"I do," he acknowledged, his expression unreadable. "But what do you expect me to do about it?"
"There must be some way to stop it. Some provision in your laws, some challenge that can be made." My voice cracked. "Please. She won't survive a Fanghorn mate."
Redmon crossed his massive arms over his chest. "Our laws on matchings are absolute. They're determined by the Council based on genetic compatibility and population needs."
"So you won't help?" My hands clenched in my lap.
"It's not a matter of willingness. The laws of non-interference between clans are ancient and binding." He sighed, a surprisingly human sound. "Even my position doesn't grant me authority to intervene in another clan's matching."
Desperation clawed at my throat. I stood, moving closer to him despite my instinctive fear.
"I'll do anything," I whispered. "Anything at all."
His eyebrows rose slightly.
"If you help my sister, I'll… " I swallowed hard. "I'll be a proper mate to you. In every way."
The words hung in the air between us. We both knew what I was offering. Despite our match, I maintained distance, refusing to engage in anything beyond the minimal legally required relationship. Now I was offering my body, my future, my life.
Redmon's expression darkened. For a terrible moment, I thought he might accept my desperate bargain.
"No," he said finally.
I blinked, confused. "No?"
"I won't help you in exchange for... that." His voice was tight. "If I help your sister, it won't be because you've traded yourself like merchandise."
Now I was completely lost. "Then you won't help at all?"
"I didn't say that." He moved to a carved wooden cabinet and pulled out a thick, leather-bound book. "There might be another way. A challenge ritual so old most have forgotten it exists."
Hope flickered inside me. "What kind of ritual?"
"I'll help you, Kalyndi. Without conditions." He met my eyes steadily. "Not for your offer, but because no female, human or monster, should be bound to a mate who will harm her."
I stared at him, suspicious. "Why would you do that?"
"Perhaps I have my own reasons." His mouth curved in what might have been a smile. "Sit. We have much to discuss if we're going to invoke the Ancient Right of Contested Claim."
For the next hour, Redmon explained the ritual, one so rarely used it had fallen out of common knowledge. According to monster law, any clan leader could challenge a matching if they had reason to believe it violated the fundamental protective covenant between monsters and humans.
"But I'm not a clan leader," I pointed out.
"No, but I am." He tapped a claw against the ancient text. "And as your matched mate, I can act on behalf of your family's interests."
"So you'd challenge Gristholm directly?"
Redmon nodded. "It would mean combat. Traditional, ritual combat."
My stomach twisted. "He'd kill you."
"Your confidence is overwhelming," he said dryly.
"I mean, the Fanghorns are brutal fighters."
"And mapinguari aren't?" Something like amusement flickered in his eyes. "We have our own strengths. My kind is known for endurance and tactical skill."
I frowned, struggling to believe this could work. "And if you win?"
