Sixty-eight hours until I was bound to a male I’d never agreed to. A male who thought he could just claim me like a prize at some barbaric contest.
No. Absolutely not. I was going to give this presumptuous orc a piece of my mind.
I knew where they’d taken him. The attendant had mentioned that my “mate” would be in the bonding prep chamber down the hall. It was supposed to be a space where matches could become acquainted before the ceremony.
Acquainted. As if a few hours were enough time to decide you wanted to spend your life with someone.
I didn’t bother changing out of my regulation dress or fixing my hair, which had become even wilder during my agitated pacing. Let him see me disheveled and furious. Let him see exactly what he was getting.
The bonding prep chamber wasn’t hard to find. It was the only door in the hallway with ornate carvings from various non-human cultures, intertwined in a way that was probably meant to be artful but just looked busy.
I didn’t knock. I slammed my palm against the access panel and stormed in like a hurricane making landfall.
The room was designed for “comfort and intimacy,” according to the Sanctuary brochures. Low, ambient lighting cast a warm glow over plush seating areas, a small dining nook, and an oversized bed draped in silk.
I ignored the heat that flamed my cheeks.
The air was infused with something floral and spicy, supposedly to “enhance pheromone recognition.” The whole setup felt like a science experiment dressed up as a luxury date.
Rakthar lounged on a massive couch in the center of the room, his hulking frame making the furniture seem almost dainty despite its reinforced construction.
He didn’t rise when I entered. Didn’t even look surprised, which was kind of irritating in and of itself. As if he expected me.
A goblet that looked tiny in his enormous hand was raised halfway to his lips, filled with something dark and potent-smelling.
“You,” I snarled, stomping toward him with all the intimidation factor of an angry Chihuahua. “You have some nerve.”
One thick eyebrow ridge rose slightly. “I have many nerves. It’s part of having a body.”
His literal interpretation of my idiom caught me off guard for a split second before my anger re-surged. “Don’t play dumb with me. You think you can just fight some combat trial and suddenly I’m yours? I’m not a—a territory to be conquered! I’m a free thinking woman who had plans and expectations.”
Rakthar took an unhurried sip from his goblet, his eyes never leaving mine. “Are you finished?”
“No, I am not finished!” I planted my hands on my hips, glaring up at him. Even seated, he was almost at my eye level. “I didn’t agree to this match. I was prepared for Urran?—”
“Urran,” he interrupted, his voice a contemptuous rumble, “would have bored you to death within a moon cycle.”
“That was my choice to make!”
“Was it?” He set his goblet down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You entered the Monster Matrimony program. You chose safety over freedom. But did you really choose Urran? Or did some algorithm match you while you crossed your fingers and hoped for the best?”
His words hit uncomfortably close to home. I hadn’t chosen Urran specifically. I’d chosen the program, and the program had chosen him for me. Still, I wasn’t about to let Rakthar win this argument on a technicality.
“At least Urran didn’t presume to own me before we’d even met,” I shot back.
“Urran didn’t value you enough to fight for you,” Rakthar countered, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “I did.”
“You don’t even know me!”
Something shifted in his expression. He set down the goblet with a deliberate click and looked at me the way people look at things they’ve been thinking about for a long time. “I know more than you think,” he said. “I know you’re strong-willed. I know you’re not afraid to challenge a male twice your size.” His gaze moved across my face. “I know your spirit burns bright, even in this sterile place designed to process you like livestock.” A beat. “To be honest, I did not expect that. I had not prepared for that.”
The addition was quiet enough that I almost missed it. Almost. It was that same tone from the orientation room, the one that had derailed my anger the first time.
I did not expect you.
Join the club. I didn’t know what to do with a seven-foot warlord who looked rattled by my existence. It was deeply inconvenient.
“That doesn’t give you the right to?—”
