The servant nodded. “Suvesh has already sent word to the Prime of Fangrys about your brave service. He will be eager to honor you.”
“It is my privilege to serve the Prima and her son,” Zul said, mentally noting that the castratus knew how to contact the Fangrys Prime even if the Prima didn’t.Interesting.
He barely refrained from glancing down the corridor in a futile effort to see his lovely hostess. He was well aware the guest suite would be properly located far from the Prima’s personal quarters. No warrior triad would risk their mate’s dishonor by putting her in proximity with other males—males who might be less than honorable or have less than firm control over their instinct to claim a mate.
Chapter 5
The idleness of being an honored guest gnawed at Zul’s patience. Over the next several days, he dined with the Prima of Fangrys and listened bemused to her lively chatter. He agreed with her as to the perfidy of the human government which had duped her into traveling to Uribern, but decided that he was grateful they had done so. He thoroughly enjoyed looking at her and listening to her, thinking that her mere presence brought peace to his soul. He also enjoyed spending time with Crow, always supervised by lurking castrati who were eager to keep their mistress informed of every interaction or to tattle about any infraction.
Zul used his limited time with Crow to begin instructing him in martial arts. To his surprise—for he’d incorrectly assumed the Fangrys Prime and Second had coddled the young male—the boy already knew some of the basics. Zul was happy to pass the time working with the child on perfecting those basics, exercising a patience he’d not known he possessed.
“Papa Bran!” Crow cried out during an afternoon session, breaking from Zul’s light hold positioning his arm for a proper strike.
Zul swiveled around as Crow dashed toward the Fangrys prime. Seeing the hulking, golden-skinned brute, he bowed low to show respect for the dominant male, although his own naturebalked at the show of subservience. He straightened and met the prime’s golden stare with bold confidence.
A turquoise-scaled male passed through the door into the courtyard to stand beside his prime. His silver horns glinted in the brilliant sunshine. The second offered a gracious nod and said, “You must be Zul. Our mate explained your presence to us.”
The golden warrior dipped his chin. “We owe you a great debt of gratitude, Zullar cen’Gyrah. We heard of the demise of the Uk’khadir Triad, but were not aware their Third had survived.”
“They died with honor and in glory,” Zul replied, the ache of their absence lingering in his heart and the shame of having survived making his gut churn with guilt.
Bran nodded, again a single dip of his chin. “We will speak after dinner of your service to our Prima.”
“I would be honored,” Zul replied with studied civility. With a lethal race such as theirs, sometimes civility was all that prevented bloodshed over the most trivial of matters. The Urib had adopted and strictly enforced polite behavior to ensure their killing instincts were unleashed against their enemies rather than their own kind.
“Come, Crow,” Gil ordered, giving the boy a smile in toothy mimicry of Ursula’s friendly expression. “You must tell Papa Bran and me of your adventures while we were gone.”
“And we can have a snack, too?” the child pleaded. “Please, Papa Gil?”
Gil chuckled. “Yes, we shall have a snack, too.” He looked at Zul, his expression sobering and his whole demeanor changing. “We thank you for furthering our son’s training during our absence.”
“He will grow to be a fierce warrior,” Zul replied, observing how the strangely genial Second quickly turned into a lethal warrior.
The golden and turquoise males departed, their son skipping between them and bubbling over with excited chatter. Zul wasn’t sure if he found the boy’s loquaciousness charming or annoying and decided it was probably inherited from his hybrid mother. In her, such chatter was definitely charming and one of the many attributes he found appealing about her. Were he not an honorable male, he would have stolen her for himself.
Zul picked up the wooden practice knives and returned them to the armory, then retreated to the library to wallow in his thoughts while pretending to read a book. As he turned the pages with desultory slowness, his hostess entered the room. She moved languidly, and a small, sly smile curled her lips. His nostrils flared as he caught the scents of her mates. Zul’s stomach clenched in envy. Prima Ursula had been well and thoroughly ravished by her mates: their scents clung to her skin, though the fine scales gleamed with the dampness of having recently bathed.
“Oh! I did not realize you were in here,” Ursula said, stumbling to a halt. “I apologize for intruding and will leave you in peace.”
Jealous of the intimacy she had enjoyed with her mates—and not him—but still wanting the pleasure of her company, he said, “You are Prima here; you do not intrude. I shall leave if you wish.”
Ursula gracefully settled in an oversized chair, tucking her bare feet under her. Giving him a small smile, she said, “No, no need to leave just because I’m here. I get lonely, you know, so it’s lovely to have company. I consider you a friend.”
Zul exercised firm control not to pull a sour face at being labeled a friend. He desired so much more. Instead, he nodded and replied, “I am honored.”
“Bran and Gill are cautious and protective,” she explained, although there was no need. He, too, wanted to coddle her, give her every luxury, and isolate her from all threats. “I told them of your heroics, and you have their gratitude.”
Zul did not want their gratitude; he wanted their mate. His honor strained to the cracking point, he gave her a slow nod and said, “I am honored to have been of service.”
Ursula sighed, then complained, “Such formality.” She rose from the chair and took three steps toward him before he rasped, “Stop.”
She halted. “What is wrong, Zul?”
He clenched the arms of the chair, his claws piercing the upholstery and digging into the wooden frame beneath. Through gritted teeth, he said, “You tempt me to abandon my honor, Prima.”
Ursula’s expression changed from concern to wariness. She took three small steps backward.
“Donotrun,” he warned, knowing if she ran then he would give chase, unable to override the strong, raw instinct of an apex predator.
