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delivered to the table.
    After awhile, I twisted around so I could see Logan‘s face. ―Where
    are Yuri and Mikhail and Crane?‖
    ―Only semels and their mates and the Phocal of the Shu were invited
    to dinner tonight. That‘s why the crowd is so small.‖
    Jesus, this was small? I couldn‘t even imagine how many people
    would be there when those that each semel had brought were convened as
    well.
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    Mary Calmes

    I moved off Logan‘s lap but stayed leaning against him throughout
    the meal. Once it was over, the priest excused the room and bid them to
    adjourn to the vast patio. As I rose beside Logan, Hamid was suddenly in
    front of me.
    ―Your grace?‖
    ―Tomorrow, Jin, the honor trials begin. You will sit at my right and
    speak the atrocities that were forced on you by Laurent Bruyere. It will be
    a long, hard day, and then, after the hearing, there will be the pit. Should
    you lose your mate in the challenge, the semel-aten will probably want to
    claim you as his wosret, and if not, many other semels will, I‘m certain,
    want to grant you sanctuary. Now Jamal has spoken to me of you,‖ he said
    as the Phocal stepped in beside him, ―and after what I witnessed today,
    should you want to join the Shu instead, you need only speak the word to
    me. Do you understand?‖
    If my mate died, I could be a warrior or another man‘s whore. I got
    it. ―Why wouldn‘t I just go home?‖ I asked them.
    The priest sighed, smiling at me. ―Jin, you are a reah. Your life will
    never be your own.‖
    I nodded, squinting to make sure I didn‘t shed a tear as my eyes
    filled. I was really much too emotionally raw to be doing anything but
    lying in bed with my mate.
    The priest squeezed my shoulder before pressing his warm, soft hand
    to my cheek only for a moment. Jamal‘s smile was warm, his eyes
    absorbing my face before they both turned away. I was glad that Hamid
    had a man like Jamal watching his back; it would have been scary if Jamal
    belonged to Ammon.
    Logan called me over to him minutes later, and I was introduced to
    two of his oldest friends.
    The semel of the tribe of Sokar, Martine Soto, was a big, burly man
    with a quick smile, dark, warm brown eyes, and thick, wavy black hair
    dusted with silver. He invited me to Miami with or without Logan. The
    wink, the mellifluous Spanish accent, and the sincerity in his face all
    touched me deeply. I was always impressed by loyalty, and his to Logan,
    by all accounts, was boundless.
    Justin Cho, the semel of the tribe of Qebui, was taller than both
    Logan and Martine, but leaner, with long, sinewy muscles. His hair wasn‘t
    as long as mine, falling to his shoulders, but there were crimson streaks in
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    it that somehow managed not to detract from the seriousness of his face.
    His eyes were black, the lashes that framed them long and thick, his
    features carved and sharp. He was not handsome, he was beautiful, and as
    I looked at him, the dark orbs heated.
    ―Watch yourself,‖ Logan said, bumping Justin with his shoulder.
    ―Your smell is changing.‖
    ―I can‘t help that,‖ he said, smiling as he stepped in close to me,
    offering me his hand. ―It is my great honor to meet the mate of my dear
    friend. Please consider me your servant, my reah.‖
    His hand closed around mine, and he eased me forward, closer to
    him. I was looking up at his handsome face, and he was staring down at
    me. We were frozen.
    ―Okay, that‘s enough,‖ Logan growled, stepping between us, hand
    on my elbow, pulling me up against him, tucking me into his side.
    ―Possessive much?‖ I said under my breath.
    The hand cupping my ass shut me up as Justin chuckled over his
    friend‘s seeming insecurity.
    I was introduced to so many people, an endless stream of semels and
    yareahs, that it was nice when I could take a minute to extricate myself
    and have a moment of quiet. I walked to the edge of the elevated platform,
    waiting for Logan to join me. Everyone else was clustered together,
    talking, so it was not surprising that I was the only one to see the shadow
    moving to the left by the wall.
    It was like the man stepped out of the shadows, and his hand moved
    with the slightest motion, signaling. I looked around and saw a woman,
    one of the many swivel-hipped dancers who had poured into the room to
    draw the crowd outside to the vast patio strung with lanterns, where wine
    and Zibib flowed freely. This one woman, though, her scent was different.
    She