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Once he was Invictus bonded, he would gain substantial power, even more than Fulton presently possessed. He’d be able to defeat any of the ruling mastyrs, for one thing. And Fulton was the one who’d delivered the near-fatal slices of his dagger that sent Griffin to the stables for healing.
Griffin despised Fulton for many reasons, mostly his brutality. Griffin was convinced the mastyr had always been this kind of man. He was originally from Walvashorr, one of Mastyr Seth’s Guardsmen and a significantly lesser mastyr than Seth. Griffin knew of more than one mastyr in the Nine Realms who would welcome a chance to have more power than any of the ruling mastyrs. Margetta’s Invictus bond provided that means.
Rumors had it that Fulton had been promised a realm to rule once Margetta won the war. Griffin held his peace, but what motivation could Margetta possibly have to make good on any of her promises? By nature, the woman had no conscience.
Griffin thought Fulton was a power-hungry fool.
Fulton drew close to Griffin, scowling. “I wanted you dead. Thought this time I’d made the cuts deep enough.”
“Guess you were wrong.”
Fulton back-handed him across the face, throwing Griffin to the ground. The seasoned Invictus warriors around them showed no emotion. No one laughed or expressed pleasure that a Camberlaune Guardsman had gotten hurt. Fulton didn’t tolerate any excessive displays. His men were well-trained by Fulton’s tyranny.
Fulton sneered. “Get up, mastyr.” His lips curled as he stared down at Griffin.
Griffin felt his muscles flood with power, more than usual, and his battle energy lit up like he’d never experienced before. His arms vibrated heavily, gathering a killing quantity. He rose slowly to his feet. He wanted nothing more than to lift his hand and release his power. But he didn’t understand why he felt he could tear the more powerful mastyr to pieces right now.
Fulton faced him, his brows high, his dark eyes wild. A slow smiled curved his lips. “You want to kill me right now, don’t you? I can see it in your face. Wasn’t my dagger enough for you earlier? I can repeat it if you like. But this time, I’ll sever your fucking spine.”
Griffin didn’t respond. He knew the moment he engaged in battle with Fulton, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
Fulton’s brows drew together suddenly. “Wait a minute. You think you can take me, don’t you?”
That made Griffin stop in his tracks because Fulton was right. Not only that, Griffin knew it was true, he just didn’t know why.
He watched Fulton’s scowl deepen and knew the camp leader was processing new information. Griffin wanted to take him down, but if he did, how would he explain it to Margetta or anyone else? Especially, since he didn’t know why.
Except that he’d fed from Sandra.
Holy shit.
He put a hand to his stomach, and on instinct looked back at the fortress. But that was a mistake, because Fulton threw a heavy punch, hitting Griffin square in the jaw. Griffin flew back into the dirt. He could have hopped up and fought back. Instead, he forced himself to stay put, feigning a knock-out.
He heard Fulton jeering at him once more, but apparently the successful blow had satisfied Fulton’s rising doubts. He barked a series of orders for the sparring men to get back to business.
Griffin’s mind whirled as he made a great show of struggling to get to his feet. Part of him was in agony that he couldn’t go mano-a-mano with Fulton and send his sorry ass to the next life. But his greater commitment was to Sandra and if what he suspected was true, she was now in danger from every mastyr vampire in the camp.
Once on his feet, he lowered his head submissively and got back to work sparring with some of the more powerful Invictus shifters and vampires. But the whole time his mind was fixed on Sandra and wondering how the hell he was going to get a blood rose safely out of Margetta’s fortress.
CHAPTER THREE
“I’ve found a wraith to serve as your bond-mate. It’s taken me a long time, Sandra, because I wanted a man of power for you, someone you could respect. He might be rough with you, but he’ll rise quickly in the ranks, so it will be worth it.”
Sandra’s heart sank to her toes. “A wraith?” And a rough one at that? Oh, sweet Goddess, no.
She felt a flush of fear rising on her neck and flooding her face. The last thing she wanted was to become part of an Invictus pair. She would lose who she was and she’d become a killer.
Her knees felt wobbly.
Margetta stared at her in the mirror, her lips curving. “It’s very odd. Your face went red, now it’s white. Maybe you should sit down. I suppose I’ve given you a shock.” She gestured for Sandra to sit on the button-tuck ottoman in the center of the Ancient Fae’s large dressing area.
Uncertain her knees would hold her up, Sandra availed herself of the ottoman.
Margetta was preparing herself for her midnight meal, the one time of night she enjoyed a formal dinner with her husband, Gustave. “But remember, once you’re Invictus, you won’t care about the comforts of fortress life, or the wraith’s proclivities for bondage sex. You’ll be content to be assigned tent quarters with your mate. And you’ll finally get to have lots of sex on a regular basis. And you need it, honey, if you don’t mind my saying.”
Sandra had thoroughly enjoyed her marriage bed, but so much of the pleasure of sex for her was about being well-loved in all ways by a man she trusted. An ambitious, rough, male wraith? She felt sick to her stomach.
“Stop pouting. It will all work out. You’ll see.”
