He roars. The sound rolls through the clearing and up through the ground into my bones, and everything stops. The two fighters break apart, bleeding. They are all quiet for a few moments, looking at each other and at me.
“We will draw sticks. The male who draws the short stick wins the female,” he announces.
“That’s stupid,” the tall one snarls.
“Good plan.” The smaller, leery one nods.
The other two nod as well. The big male with the bushy beard glares at the tall male, who shuts up. He then crouches, findingsticks, which he snaps until there are five of them, including one shorter one. He shows the group. He even shows me – like I care. He stands with his fist closed around all of them, with only the tops showing.
No.
No, no, no.
They’re drawing lots. For me. Like I’m the last slice of pizza at a buffet. A hysterical laugh tries to climb up out of me, and I shove it down, because I understand, with a horrible clarity, that this is them being reasonable.
They’re going to draw sticks and the winner gets me. A person.
This is insane.
The first male draws and gets a long stick. He curses and hurls it into the trees.
The second draws, and it is long as well. He snarls and stalks a tight circle, hands in his hair.
The third one steps up. It’s the short, leery one.
Please, not him.
Please.
It’s the one whose eyes have been crawling over me since they dropped me here.
He draws.
He looks at the stub of wood in his hand, and his whole face changes. The sound that comes out of him is low and satisfied and absolutely certain, and I know before anyone reacts that it’s the short stick. That he’s won. That I’m now his.
Like hell!
The other four look at his hand. Two of them back away at once, cursing.
The tall, wiry one snarls, baring his teeth. “I don’t like this game. I will fight you for her.”
“No!” Bushy Beard puts his hand on his chest. “Venom won her. He gets to keep her.”
“No!” the tall one barks.
The other three step in front of him, making it clear that he needs to back down.
“I don’t like it either, but it is done,” Bushy Beard says in a low voice. “We will get more females.”
The leery asshole is grinning at me. His teeth are too long, and his eyes are slitted. He has a few scales on his arms and chest.
I get to my feet. My legs don’t want to hold me, but I make them, because I am not going to be sitting in the dirt when this thing comes for me.
“Stay away from me.” My voice comes out low and rough. “Don’t you touch me. Stay back.”
He tilts his head.
“You’re my mate. On your knees, female.”
