Page 18 of Bonded By Savages

The servants are nowhere to be seen, sensing our moods. It should be a day of elation. This is what we dreamed of since we were nothing but lads in Academy, boasting to others how many sons we would sire when we finally found our Mate.

Now that we have her, she’s more than I ever imagined…

But I don’t have her. Not yet. Not until all that hate turns to respect, then comfort, then love. When she understands we’d never hurt her, that we’d die to protect her, she will lose that hatred for us. When she understands the true callousness of the Aurelian Empire, she will realize that only the Old Ways can protect humanity.

The universe is drowning.

Only strength can pull the victims up and let them breathe.

Damian’s aura spikes. He’s always had good instincts, and something is wrong.

“What is it?”

He cocks his ear, and I hear the knock like a battering ram.

5

Damian

Someone is at our domain.

It would not have bothered me a day ago.

Now I have the most precious thing in the world to protect. I clench my fist and rush down the stairs, through the front doors, to see who is at our gate.

The walls are over thirty feet tall, but they are only a pretense of safety. Any Aurelian with a Reaver can enter. The gates match the black stone of the walls, wrought iron that could stand only a second before an Aurelian with an Orb-Blade could break through.

At the gates is the last thing I want to see, other than a horde of Empire Aurelians. I’d prefer Scorp to what awaits me.

Three tall, thin Priests, ones I have seen in the temples, staring at ancient parchments as wrinkled as their skin. Behind them are Fanatics, burly boys, with shaved heads and bulging biceps. Each of them has the second brand on their foreheads, half-filled in the case of the bodyguards. They’d do anything to earn that second tattoo and the chance at their Mate.

“Open,” I command, and the gates creak open. I raise my hand as the Priests try to enter, pressing forward, so they’re forced to step back or draw weapons. I’ve already made a note of their arsenal. One of the triads has a brutal mix of maces and hatchets, weapons suited to close combat battles, while the other three guardians have the classic Orb-Swords. They dangle at the belts that clasp their black robes closed.

The three Priests have hilts of Orb-Blades at their belts, but I am sure they haven’t been activated this century. Those Orbs must thirst for blood, angry at having to be at the waist of religious leaders.

“Damian. Tarak. You served us well, and you earned your Mate.” The dry rasp of the leader of the Priests makes me want to dive into my pool.

All of them look straight at my eyes. I know exactly why. “We served. We did our duty and got our reward.” I state it plainly. It was a bargain, and we paid the price, in so much blood. We paid the price in the scars that cover our chests.

“The second triad came back through the gates with their Mate. They bred her in front of the arena. Many will…” He coughs, his slate-grey eyes flicking to the left.

“…Come to serve us, after seeing the spectacle,” finishes his battle-brother, completing the sentence for him.

“She is recovering.”

“When she is recovered, we ask that you bring her to the Arena of Blood. Let all who come see your eyes change colors as you Bond your Mate.”

My fingers twitch. This ancient Priest seeks to use us as a symbol. My Mate is not a symbol. She ismine.

“You saw what happened to the High Priest Tan,” I say, the threat barely veiled. “We will Mate her when the time is right.”

The three Priests look uncomfortable, just for a second, before their faces return to the blank, emotionless slates that befit Aurelians. The two triads of brutes can’t keep their composure. Their feet move ever so slightly, their legs widening, taking a battle stance. They serve the High Priest above all else but Obsidian, and they don’t like seeing one of the Highest of their order, that they worshiped as a demi-god, cut down.

“An unfortunate…event,” whispers the lead Priest. He wanted to saymistake,but the word died on his tongue. “The War-God Obsidian is infallible, but he has much to learn. He grew up on a savage planet, raised by wolves, and wewillteach him the Old Ways.” He coughs, dry and raspy, before continuing. “We broadcasted you going through the portal to the universe, and all saw you come back with your Mate. EachBondedtriad will bring thousands of Aurelians to our side, defecting from the Empire…and when you impregnate her, your sons will…”

“…show Aurelian warriors that the Old Ways are just,” finishes the other Priest.

“Leave now.” I should defer to them. It’s dangerous. A day ago, I would have spoken to them in awe.

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