Page 47 of Bonded By Savages

Tarak walks behind us. I’m between the two big men, and I’m safe and protected. The huge main double doors are soundless as he pushes them open, and we look out at the grassy front lawn, with the towering Reaver resting, the twin Orb-Gunneries pointed outwards.

“Shall we fly, or walk?”

The sandals are comfortable, and my body is strong. “I’d like to walk. I feel so healthy,” I say, the morning sun kissing us.

“Good. The Bond will make you stronger with each mating,” says Damian, fighting down his need. The gates open in front of us, and we walk out onto the cobblestone path. The grass is near to my waist on each side of the path. We’re up on the hills, and the path stretches downward between high walls of estates just like ours.

The moment we step outside, their auras change. They harden slightly, as if ready for battle, and other than the near-constant lust in their being, I can’t read them.

They’ve had centuries of experience sharing each other’s auras, and though I pride myself on my ability to be detached, these two have learned through the years how to hide their emotions.

Tarak rushes forward, putting his body in front of us, leading the way with his hand near his Orb-Blade hilt. He has a feline grace as he strides forward. I’ve seen that grace in deadly action. We walk downwards, passing other huge walled estates, and I glance through the black iron bars of the front gates.

“Are the owners at war?” I ask, because I don’t see a single Reaver in the grounds. The huge mansions look empty.

Damian shakes his head. “No. Not one out of ten are inhabited.”

“Whoever built these are expecting more.”

“Yes. We gain in numbers every day. More Empire soldiers defecting. Some sense the winning sides…but most come for the same reason we did.”

“To find our Mate,” finishes Tarak.

A triad of Aurelians is standing on the walls of one of the estates, looking down. They stare at us. I can see the grey coldness of their eyes even from here. They wear the same black robes, and each has the bottom half of their brand filled in with the black tattoo of a single honor. Next to them, dwarfed by their monstrous size, are three women in pleasure dresses, each linked to their collars. One of the woman sidles up to her man, running her hand up and down the side of his waist as they look down at us.

Damian steps forward, then twists his wrist, the chain going taut and pulling me towards him. My eyes go wide as I’m pulled right to his chest, and he leans down and kisses me, running his hands through my hair. His lips press hard against mine, his tongue entering my mouth as he shows the world I’m his. He breaks off the kiss, and we’re both breathless. “You’re the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen,” he rumbles, his voice low. My cheeks flush, my nipples hard, sensitive buds begging for his touch, and the Bondthrums.

I moan in need, and there’s a delicious, shameful edge knowing that a triad of warriors is watching Damian manhandle me. Damian flexes his arms, controlling himself, and lets the leash have some give as he continues walking.

Fuck. They know how to keep a girl on edge.

The three huge Aurelians on the ramparts knuckle their brands as we pass, bowing their heads in respect.

Holy.

That’s how they view us. A holy union, and I get the sense that that triad would fight if Damian and Tarak ordered them to. They treat the two men of what should have been a full triad as kings…

And me…the way they look at me is like I am a Goddess. I can see their eyes fixated on the silver collar around my neck, the silver collar that shows them that I am what they all seek. I don’t have to look back to know they stare at us as we walk away.

I clear my throat. “How long have the two of you lived?”

Damian smiles. “Three hundred thirty years. We lived under the last Emperor born of a Bond, and we saw the rise of theQueen.” He spits out the last word like a curse.

I don’t need to ask why he hates her. The molten anger boils up again, and I know he blames that Queen for the loss of his battle-brother.

We walk in silence through the last row of estates. A hundred feet to our right, Aurelians with brands and no tattoos are heaving a huge slab of black granite on a wooden slate without wheels. They heave in unison, their massive muscles straining. A priest sits on a simple wooden chair above. They could use Reavers to lift the rock to the city where construction is underway, but they force the young men without honors to toil. I have the feeling they will work from sunup until the sun goes down.

The Priest raises his hand, and the men stop at once, four triads sweating, their marble bodies gleaming. They stand straight back, staring at us, and in unison, they bring their fists to their brands and bow their heads.

They stare at us with longing. With hunger. That is the need that drives them to serve the Priests and the Old Ways, the need for their Mate that drives them to scour the galaxies. Damian and Tarak raise their heads, and their auras pulse with pride.

I am their greatest achievement.

The city rises up below us, huge, towering black buildings over the massive walls. There is a tower rising above everything, and I remember looking up at that tower when I was pulled into the Arena of Blood, taken from one world to another.

“Will the two of you be staying on Obsidious for long?” I ask the question as innocently as possible, as if the thought just crossed my mind. Matil’s tongue slipped when she told me the two of them spend their lives at war, volunteering for all campaigns, and I don’t want to get her in trouble.

Tarak stalks forward, his demeanor growing more warlike as we walk towards the huge black walls of the city. He’s ready for a fight. The hilt of his blade swings as he walks, his fingers always near it. “We’ll be staying. We fought to earn you. The next time we go out will not be a sortie or skirmish. It’ll be war, into the heart of the Aurelian Empire.”

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