The Tiger Territory smelled of orchids, wet earth, and the heavy, cloying scent of arousal.
But today, the tranquility of the Citadel was shattered.
On the central platform, a table made of rare, polished ebony was kicked over, sending jeweled goblets flying into the jungle floor below.
Torian, the Tiger King, stood in the center of the wreckage.
He was breathtaking even in his rage. His white hair, stark against his bronzed skin, was wild. He wore loose silk pants that hung low on his hips, exposing the faint, black stripe tattoos that ran down his ribs and powerful arms.
He was vibrating with rage.
"He lives?" Torian's voice was a low, honeyed baritone that dripped with menace. "The Snake lives?"
He had just come back from watching his mate, and it was sending him to destruction.
The slimy snake dared to follow his mate home.
Torian threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. It was the sound of a predator realizing his patience had been insulted.
