Porcupine Ridge keep it in your pants, son

Saghani watched his reactions, watched him move away after she had spoken. 

Others approached, but Saghani did not defer to them as she believed her life with him to be sealed, and had the mind to rise to sit beside him on his throne due to it. Saghani had come here prepared to do what she must do so that she might rise, and felt her ducks were presently in their row. Saghani would allow whoever led to have the courtesy of knowing why it was she had come from Tagg, but as her eyes drifted toward her and she stepped nearer to the male she felt the answer was clear. Saghani did not move to accost the other yet, if only because his wariness painted a different light upon him, one that made her desire to hear how he would react to this question before anything else. 

It was quite typical of her character to observe and to listen, to learn what others would not have her learn through her silence and what seemed to be compliance. Saghani was an opportunist, but only as much as any ambitious wolf ought to be if they sought to survive this world. There was no cruelness or bad intent toward the woman who presently led; it wasn't personal. To Saghani, Tagg had become hers. Not once, not twice, but some times over! 

So, as he spoke, Saghani herself was thrown off balance. They had moved the entirety of the way here, side by side. 

You submitted to me, came her words, You were mine, and I was yours. They were slow, they were steady. But her warmth had faded toward him. She had thought him a beast of merit and of worth. His admittance told her he would give himself to any who offered, and Saghani felt the eyes of the others upon him, upon her, and her conviction in them—which would have meant everything—fell to the wind. Saghani was not sure what to do, then. She had understood his words differently, and his actions did not match his words as he tenderly approached her, asked of her, seduced her in body. She grit her teeth, narrowed her eyes. 

All in the span of seconds she thought. Nothing else made a mate beyond that bond to Saghani, the copulation; nothing else tore it apart but for death. She was a cornered adder snake in her belief, for her own laws and feral faith dictate she do what she must do—fight, fight and win. Saghani had thought she might feel love for him, if such a word existed, as time passed. That was not the point of taking a mate, but the possibility was sweet from heard tellings of it. But as she looked to him, Saghani felt hate, shame, disgust. She resented herself, too, for the choice she had made. He, too, had made his choice and his bed. 

There was, of course, a way to end this swiftly. Mates could be challenged for. And Saghani could let the other win! Emboldened, Saghani prepared to make her sacrifice. Her pride be damned; she felt could not live if the other did not win this match, with the shame of her error. And so with a snarl, she turned and lifted her plume squarely behind her, dipping her muzzle and looking the other in the eye. Come against me, Saghani all but demanded, her weight settled, take this burden from me. It was a lifebond, unless it was stolen, but it could not be turned away from. For better, for worse. She had taken him; he had taken her. But there was a way to change that! And she willed it with burning eyes. 

Never would Saghani make such an error again!