Page 49 of Gentling the Beast

Edwin?

And then a small, dark-haired angel flings herself at me, sobbing.

Jasmine.

My mate.

PartThree

Mating the Beast

ChapterOne

Doug

We are gathered in the warlord’s audience chambers. Rignor, my uncle, is pacing. Edwin stands with his hands neatly clasped behind his back before a giant mural depicting a battle between a griffin pride and the Blighten. Rumor has it that, in reality, the battle ended in a stalemate, not the great victory spoken of officially.

I do not have the full details of what transpired leading to my liberation. But from what I can infer, the warlord returned early via the portal, learned what was happening in the market square of his great city and was enraged.

I do not delude myself that he feels any affection for me. I believe much of his rage centers around the liberties my mother took in holding a spectacle of this magnitude behind his back.

Either way, I am grateful.

I am not dead.

Our warlord has acknowledged me as his nephew.

My mother has been exiled on pain of death should she set foot in Krug again.

It is a lot to take in.

My neck aches. I’m confident I could not get any words out past the swelling even were I not mute. Jasmine stands beside me, her small hands clinging to mine. I will not let her step aside for a moment and I growl when a physician, my uncle’s order, tries to examine my throat. My head is still attached to my shoulders, and that is good enough for me. I have seen enough hanged orcs to know what happens; how their immense weight eventually makes their head part ways from their body. I shudder at the memory. I determine that nothing feels unduly pained, and I will heal.

“I believe he was not there long enough for undue damage,” the physician says.

The warlord waves him away.

“This business with Tulwin is important,” Rignor says to me as the door clicks shut on the physician. “Your mate will stay with the fairy child, for now. Nothing can interfere with that. But after, when this work is done, I will see that your mate is freed.”

I bow my head stiffly, which is fucking painful. Jasmine’s hand tightens over mine, but I dare not spare a glance toward her pretty face while my emotions roil as they do. My beast is still not happy, despite our liberation, and is still in favor of taking Jasmine and running.

Beyond the high, arched stone window, it rains in a steady deluge.

Krug’s brief but intense summer is over.

Soon, the rain will turn to sleet and then to snow.

I just want to be dismissed already so I can take Jasmine away from here and ease the stress etched into her sweet face.

“Tulwin is due to leave at the end of the week,” Edwin says. “I will be leaving shortly after. The child is familiar with Tulwin and has traveled with him before. She is also fond of Jasmine. I believe it would have been catastrophic for her well-being had Jasmine been taken from her circle or, worse, been grieving for her lost mate. To facilitate her transition to freedom, I venture to advise we seek a new companion for the child.”

I gently squeeze Jasmine’s hand lest she offer an opinion. She remains silent at my side.

“I will think on it,” the warlord says. His eyes shift to me briefly. Where I have been told mine are shifter blue, his are a dark mud brown. “Dismissed.”

Those words come as a relief.

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