“I won’t let them take her, Scythe,” Savage says, unblinking eyes boring into me. “You know I’ll tear apart every court one by one if they take her away for… breeding.” We all know it. We would have a rabid wolf on our hands, who wouldn’t care for the consequences of any amount of slaughter. It would be a massacre. But it is that one triggering word that sets off a dangerous, psychotic bloodlust in me. Breeding. I refuse to let her be bred by anyone but me or one of her mates. Only we have that fucking right. In this life, in any lifetime.
