Fang And Claw (Nocturne Academy 2)

“Son,” Ari’s father said, frowning. “This is not the place or the time for such a declaration. You know perfectly well that as the prince of our people and the Alpha-to-be, your mating must be discussed by the Council and—”

‘There can be no discussion.” Ari’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Kaitlyn is my L’lorna and I will not give her up. My Drake has chosen her and his decision is final.”

His father’s face grew dark.

“I said we will not speak of this in public!” He spread his hands. “You have interrupted a meeting of my Chamberlains.”

“I know who this girl is,” one of the men said, coming forward. I thought he was the one who had been the bottle-green Drake, though I wasn’t completely sure.

Ari turned on him, frowning.

“And how can you know her, Chamberlain Sanchez?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at the older man.

“Because she is the one who got my son expelled from the human school—from that Nocturne Academy.” The man—who did look like Pedro Sanchez around his shifty eyes and narrow mouth—pointed at me. “I know because her skin is scarred all over. My son was kicked out because of her, though she is nothing but a deformed orphan with no family to speak for her!”

He glared at me, his dark eyes angry and disgusted, as though I wasn’t even fit to live.

Ari put himself between me and the other Drake, his face rigid with rage.

“Your son was expelled because he attacked my L’lorna,” he growled. “He attacked a female—attacked one who was weaker than him and acted like nothing but a vrota. I was ashamed that day for our whole race!” He spat on the ground at the other man’s feet.

“How dare you?” Chamberlain Sanchez demanded. “You and this deformed puta will pay for such an insult.”

Suddenly Ari had a knife in his hand. No, not a knife, I saw—somehow he had managed a partial shift and his hand had become one of the long, razor-sharp talons which belonged to his Drake.

“Insult my L’lorna again,” he growled, pressing the edge of the wickedly sharp talon to the other man’s throat. “See how long you live once the words leave your lips, cabron!”

Chamberlain Sanchez’s eyes widened and he took an involuntary step back. I wondered if being able to do a partial shift like that was a sign of power. It couldn’t be easy for Ari to let only a small part of the huge Drake he kept inside himself out.

“That is enough!” Ari’s father roared. Striding forward, he put a hand on Ari’s chest and one on Sanchez’s and pushed to make room between them. He glared at Ari.

“You know I will not tolerate blood being spilled in the Audience Chamber! Leave now or suffer my severe displeasure!”

Ari looked like he wanted to fight with his father some more or maybe go after Sanchez again, but I darted forward and put a hand on his arm.

“Ari, please,” I murmured. “Can we not do this now?” With all these angry old men staring at me, I added mentally but didn’t say.

Ari must have seen the upset look on my face, because at last he nodded. Despite my firm promise to myself that I wouldn’t let anyone make me feel inferior, it was incredibly hard to keep my resolution after what Sanchez had called me. It also didn’t help that the rest of the men who had been Drakes were all glaring at me like I was a piece of dog crap Ari had dragged home on the bottom of his shoe.

“All right,” Ari said, looking at his father, not me as he spoke. “We can talk in private later. But I want it to be known that Kaitlyn is mine and no one is to harm her.”

There was a growl of protective possessiveness in his voice—an echo of his Drake that I knew everyone in the Audience Chamber could hear.

His father stared at Ari for a long moment and then nodded.

“Fine. No one is to harm the girl,” he said, raising his voice. “Now get her out of my sight!”

This last seemed to be directed to the human servants, several of whom rushed up to me, as though to hustle me away.

The moment they touched me, however, Mr. Seahorse—who had been hiding close to my neck, camouflaged by my long hair—flew up into the air in front of me. He chimed angrily and blew his tiny, two-inch jet of fire at the man who had taken hold of my arm, causing the servant to gasp and pull his hand away.

“What’s this?” he gasped. “A chimeling? Here in the palace?”

“But such a thing has not been in the last ten generations!” the other servant exclaimed.

“His name is, uh, Mr. Seahorse,” I told them, feeling a bit foolish. “I think he’s just worried you’re going to hurt me.”