Bondmate by J.J. Lore

but didn’t touch even though she craved reassurance. “Be
brave, Avanelle Rein,” Mateen said as he pulled off his tunic and laid it at her feet.
    “We
will defeat these whelps and have a delicious victory feast.” Bynton had
stripped down to a small breechclout as had Mateen, and both men were rubbing
their skin with oil provided by one of the Alphans who’d accompanied her to the hall. Two others held an assortment of bladed
weapons, their sharp edges catching the light. Any one of them looked capable
of cutting off an arm or leg with only a slight swing. Her vision swam as she
contemplated the idea that they might be hurt in defense of her, then at the
realization if Mateen and Bynton were grievously injured, she’d be handed off
to these Madoc warriors. No . She glanced at the interlopers to find they’d also disrobed and were also shiny with oil, ranging themselves along the
far end of the clear section of floor.
    “Spike
axes, I think.” Bynton gestured at a vicious looking tool, one end fitted with
a curved double blade, the other covered with a hard knob. Mateen nodded and
took his own, and then both men allowed their
companions to fasten segmented metal armor to their arms, a leather strap
across the upper back holding them in place. That was all. They were going to
face three raging warriors with nothing more than an ax and the minimal
protection of sleeves of armor.
    A
little cry of fear escaped her lips, and she clutched her hands together rather
than to reach out and pull them back. This couldn’t be
happening now, not when they’d travelled so far, discovered that singing
awareness of each other. To have it all ripped away now was agony.
    Bynton
heard her and stepped close, lowering his head and capturing her gaze. His eyes
glowed with excitement. “Your beauty and the pleasures we’ve shared give us the
advantage, Avanelle. We will not lose you. Be confident in us.”
    “But
there’s three of them and only two of you.”
    “No matter. It would take
twenty of these feeble Madocs to have an advantage
over any Albin warrior.” Bynton’s dismissal of the
odds failed to comfort her.
    Mateen
approached and stood close to her other side. “They will not win.”
    Unable
to find any words of support, Avanelle simply nodded her head. They deserved as
much courage from her as she could muster. Bynton stroked a finger down her
cheek, and she blinked back tears. People around them muttered, and the man in
white spoke up.
    “Bynton,
no contact until the bond is made. You understand that.”
    One
of the Madocs roared out agreement. “She’s not yours,
infant! You’ll lose that hand for your impertinence.”
    Bynton
whirled away from her, all his coiled muscles tensing. Mateen gave him a
warning glance, and he steadied. Both men strode away from her to face the
three waiting fighters. Such beautiful bodies that might soon
be butchered. Avanelle felt a nudge at her side and looked away from the
tense confrontation to see the sweet woman who’d helped her with the clothing
just an hour before. Her hand pressed against Avanelle’s back, and she nearly
swooned at the support.
    “A
challenge hasn’t happened in years, but Madoc warriors have held a grudge against Albins for a long
time. None of these Madocs have risen high enough to earn a chance to visit Earth and probably never will. They must
see this as the perfect opportunity to exact revenge and gain a mate. Steal
away an Albin woman in front of all assembled here. Bynton and Mateen are more
than capable. Have faith in them. Your bond is strong already and will see them
through any trial ahead.”
    “I
don’t understand how,” Avanelle whispered back,
worried she’d distract her men or be disciplined by the white robed leader now
stepping forward, one arm raised to gather the attention of the crowd.
    “The
connection you’ve made with them. When Alphans find a
mate, have sex, they grow stronger. That’s why warriors want us. Why