Page 11 of Dragons' Mate
Still on his hands and knees, Tavias lifted his head to find Fionna—the pack’s new bride to be—standing amidst a mess of shattered porcelain and spilt tea she must have been carrying. The human’s skin was blanched white, matching the marble floor. Her gaze followed the blood dripping from Tavias’s lip to the polished stone.
A few paces away, Quinton crouched on one knee, a snarl still on his face as he set his own broken nose back into place with a brutal efficiency that made Tavias wince.
Silence followed.
If Kitterny were here, she’d have yelled at all of them to pull their heads out of their asses. For all her residual timidity when it came to herself, she would become a force of nature when she thought the pack was in danger. Hell, the wildcat would go toe to toe with dragons when she thought they were being idiots—and Tavias knew they were being idiots just now.
A part of Tavias was disappointed when Fionna showed no such inclination.
Gathering herself together with clearly trained self-control, the pretty blond woman curtsied, as if she’d walked in on them having crumpets instead of a brawl.
“My deepest apologies for my clumsiness, my princes,” she said, her voice polite and agreeable despite the fear filling her scent. “I see I have intruded at a bad time. May I clean this up now, or would you prefer I return later? Or perhaps I might fetch you something else meanwhile?”
Cyril vaulted over the banister from the mezzanine, landing near Tavias.
“Good morning, Fionna,” Cyril said diplomatically. “There is no need to trouble yourself on either of those accounts.” He efficiently issued orders to a guard to send for a cleaning crew, which gave Tavias the time he needed to get to his feet and straighten out disheveled clothes.
“Hello, Fionna,” Tavias said. He was still out of breath, but made an effort to sound cordial for the girl’s sake. It wasn’t her fault that she was here, after all. Or that Quinton was an asshole. And she was clearly trying to be whatever it is she thought the pack wanted.
Fionna had been the only passable option of the three women Ettienne had brought. Of the two others, one hadn’t stopped weeping the entire time, and the other lost her wits and tried to stab Quinton. He’d killed her before the blade touched his skin.
Tavias cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?” he asked their new bride apparent.
"I thought you might wish for something refreshing as you went about your duties, my prince," Fionna said with another curtsy.
“We do have servant staff in the palace,” said Tavis. “At least we did the last I checked."
He hadn't spoken harshly, but Fionna lowered her head, chastised. "Yes, of course. I will leave such duties to those who know you better and be more mindful of your need for privacy in the future. I only… I only wished you to know that I’m available for whatever you might need.”
Tavias opened his mouth to control the damage but Quinton chose that moment to insert himself.
“Available are you? For whatever we might desire?” Spreading his shoulders, Quinton brushed past Tavias and Cyril to advance on the poor human. Blood from Quinton’s broken nose still covered his face and clothes, and he made no move to tamp down on the power emanating from him. His scales were up, strands of bloody hair savagely framing his violence-filled face. "What if what we desire is you?"
“What in the rutting hell?” Cyril muttered, but Fionna’s fingers were already at her dress, finding hidden ties with practiced efficiency.
"Then I will be honored to be of service, of course,” Fionna responded at once, her voice barely wavering. Before Tavias could utter a sound, the gown she wore fell in a pool to the floor, leaving the woman in nothing but a set of lacy underthings that caressed her body. She was well put together. Beautiful even.
Yet the thought of taking her filled Tavias with no desire whatsoever.
Quinton grabbed Fionna’s chin, lifting her face toward his. "Do you wish to be taken by us?" he demanded, his voice low.
"Of course, my prince," she answered quickly, as she’d obviously been taught to do. "Unless of course you would prefer to be serviced in another way? I have been taught several ways of bringing pleasure to a dragon."
Quinton stepped back in disgust.
"I am also happy to learn anything new you would prefer,” Fionna said, a hint of desperation tinging her voice for the first time. “It is truly an honor to serve Your Highnesses. My mother and sisters have all borne many children and I am certain I would bear many healthy pups for the pack. Please don’t send me away."
“No one is sending you anywhere, Fionna,” Tavias said, stepping in before Quinton decided to terrorize the poor girl again. Blight take him, they could do a lot worse for a human. Fionna was agreeable, eager to please, and, understandable fear aside, willing to do everything required. Equally important, Tavias and the others would be able to think around her—with their heads instead of their cocks. “In fact, allow me to escort you to breakfast.”
He held out his arm to lead Fionna toward the door, stopping only for a moment to address Quinton. “Get your shit together before the masquerade tonight. And stay out of my sight until then.”
CHAPTER6
Kit
I’m still coming to grips with having been left with Autumn in a brothel, when one of the courtesans makes a final adjustment to Autumn's make-up and steps back to admire her work.
Autumn twirls, the fabric of her emerald green masquerade gown catching the air. "What do you think?" she asks me.
