Page 52 of Her Manticore Master
I barely hear him. All my attention is fixed on the woman talking to Ronan, on the way she touches his arm while making some point, on the appreciative way his eyes follow her movements.
The fury that drove me to kill Zephyr pales next to what I feel now. This is something deeper, more primal. A possessiveness I have no right to feel but can't seem to control.
She's offering herself as his partner for the melee. I can see it in her posture, hear it in the cadence of her voice. And worst of all, he seems to be considering it.
My fingers tighten on the dagger's hilt until my knuckles go white.
I've just killed a man for touching me without permission. What would I do to a woman who thinks she can claim what's mine?
The thought should terrify me.
Instead, it makes me smile.
21
RONAN
The female gladiator has been circling me for the better part of an hour, and my patience is wearing thin. Lyralei is her name—a dark elf with ritual scars covering her olive skin and steel rings woven through her braided hair. She's survived fifteen matches, which makes her dangerous and experienced.
Also persistent as a plague rat.
"The key to surviving a grand melee is positioning," she explains, standing closer than necessary. "You need someone who can watch your back while you handle the heavy fighting."
"And you think you're that someone?"
"I know I am." Her hand touches my arm lightly, a gesture that's meant to seem casual but carries clear intent. "We'd make an excellent team, Ronan. My speed, your strength. My magic, your brutality."
"I work alone."
"So far. But this is different. Teams will have advantages over individual fighters. Why handicap yourself with pride?"
Because I don't trust anyone enough to watch my back. Because alliances in places like this are temporary at best, deadly at worst.
"Fuck off."
The sharp command makes us both turn. Corrina approaches with murder in her green eyes, silk dress swaying with each determined step. There's something different about her—a predatory grace I haven't seen before.
"I'm sorry?" Lyralei's eyebrows rise with aristocratic disdain.
"You heard me. Fuck. Off."
The crude language sounds strange coming from someone who normally speaks with refined precision, but there's no mistaking the venom behind it.
"How... colorful," Lyralei observes with a smirk. "It looks like your pet is angry."
The word 'pet' makes something dangerous stir in my chest, but before I can respond, Corrina moves closer with fluid menace.
"Say that again."
"Which part? Pet? Because that's what you are, isn't it? Valdris's pretty little?—"
"Enough."
Before this situation can escalate into bloodshed—and judging by the way Corrina's hand hovers near something hidden in her dress, it's heading that direction—I take action.
Using my superior strength, I scoop Corrina up and deposit her firmly on my lap, one arm wrapping around her waist to keep her in place. She's light as a feather but vibrates with suppressed fury.
"She's always angry," I tell Lyralei with casual amusement, as if Corrina's possessive rage is nothing more than a minor character quirk. "It's part of her charm."
