Curse of the Fae (PA #3)

Chapter Six

Kian Draconius

Death Match? Ask for more information. We have not killed anyone in four hours, and I am hungry.

In the past twenty years, my dragon has become accustomed to being in control. Living without a mate was only bearable when I did not have to be fully conscious of the world around me, so I did not fight him on it.

Our roles have switched. I spend more time with all of my mental and physical faculties than he does. I get to touch, taste, and smell without my dragon describing the senses to me.

It is overwhelming, though my beloved's presence makes it all worth it.

Why are you ignoring me? I told you to ask about the Death Match!

"What is the Death Match?"

Willow rolls her eyes. "Don't listen to Eli. No one's actually supposed to die. The goal is—was—to knock your opponent out or get them to surrender. But the point seems to be moot since we're not doing that this year?"

Her voice rises at the end, and her attention turns away from me.

What do you mean she is not paying attention to us? Who has stolen her? Kill them.

"No fighting," the big one says.

Ragnar.

I grunt at the correction. His name is too complicated and the one I have given him is much better.

"We'll do endurance tests instead," he continues, looking nowhere but at my mate.

I understand the impulse. She is captivating, is she not? Willow tells me one of her earlier classes is taught by the goddess of love and beauty, but how can that woman possibly compare to my beloved?

"No infirmary for you, Will. You can outlast any of these yahoos."

What the fuck does she mean by that?

I have the same question.

"Infirmary?"

The word sticks out, sparking black dots along my vision as my dragon struggles to take the reins from me. I need to hear the response with my own ears, so I shove him down.

"Eli," Willow says, moving closer and reaching for my arm.

She soothes beasts but does not eliminate my worries. Still, I take advantage of the closeness by wrapping my hand around the width of her thigh. Her skirt is high enough to leave bare skin, and the silky feel of it hardens my cock.

"Last year, Gali stabbed Willow—"

"Elizabeth!" Willow shouts, increasing her hold on me.

Gali?

Galileo.

He hurt my beloved.

He is dead.

~~~~~~~~~

My dragon's anger is a match for mine. I trust him to take care of the problem, even if I prefer to handle it myself.

It will be extra bloody, I promise.

I cannot sense Willow anymore.

We had to leave her with the others.

Where she goes, I go.

Where she goes, I go. But where we go, death follows. She does not like to watch it.

He smells of her, and she smells like him. She will not be happy that we have killed him.

Galileo is not worthy of her.