Page 12 of Dragon Flames
The audience explodes in an uproar, but all I can do is gape at the announcer, wondering what just happened.
A mating match?
Impossible.
Who in their right mind would lay claim to a murderer?
“I challenge!” Lord Gresky bellows in outrage.
Lights flood the entire ballroom, and everyone glances around the room, waiting for my supposed mate to step forward. Lord Gresky looks seconds away from having a fit. He obviously doesn’t believe it.
Truthfully, neither do I.
Much to my shock, a young man strides through the crowd, radiating confidence. There’s an aura of danger around him, a wildness that calls to my beast. Instead of being intimidated by Lord Gresky, he smirks, his demeanor relaxed, almost smug. “She’s mine.”
People quickly clear out of the way as the two men face off.
I want to bury my face in my hands so I don’t have to watch the idiot be slaughtered.
Doesn’t he know a challenge will only get him killed?
Apparently, the older man behind him thinks the same if the exasperated shake of his head and murderous look in his eyes are any indication.
Then another man strides out and joins his friend. “I second the claim.”
If there was an uproar before, it was nowhere near equal to the new commotion.
The man is obviously under duress if the pissed-off, I’m-going-to-murder-you look on his face is any indication.
The younger man narrows his eyes on his friend, looking ready to fight, when the older one places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.
They claim that I have two mates.
Men often share their women with their pack, since usually five or six men are needed to fulfill a female’s heat. Men often create their own packs just for that purpose, sharing responsibility for money, jobs, housing, and protection.
But mating is different.
No one shares a mate.
Ever.
What the ever-loving hell are they thinking?!
“The claim has been challenged.” The announcer is clearly aghast, a little outraged, and completely captivated. She casts a sympathetic glance at me that makes my stomach curdle. “The claim must be proven.”
Fuck me.
I go lightheaded, and my legs threaten to dump me on my ass. It’s all I can do to stay conscious and not throw up.
To lay claim to me, they are going to have to touch me.
My skin crawls while flashbacks bombard me, and I’m not sure how I’m going to avoid the urge to kill them the second they get close enough.
As the tips of my talons tingle, I’m not even sure I want to fight the urge.
If I kill them, even accidentally, all my problems will be solved.
I will either be sent back to prison or killed on the spot.
