31. Vael-Torin
VAEL-TORIN
I bring my fist down against the metal wall with a force that should have shattered it. The metal groans, a slight indentation appearing beneath my knuckles, but the emergency locks do not disengage.
"Save your energy, Vael," Pol rumbles from behind me. He is leaning against a neon-blue pillar, his nearly human-colored skin shifting slightly with tension. The intricate tattoos weaving across his broad shoulders and arms look sharp and dark against the strange lights.
"My mate is on the other side of that wall," I growl, my throat smoking with a dangerous, unstable purple heat. My tail thrashes against the neon floorboards.
"She is not alone," Ty-Rok says smoothly from the shadow of the velvet curtains.
The warrior doesn't look at the wall; he dismantles an automated refreshment intake valve with his talons, searching for copper wiring he can weaponize.
"Lucy is with her. And Selene. The human females possess a strange pack instinct. They are stronger than they appear."
I reluctantly lower my fist. Ty-Rok’s assessment is correct. I have witnessed Poppy in action.
Pol reaches onto the buffet table, tossing fruit in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "We need to adjust our strategy. This entire competition... it reeks of my father."
"You know as well as I do, Vael, he has something to do with this meat grinder," Pol spits, his tail lashing behind him. "I wouldn’t doubt he engineered this nightmare as a way to get rid of us. He wants us to break. Me especially."
I know Pol, as we all do back home— he’s the son that turned from his father early on, left court to strike out on his own. A mercenary, the rumors said, a pirate, others claimed.
Either way, he left the mad king’s court, had the strength to do so long before I did.
Pol straightens, the tattoos across his chest flexing as his jaw sets into a firm line. For the first time since I met him in the staging ship, the careless aura vanishes from his posture.
He could rule, if he wanted to—those that knew him when he was younger said he possessed the Draegon fire too, one of the few of us who still can use it without self-immolating.
"I am done running," Pol says. "I’ve spent decades playing in exile. I'm done. I am going to rip the crown directly off my father's head. It is time for me to take the mantle of power. I am ready to do what is right for my people... and for Selene."
“You’ll have my help,” I say, and I mean it. “I assume you know why I’m here.”
“Branded a traitor, like the rest of us.” Ty-Rok steps out of the shadows, tossing a handful of harvested copper wires onto the table. "You know I’ll help, Pol. We have to protect our females first, though." He gives a small huff of laughter. “I thought them fragile, at first.”
Pol lets out a low, vibrating rumble of amusement.
"Selene is anything but fragile. She’s more of a survivor than the entire palace of elites.
I found her on a trafficker’s ship, did you know that?
” He stares into the distance. “I knew she was mine the minute I scented her. She is the most violent creature I’ve ever met.
I have never been more aroused than I am around her. "
"Lucy managed to entirely mask our thermal signatures," Ty-Rok adds, his dark tail sweeping the floor with a disciplined satisfaction. "She is small, and too sweet tempered, but her logic rivals the best. If only she would allow me to mate her."
That surprises me; that his female is still in heat.
This Lucy must be miserable.
"They are a strange species," I muse. "Strange, and beautiful."
I need my mate back at my side.
BZZZZZT.
The neon-blue flashes a toxic shade of pink.
"Time's up, alphas," Ken’s voice is accompanied by a jarring blast of sound. "The female confessional has concluded, and we are moving onto the next segment. Welcome to the Blind Affection Protocol."
Partitions lock into the floor, isolating me in a cramped box. In front of me, a thick sheet of frosted glass hums with a low voltage, completely obscuring any visuals from the chamber beyond.
"Let’s begin the first rotation," Ken’s voice chirps merrily.
I am sick of his voice, and my tail slaps the walls violently "To ensure the integrity of the fated mate algorithms, you will be rotated through the audio feeds of all three remaining human females.
You are required to ask the standard Earth compatibility queries provided. "
A console screen illuminates, displaying a list of incredibly absurd questions.
"State your preferred biological nutrient intake," I force the questions out. "And state the desired reproductive yield for your future bloodline."
A ragged breath filters through wall. The voice that responds is not Poppy’s. It vibrates with venom I instantly recognize as Selene.
Is the artificial construct truly this stupid? To think we wouldn’t recognize the mere breathing of our mates, much less their answers and voices.
"Nutrient intake? Anything that doesn't try to bite me back," she says. "And kids? Are you out of your minds? I was grabbed out of my own bed in the middle of the night, dragged into a cage by giant scaled freaks. I don't want a bloodline. I want a shotgun and blood."
I lean closer to the glass, feeling incredibly sorry for the female.
"Thank you ," I say softly. "A warrior indeed."
"Whatever," Selene mutters. "Just click the next button. I'm done talking."
BEEP.
The lights in my pod pulse twice, I assume signaling the next rotation.
I clear my throat, reading the next set questions. "State your home, your preferred comfort sustenance, and your ideal family structure."
There is a brief pause, and then a too-sweet gasp comes through the wall. The voice is gentle and innocent in a way that feels entirely out of place here.
Not Poppy. I’d know the way she breathed in an instant.
"Oh! Um... hello," Lucy says. "My home is New Jersey, but my family’s roots are South Asian. If I could have any comfort food right now, it would be my grandmother’s kheer—it's a sweet rice pudding with cardamom and pistachios. It always makes the house smell cozy and perfect."
She lets out a tiny laugh, though I can hear the underlying exhaustion.
"And for a family... I always wanted a big, chaotic household," Lucy continues softly. "Lots of kids running through the house, huge family dinners with everyone shouting over each other and laughing, and a partner who listens. I know it sounds silly but... I still want that. I want a real home."
There’s something fragile and strong about her, like a length of military tripwire.
Ty-Rok is well suited to this female.
"Thank you," I tell her, hoping we all three have just such an ending.
"Thank you," she whispers sweetly. "Good luck finding your girl."
BEEP.
The lights flash again.
I do not look at the prompt screen this time. I step directly up to the frosted barrier, my red wings flaring wide as my tail lashes.
"Identify your current position," I command. "And state your primary asset."
A loaded silence stretches.
Then, a voice filters through, and I can’t help smiling.
"Well, currently I'm sitting on a very uncomfortable metal stool in a room that smells like fake vanilla," Poppy’s voice snaps. "And my primary strategic asset is a comprehensive understanding of contract liability and perfect boobs. Hi, Vael. I missed you."
A fierce smile grows, my fangs bared.
"Poppy," I breathe against the glass.
“It’s all about to get wild, Vael.” Her voice is gleeful, and my heart rate increases. “Be ready.”