Zul rose, accepting the challenge.
Gil, also rising, said, “Donotkill each other.”
Bran snorted. Zul dipped his chin in a curt nod of agreement. All three understood that blood would be shed.
The three males walked to the practice arena, a large outdoor area with a floor of coarse sand to drain spilled blood.
“Weapons?” Zul queried.
“I need none,” Bran replied with quiet confidence. He held up a hand and threw the first volley in words of insult. “My claws and teeth and tail will suffice. Butyoumay use a weapon if you like.”
Zul nodded and his lips curled in a small smile. He knew what Bran attempted to do by needling him like that. His massive shoulders rolled in a shrug. “I do not need to carry a weapon. Iama weapon.”
Bran nodded and began to strip. Zul followed suit, determined to meet his opponent on honorable terms, for honor was one of the few things remaining to him that he treasured. Bran glanced at Gil and said, “Do not interfere.”
Gil blinked. “Of course not.”
“Do not permit Ursula to witness this.”
Gil snorted. “Of course not.”
Bran looked at Zul, noting the hard bulge of muscle beneath the ruddy hide. He was taller than Zul, but the berserker was thicker, broader, and heavier. He walked to the center of the arena, testing the depth and resilience of the sand beneath his bare feet and clawed toes. He rolled his shoulders to loosen themand observed his opponent’s coiled, economical movement. Zul would be a fierce fighter, difficult to subdue.
Bran and Zul circled one another, each gauging the other’s readiness. Zul found much to admire in the golden warrior facing him: the stillness, the observant readiness, the keen gaze. The high caste male was a seasoned warrior with recent experience in battle, not an pampered commander content to shout orders from behind his troops. Bran would be a fierce fighter, difficult to subdue.
By some unseen, unheard signal, the two males clashed. Fists thudded into flesh. Claws gouged tough, scaled hides. Tails whipped and slashed. Horns crashed and locked. Teeth bit. Grunts and hisses punctuated every strike and parry. Sand rasped and sprayed. Blood dribbled onto the sand.
Gil kept an eye on his Prime and the berserker while constantly checking to ensure their mate did not venture near. The knowledge that she’d been exposed to the rosvoi’s violence made his stomach clench with fury mingled with regret. The desire to keep her safe from all violence made him clench his fists. Their sweet female was to be coddled, protected, and indulged. The fact that she called itspoiledmade him want to smile.
Bran roared as a particularly vicious swipe opened parallel gashes across his abdomen. He retaliated with blurred speed that surprised Zul. Knowing the bleeding would soon diminish his strength, speed, focus, and coordination, Bran resolved to bring this duel to a fast end. He employed every technique and skill he’d ever learned on the battlefield and off—and he’d learned much from the frequent battles against the Ogranox and Sivuul. Minutes passed, and he acquired two more nasty lacerations on his right thigh. He also delivered several punishing blows and left deep gouges in the berserker’s upper left arm and back.
The Fangrys Prime felt the shift after he landed a hard kick to his opponent’s knees. Zul stumbled and his berserker nature took over. With a deep roar, he morphed into a swollen tornado of pure rage and bloodthirst. Bran was stretched to his physical limits which were failing, but Zul’s shift opened his mind toBran’s dominance. Seizing the opportunity, Bran, too, roared as his consciousness speared into Zul’s. His mind fought against the wild wrath of the berserker to impose order and control.
As Bran wrestled for dominance and control, Zul faltered. Like the apex predator he was, Bran lunged as the opportunity opened. A moment later, he had subdued Zul, his teeth sinking into his opponent’s red neck.
Hot, dry air seared Zul’s lungs as he gasped for breath. The heavy weight of Bran’s knee dug into his back as the golden warrior hauled on his arms stretched behind him. Bran’s hand wrapped around his throat, claws digging in and ready to tear through flesh, blood vessels, and windpipe. Zul’s tail lashed, but it was twined with Bran’s tail, imprisoned within a tangle as it were.
“Yield,” Bran rasped, his voice hoarse and his respiration heavy.
Zul growled his refusal. The crushing weight of Bran’s control closed around his mind andsqueezed.
“Yield.”
Gasping for breath, Zul let his face drop to the sandy floor. The words were wrenched from his pounding hearts as he hissed, “I yield.”
Immediately, the knee in his back lifted and the clawed hands holding him at bay released him. The Prime’s golden tail unwound from his, but the crushing grip of the Prime’s mind remained. Grunting with pain and effort, Zul hauled himself to his feet. His black eyes burned with fury.
“Release me,” he snarled.
“Do you submit?” Bran asked.
Zul’s shoulders and head drooped. Then he raised his eyes to meet Bran’s without flinching. His voice was cold and remote as he replied, “I submit.”
Bran’s heavy hand landed on his lacerated shoulder as his mind released Zul’s. Zul gasped at the relief and took another deep breath. Gil laid a short-bladed knife in Bran’s palm. Zul recognized the ceremonial blade and resentment ignited in his belly.
“The triad bond requires blood,” Bran said as if they weren’t already bleeding profusely.
Zul’s lips peeled back from his teeth in silent threat.
