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The palace official guided them to another room where they joined nine other mated pairs and triads. None of the other males in the room were warriors, so they gave the new arrivals wide berth, opting for discretion rather than valor.
“Elodie? Marisol?” Evangeline called out in astonishment.
Marisol glanced at her and offered a small, fleeting smile, but said nothing. Elodie turned her blonde head at the sound of her name and her eyes widened. Her full lips parted in a wide smile. “Evangeline?”
Evangeline hurried forward, her males sticking close. “It’s so good to see you!”
The two women who had barely known each other embraced like old friends. One of the males settled a hand on Elodie’s shoulder. Evangeline noticed his claws had been filed down and blunted. She glanced up at him and recognized the healer from the bride games’ first evening of introductions. She peered more closely at Elodie and recognized the same physiological changes in the other woman as had taken place in herself.
“That’s right, you’re mated to the healer,” she blurted. She noticed the subtle alterations to the other woman’s physiology, similar to her own.
Elodie nodded. “Yeah. And you got the hunky warriors.”
“And Marisol?” Evangeline glanced at the other bride who hadn’t deigned to acknowledge her.
“She was matched to a merchant,” Elodie said, keeping her voice low. “He’s very … um … possessive of her. I don’t think she likes him very much.”
Evangeline frowned. “Do you think he abuses her?”
“I don’t think he hits her,” Elodie said. “But he seems very strict with her. I mean, she’s wearing a collar and he’s holding the leash.”
Evangeline glanced toward Marisol and noted the jewel-studded collar encircling the woman’s throat. Her eyes widened. “That’s not right. She’s not a pet.”
The clap of hands distracted her attention. The two women looked toward the sound to see another palace official had entered the room.
A tall male whose crest was long and draped over his skull like flat noodles held up his hands and spoke, “Welcome, brides of Ahn’hudin, and congratulations to your mates!”
Evangeline noticed his claws were blunted, too. “Who is this guy?” she whispered.
“I am Pator Herrimond, high priest of the Solari, the creator spirit who endows us with might, wisdom, and honor.” He paused. No one spoke. “We mourn the loss of one bride, captured by the Sivuul. She has been replaced by new brides who are being matched to a new crop of suitors.”
Evangeline began to simmer.Louella was not replaceable; she was not a commodity.
“We come here now to celebrate your mated unions and officially recognize them. You will each be required to record your union with me for the official register, then you will receive the Solari’s blessing for a harmonious and fruitful union and receive the accouterments of bonded mates.” He paused again, then gestured. “Please proceed according to rank.”
Horas and Sarus led the way, sandwiching Evangeline between them. They obediently bowed their heads as the priest dipped his fingers in a silvery liquid and flicked drops over the mated triad while reciting a prayer in a language Evangeline did not understand. The cool, wet liquid left sparkling splatters of silver wherever it landed. The priest then dipped his fingers in another bowl and flicked the colorless liquid at Evangeline while he intoned another prayer in that same language. The second liquid seemed to vaporize as it left his fingers and settled like a delicate mist over her head and shoulders, leaving a sparkling dust adhering to her skin. A weird lethargy spread through her, something that made her mind hazy and her legs unwilling to move.
As though from a distance, she felt her ire rise as the priest held up a gold collar and fastened it around her neck. She wanted to protest, but her foggy mind would not send words to her tongue. The priest handed gold leashes to both Horas and Sarus. He spoke and her mates replied in the same foreign language, then clipped the leashes to the collar around her neck. Chanting, the priest dipped his hand in a third bowl of red liquid. He painted a line across her forehead and over her lips. Still chanting, he plunged both hands into the red liquid and placed his palms over her breasts. She felt outrage gather in her throat and wanted to howl in protest when he plunged his hands in the bowl again and smeared red pigment from hip to hip in a downward arc then cupped her sex through the fabric of her gown. He pulled his hands away with a shout and clapped his palms together. The red pigment remaining on his hands vaporized into a cloud of glittering red powder that they could not help but inhale.
The priest then dipped his hands in a pail of water. He rinsed his hands and dried them off. Horas and Sarus gently tugged on the leashes, and Evangeline found herself following as docile as any well-trained pet. As they walked, her blood began to heat and her libido to surge. Moisture gathered between her legs and coated her upper thighs, making them slick. By the time they reached their quarters, the fine, soft fabric of the gown had stimulated her nipples to hard, aching points, and she panted with the need to fuck.
Horas and Sarus had no qualms about giving her relief.
“What the hell was in that stuff?” she asked a couple of hours later, her voice hoarse. Screaming through multiple orgasms had that effect on her vocal cords.
“I don’t know,” Horas admitted. “It affected us, too.”
She rolled to her side. “Please remove the collar. It’s demeaning.”
“We cannot,” Sarus said.
She sat up, breasts jiggling with the sudden movement. “The hell you can’t!”
Anxious to avoid distressing their mate further, Horas explained, “You must wear the collar while we are visitors here. Once we leave the palace, we will remove it.”
“That’s … that’s just …wrong!” she spluttered. Tears gathered in her eyes.
Sarus tried to ease her anger, “We know you dislike the collar and we will not insist you wear it after we leave the palace; but wear it here you must.”
