I catch up with Ani, who is standing at another fighting ring. I recognize Maxur, who is facing off against another man, and half lift my hand in a wave. But my eyes round with complete shock when both fighters start to shift from their human forms. In a blink, their bodies crack and snap, bones moving, flesh bulging, and hair sprouting. Almost double in size, one is a wolven creature and the other resembles a bear. They exchange lethal swipes of claws and teeth, their snarls echoing into the air.
“Mother of sandstorms,” I whisper, stunned that the man I’d trained with is hiding an actual monster beneath his skin, and I hadn’t even known. “What are they?”
“Corpus magi,” Ani says. “Shapeshifters.”
The wolven beast whines as the bear takes a chunk out of its shoulder, but then it crunches its enormous jaws around the bear’s hind leg. Blood spurts to the ground as the bear howls and bares its neck in submission. And just like that, the fight is over. I watch, mesmerized, as the two beasts shift back to fully human, and the bear-man limps to the side.
The older healer who had attended me the first day runs a hand that glows with gleaming magic over the man’s leg when he lowers himself to a bench. I’m not close enough to see it heal, but after a moment, the fighter drags on a pair of trousers and walks away without injury.
I shake my head and laugh. “If I hadn’t just seen that with my own eyes, I don’t know if I ever would have believed it to be possible. And the way the first warrior only partially shifted, is that normal?”
“For some, it is,” Ani says in an odd, choked voice. “General Maxur is particularly skilled.” I glance up to see a deep flush spreading over Ani’s high cheekbones before she ducks her head away from where Maxur is celebrating his victory.
As if he heard Ani’s remarks, Maxur glances up, his eyes fastening to her. The moment is so intimate that, after a handful of seconds, it feels like I’m intruding on something private. With a distressed sound, Ani hurries away, and I hasten to follow her.
“Are you two together?”
“No,” she says. “It’s not like that.” She sighs. “It doesn’t matter anyway. My brother does not approve of fraternization with his generals.”
Irritated on Ani’s behalf, I scowl. “That’s because your brother has a great big stick up his ass and wouldn’t know how to have fun if it hit him in the face.”
Ani snorts. “You’re not wrong, but when you’re king and constantly trying to keep the peace, manage a kingdom, and deal with external threats, sometimes you don’t have time for relationships. And, well, when soul-fated mates are involved, it doesn’t make sense to pursue other affairs.”
I blink, a cold sensation gripping my insides. “The king has a soul-fated?”
Immediate shutters crash down on her face, and I realize that I’ve stumbled onto something I’m not supposed to know.
I poke her in the side. “Ani?”
She grits her teeth. “Yes, but it’s not my place to talk about it. Forget I said anything.” She glances down at me with a resigned smile. “Gods, why is it so easy to talk to you? I feel like I’ve known you forever, and we only just met, and here I am spilling precious secrets. You’re not a spy, are you?”
“I’m not. I wouldn’t even know how to be a spy.” I reach for her arm and loop mine around hers. “Well, a soul-fated is good, right?”
“Not if he rejects her,” she says, and then claps the heel of her palm to her forehead. “Damn it.”
Well, this just got juicier than a golden pear in the high season. “Why would he reject the match that the fates made for him?” I ask. “Is hethatarrogant? I thought soul-fated mates were a bond blessed by the gods themselves. That even a king would be bound to their will.”
“Notthisking,” Ani murmurs.
But I forget all thoughts and replies when Ani comes to a stop, and I see the bond-breaker himself, sparring bare-knuckled with a man who looks twice his size. A crowd surrounds the ring, cheering the combatants on. The king is shirtless, with his silver hair in a high warbraid, all those striking tattoos and flexing, sweat-covered muscles on bold display.
My mouth goes as dry as the desert.
Darrius Nightsong must have been sculpted by the gods themselves. Sinewy arms and broad shoulders flow into prominent pectorals and ridged abdominals, every single muscle a testament to his strength as he weaves and ducks, then throws a powerful series of punches into his opponent’s torso.
Scars pepper his inked torso and flanks, some faded and others raised and visible. There are slashes and gouges from weapons, but others look like they’re from claw and teeth marks. I swallow at the four vicious scars cutting across the tattooed azdaha on his chest. I wonder why he hasn’t healed any of them, but maybe they’re a matter of pride and battle proficiency. It’s obvious his body has seen more than its fair share of war, because those marks tell a violent tale.
His brutal reputation is earned.
I let my gaze drift down, following the trail of one particularly vicious cicatrix over his side and hip to where it disappears down the front of his low-slung waistband. My neck heats.Everythingheats.
“Drool much?” Ani teases.
“Hardly,” I lie through my teeth, when the truth of it is, all I can think of is that sweaty, scarred, tattooed body pressed over mine. And by every star in the sky, the fantasy of a fully nude Darrius makes me nearly whimper with need. A spike of arousal hits me so hard that my knees shake.
His obsidian gaze snaps up to mine, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, and I stiffen. There’s no way he knows about the storm raging through my body right now and no godsdamned way he can scent me from so far away. But when his irises ignite with that bright gold luster, the sheen of a predator with prey in its sights, my heart starts to gallop.
Stars, what in the pits of Droon is wrong with me?
