Page 51 of Bonded By Savages

The seconds pass like hours until the Priest walks down the hallway. He’s tall and thin, and Bejolin has a greedy smile of triumph of his pale face.

“If we kill a Priest, it’s all over. Let me do the speaking,”says Tarak to me, sensing how close I am to snapping.

If we were not Bonded, I would have been fighting already. We don’t just have our lives at stake.

We have Athena, and the women she wants to protect.

“The Priest is alone,”warns Tarak, catching the detail I missed. Fuck! My mind is too slow with my anger. If Priest Rataro thought there could be a peaceful end, he would have brought his triad. He does not fear death, but he would not waste his battle-brothers for nothing.

“My loyal servant Adept Bejolin has told me there may be some…miscommunication,” rasps the Priest. He’s an ancient man. He’s seen thousands of years, and he’ll leave them if he needs to.

Tarak keeps his hands up, away from his blade as he speaks. “No miscommunication, your reverence. As you told us, these women are ours to do with as we see fit. We wanted to honor the power of the Priests by allowing you to reward them to these six fine warriors, to show the universe your power.”

Rataro is silent. Then, finally, his eyes come to mine. He sees the deep purple in them, then glances at the silver leash that goes to my mate. I want to pierce his eyes out for even glancing at her, and I press in closer to Tarak, our bodies forming a wall against him.

“You are a holy triad. The great War-God has blessed you. We are pleased. And we…acceptthese six men to be worthy soldiers. If the women are hale, they will come to the Arena of Blood tomorrow, and we will offer them to the triads…formally.”

“They’re going to let them go with the guards?There’s no relief in Athena’s aura. She doesn’t believe it’s true, not yet.

One of the guards, the man who was close to the woman called Jola, steps forward. He knuckles his brand, then bows deeply to the Priest. “We are honored you chose us as worthy. We will fight well for you, your reverence.”

Bejolin snarls. He steps forward. “No! You said that—”

The Priest raises his fist, and the man goes silent. “The Old Ways rule this universe. It is Obsidian’s decree.”

“Yes. If Obsidian decreed it. I understand. Forgive me for my tongue,” says the adept, lowering his head.

“These six are strong warriors. But they have not earned their honor. They have been brave indeed, to be worthy of these women, with many others with single honors passed over,” rasps the Priest, and his pale, milky eyes latch onto mine.

He would have preferred to give the women to men with brands on their foreheads, men who had pledged their undying loyalty to the Priests themselves.

It could look suspicious, and looks are everything in games of power. The Priests worship the War-God, but they need to use him, as well. I’m not scared of them. But a thin line of worry grows in the back of my head. What if they whisper dark words in Obsidian’s ears? What if they tell him we are a threat?

“Yes. They were brave indeed,” I state.

“Then as long as the second part of our agreement is fulfilled, we are at peace.”

Tarak sends me a warning feeling through my aura, and I bite off my words before I can let them out.

“The second part, your reverence?” My battle-brother keeps his tone as neutral as he can.

“Yes. You will breed your mate in the Arena of Blood tomorrow night, to show the universe what service to the Old Ways gives you.” He coughs, dry, and wipes his hand across his pale lips. They come back bloody. “I don’t have long on this world. My legacy…” He trails off, and I see red.

How dare he speak about my Mate like this.

How dare heorderus to fuck her in front of a crowd without consulting her. My hand’s on my blade before I can stop it. Bejolin draws. His Orb-Blade ignites in his hands, the black metal coated in lightning, when I feel the hand on my back.

“It is our honor,” comes her light, feminine voice.“I’ll do it. Please. To save them, I’ll do it.”

“Deactivate your blade!” snaps the priest, and Bejolin sheaths his blade. “You have dishonored me. Go to the temple. You will be punished for drawing against a holy triad.”

“Your reverence,” gasps Bejolin, and stalks off, his triad of Fanatics following.

Tarak steps aside, letting Athena stand in front of the Priest. I hate the way he looks at her.

“Thank you, Priest Rataro. We look forward to this honor. I hope that their seed takes root in front of the crowd, that you could grant me a golden collar in front of the universe.”

“You are Bonded to a Goddess indeed,” whispers Rataro, and turns, his steps slow but certain as he walks away.

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