“Malik!” I shouted.
Malik swung his horned head toward me. His clothes hung from his body in tatters, his shirt burned away completely. The culprit behind the burning was his Prince's mark—a keloid scar in the symbol of a crown. That scar caught fire every time Malik shifted. It was his connection to his father and a way for every Bleiten to know who Mal was, especially on a battlefield. But it was a bitch on clothing.
“You will stop this idiocy right now!” I yelled at Mal, then pointed at the broken window. “Look what you did to our home. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Malik's panting breaths calmed as he stared at me. The mark on my neck simmered back to a gentle warmth as I watched his bulging body shrunk into its usual bulk, horns and claws retracting. Finally, Mal let out a long breath and went calm. I released my illusion on Braxis. He was sitting back on his heels, watching us, his arms hanging limp at his sides.
“I'm sorry, Mvarra,” Malik said as he approached me. “I don't know what came over me.”
“Bleiten testosterone,” Cyprian drawled. “What happened to the man who defended Braxis against Davorin?”
“He left the moment Braxis insulted my devotion to my mvarra,” Malik growled.
“You questioned my devotion to her first,” Braxis murmured wearily.
“You are not mated to her!” Malik shouted. “If you were her mvarro, it would be another situation entirely. A mvarra comes first, always. Your people and even my father would understand that. But she will never be your mvarra.”
“Why not?” Braxis stumbled to his feet. He was still in his normal body; he hadn't shifted to fight Malik.
I gaped at Braxis when I realized it. To fight Mal in his battleform while not shifting himself was damn impressive. Especially since he was still conscious.
“Because she's already mated to me,” Malik said as if that explained it all. “A mvarra cannot have more than one mvarro.”
“So you and your father keep telling me. But there's no law against it.”
“Because it's unnecessary,” Malik snarled. “Everyone knows it.”
“She's married to two other men.” Braxis waved a hand toward me. “What's the difference?”
“The difference is that they're not Bleiten. She doesn't wear their marks,” Malik growled. “You know that.”
“I made my intentions clear from the start and you agreed to give me this chance. But you haven't been honest with me, Prince Malik. You only agreed because you think it's impossible for me to become her mvarro. You acted as if you were rewarding me for helping to save Danu when in truth, you offered me nothing. You will never accept me. You have given me no chance.”
“I don't know what will happen with our fusion,” Malik said calmly. “The Gods seem to have more control over it than any of us. So, I am offering you a chance. I am not set against you. But you're right in that I can't allow you to mate her. Not as Prince of Hell. I would need a greater claim on Amara than any other Bleiten or it would shame the House of Starsiene.”
Braxis inhaled and let it out slowly. “I see.”
“That's it?” Mal asked warily.
“You have hobbled me, Prince Malik. You won't allow me to mate her, even if your fusion draws me into it, but if I abdicate without mating her, I'm a traitorous bastard for abandoning my people.”
Malik stiffened.
“You've set me an impossible task—winning your consent when you have no intention of ever giving it.”
“I haven't lied or set you up,” Malik huffed. “This is simply how it is. I cannot allow another Bleiten to mate with my mvarra, and I can't approve of a Bleiten leader abandoning his people for anyone less than a mvarra.”
“But she will never be anything less to me.” Braxis lifted his chin and faced down the Prince of Hell. “Mated or not, Amaranthine is my mvarra. In my heart, she is everything a mvarra is to her mvarro and more. More important than tribe. More important than honor. So, call me a traitorous bastard, but if I'm allowed into your fusion, I'm never leaving her side. I don't give a fuck about your consent anymore.”
Then Braxis strolled past us—everyone had come out to watch the fight—and went into the house without another word.
Cyprian sighed and pulled out his cellphone.
“Who are you calling?” I asked, a bit shell-shocked.
“Someone to fix our window.”
Chapter Seventeen
