Page 16 of Dragons' Mate
There is a scattering of applause but the competitors are mostly busy memorizing the faces of their foes. Probably cataloging potential weaknesses to exploit. I instinctively know the woman’s scream marked her as easier prey and vow not to make a sound when my turn comes.
“Reconsider this, human,” Quinton’s near silent words tingle along my neck, the tension from his body vibrating my own. “You’ll be hurt. Even if we win, you will be hurt.”
“Interesting objection coming from you,” I mutter.
“If you mean the Phoenix, I was simply demonstrating the dragons’ nature,” Quinton says with no hint of apology as another pack kneels before the priest. The woman with this lot is weeping openly and has to be held in place by two of the dragons.
I want to look away but make myself watch. Autumn and I counted thirty four packs at the ball today. Thirty four, all ready to kill each other for one vile of the elixir. Mathematically speaking, more would die in the trials than would be born from the subsequent breeding, but math doesn’t hold a candle to hope and competition. I’m proof of that.
A small puff of air from Quinton ruffles my hair. I have a feeling he wants to say something more about me reconsidering this and give him a warning look. I can’t walk away. There are things bigger than us both at stake.
“...are you ready to receive the Mark of Orion, which will bind you to her will, as delegated by her to my judgment, and mine alone?” The priest’s voice rises above the woman’s sobs and fills the room. “Do you pledge yourself from the moment of your marking until I release you from the trials?”
“No!” The woman screams. One of the dragons slaps her across the face, leaving a bloody lip. The priest doesn’t blink an eye. Her consent doesn’t matter to him.
Quinton, get yourself and the human herenow! Tavias’s voice sounds in my mind. He sounds… Well, furious doesn’t begin to cover it. My head swivels through the crowd, looking for the pack, but it's hard to see with everyone now packed tightly around the dais.
“You still have a choice,” Quinton tells me. His voice is quiet and quick. “You can choose to send Massa’eve and its rites to rutting hell.”
I raise my chin in answer, though I know there is no hiding my galloping heart, not from him. Still, in this moment I am more certain than ever in the one advantage I have over the woman weeping on the dais. Over all the humans here. “I know I have a choice,” I tell him. “And I choose to stay and fight.”
A thousand emotions dance over Quinton’s usually stoic face, the tips of his scales shifting too quickly for me to follow. But at the end, the dragon prince gives me a barely perceptible bow that steals my breath. “It will be an honor to fight beside you.”
Quinton!Tavias’s mind shout is so loud it's actually painful. I am not sure how I’m hearing it at all since he is talking to Quinton, but it’s always been that way with us, since that very first time I heard Tavias’s voice in my head, giving an order to kill.
“We should find Tavias,” I say.
Quinton’s hand rests on the nape of my neck. “No. Not yet.”
“Are you insane?”
“Clearly, yes.”
Shit. Quinton is stalling. Making absolutely certain that by the time we are close enough for the others to realize the truth, there is no chance to undo this. I have to give it to him, once Quinton decides to do something, he commits—and lets the consequences be damned.
A fresh rush of nerves, ones that had been forgotten while I was watching the ceremony, grabs the forefront of my thoughts. As if the priest, the trials and Ettienne’s death threats weren’t enough to worry about, we are stretching Tavias’s temper to homicidal.
There is a fresh scream, the Goddess Orion plainly caring as little as the dragons as to whether the woman they hold consents to all that’s involved, and a new set of five ascends the dais. The woman with them has cold steel in her eyes, smiling in satisfaction as she watches her predecessor being led away.
“That is Geoffrey’s pack,” Quinton tells me and somehow I’m not surprised one bit.
Quinton! We are next, you rutting asshole. Get here now or I will rip out your eyes and feed them to the sclices.
Quinton cocks a brow at me. “Alright human,” he says. “Let’s go see if Tavias’s lightning doesn’t bring this whole place down on our heads.”
CHAPTER8
Kit
“Where the hell—'' Tavias's words freeze as I step out from behind Quinton, my masked face raised toward the pack leader. Tavias is half-way through removing his shirt, the intricate overcoat already folded neatly on a chair beside him, when the reality of my presence registers.
Disbelief flashes in his gaze, which turns too quickly to fury. Tension and magic crackle along Tavias’s muscular body, as he no doubt realizes that nothing about our last minute arrival is accidental.
Sorry, not sorry.
Tavias straightens to his full height slowly, each muscle moving with tense, trained precision. I can’t read the look he gives Quinton. It’s the kind only brothers who’ve known each other since childhood can interpret. Quinton raises his chin slightly, his mouth in a hardline.
I clear my throat, reclaiming Tavias’s attention. Despite my better reason, getting one over on him feels childishly good. Then my eyes narrow. “Is that… a swollen lip?” I ask him.
