ELIA
As the shadow of the man descended upon her, Elia froze, utterly certain she was facing her death. Then, out of nowhere, a massive weight hit the dirt in front of her and a roar that echoed for miles deafened her.
As a huge shadow rose directly in front of her, then leapt forward to meet the attacker, Elia realized the King had leaped to put himself between her and the man. The two now rolled in combat, snarling and snapping, moving so quickly her eyes played tricks on her and made her see silver fur and a black jaw tumbling in the dirt with a massive, tawny hide and a golden mane.
The sound was horrific, growls that rattled her ribs and snarls of bloodthirst.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The man who'd attacked her lay on his back, his hands holding the wrist of the King, who had him pinned by the neck. He roared his words and Elia heard the animal in him.
"You will NOT break the rite! You will not shame our people!"
There was a moment where the man twisted under the King's hand, then made a small sound, and his body slumped. It reminded her so much of the sag of the dead body earlier, Elia wondered if he'd died. But no. As soon as he slacked, the King let go of his neck and straightened, but remained standing over him.
The man slowly got to his feet, his eyes alight with rage, but he didn't meet the King's eyes, or make any moves towards her. He stood, head bowed, shoulders hunched, as the King growled instructions and the man bowed, then turned on his heel and ran back to his place in the circle.
The audience was utterly silent.
Then the King turned and stared at her, his chest shifting up and down with this breath. She waited, but he didn't speak. Instead, he walked towards her, chin low so the shadow cast by his hard jaw cut across the thick fur collar of his vest. His hair had fallen over his eyes in the scuffle and he peered at her through it, like a lion in the grass. With each step, his graceful, rolling gait reminded her of a predator stalking its prey. Despite the forest floor littered in twigs and leaves, he didn't make a sound.
"Wh-who are you?" Elia stammered, backing away, her hands up. He met her step for step until she came up hard against the tree behind her—and didn't stop until they were toe-to-toe and he loomed over her, so broad his shoulders and chest made a wall in front of her. She could feel the heat rising off his skin in the cool, night air.
"I am the King." His voice was a dark and husky gravel. Behind him a chorus of coughing cheers, howls, and chirps of agreement rose from the people watching. "And you are?"
"Elia," she breathed.
"Elia," he growled, leaning in closer, bringing with him the scent of pine and rain and the musk of something distinctly male. His eyes dropped to her throat and he leaned in suddenly, and ever-so-lightly dragged his nose along her collarbone, inhaling deeply. Her skin prickled wherever he touched her. It was reflex for her to put her hands to his chest, to stop him pressing any closer. When she touched him, he went still as a hunted animal. Then he straightened, meeting her eyes warily. His face remained in that flat, expressionless mask. But his eyes glowed with a feral light that delivered a shot of adrenalin to her gut—and a tingling thrill to areas she didn't usually think about.
"Elia," he rasped again.
"Yes?"
"I am Reth." He said the name with a strange, guttural roll that reminded her of a growl. "I am the King of Beasts. I am Clan Leader of the Anima. And I am Alpha of all." Several snarls rose behind him at the last statement, but he ignored them. Elia swallowed and opened her mouth, but he leaned in until the scruff on his jaw rasped her cheek and said, "And you will be my mate."
The forest behind him erupted.