s back hit the mezzanine guardrail. His world tilted, the momentum carrying both him and Quinton along in an unforgiving arch. Then they were both over the edge of the banister, falling onto the pristine ballroom floor beneath.
Tavias could probably have landed on his feet if he wasn’t still trying to punch Quinton even midflight. But he was. So, the pair of them crashed down together in a heap, rolling apart with bloody snarls.
A female gasp sounded from the other end of the hall, followed by the sounds of breaking glass.
