Chapter 8
Jul 18, 2025
The word ‘rape’ landed like a bomb. Gasps echoed through the crowd. The Trial Master’s face flushed red with outrage.
“How dare you—”
“How dare I what? Tell the truth?” Hector stepped closer to my platform, his presence somehow making the whole arena feel smaller. “A bond forced through restraint and fear isn’t a bond. It’s ownership.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was Hector Veylor—the male I’d been fantasizing about, fearing, trying to understand. And he was defending me in front of everyone, risking his own position for a principle.
“The rules are the rules,” Marcus Sonwood spoke up, his voice smooth as silk. “We all agreed to participate under these conditions.”
“I agreed to compete for a mate,” Hector replied without looking at him. “Not to assault one.”
“Then how do you propose we proceed?” The Trial Master’s voice dripped with barely contained fury.
Hector’s eyes never left mine. “We ask.”
“Ask?”
“Consent.” The word carried weight, authority. “We ask our chosen she-wolf if she agrees to be touched. If she says ‘yes’, we proceed. If she says ‘no’, we respect that choice.”
“That defeats the entire purpose,” Darius snorted. “Half of these bitches would say ‘no’ just to be difficult.”
“Then maybe they’re not meant to be your mate,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
His face darkened. “You’d better watch that mouth of yours, little wolf. When I claim you—”
“You won’t.” Hector’s voice cut through Darius’s threat like a sword through silk. “You won’t touch her at all.”
The arena fell silent. Even the Trial Master seemed stunned by the quiet authority in Hector’s words.
“Lord Veylor, Miss Fowler is not exclusively—”
“She is to me.” Hector stepped onto the platform beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “And I don’t share.”
My pulse skyflied. The possessiveness in his voice, the casual way he claimed me in front of everyone—it should have made me angry. Instead, it made me feel something I’d never experienced before.
Safe. Protected.
“This is highly irregular,” the Trial Master sputtered.
“So is chaining women up for male entertainment,” I shot back, finding my voice again. “But here we are.”
Hector’s mouth twitched in what might have been approval. He turned to face me fully, his silver eyes intense but not threatening.
“Lyssira.” My name on his lips sent shivers down my spine. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly. Not because of the crowd, not because of the Games, but because it’s what you truly want.”
The arena held its breath. I could feel dozens of eyes on us, but somehow they all faded away.
There was only Hector, only those devastating silver eyes and the quiet strength in his voice.
“Will you let me touch you?” he asked, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear. “Not to claim you, not to bond you, but because you choose to let me?”
My throat felt tight. Around us, other contenders were already approaching their restrained she-wolves, taking advantage of the distraction to begin their own attempts.
I could hear Cressa whimpering as Marcus Sonwood grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.
But Hector waited. Patient. Still. Letting me choose.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He smiled then, soft and real and nothing like the cold mask he wore for everyone else. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and took my hand.
The contact was electric. The moment our skin touched, warmth spread up my arm, settling somewhere deep in my chest. Not the artificial heat of The Frenzy ceremonies, but something natural and right.
“No one gets to touch you unless you say yes,” he murmured, his thumb tracing over my knuckles. “Not them. Not me. Not anyone.”
