As the next fighters take the ring, I stare down at the two who are now my mates. Their eyes haven’t left me since they thralled. I feel a deep need to know them better. I’m not sure if it’s just my nervousness at the prospect of mating with two males or my own mating instinct coming to the surface, but I long for the battle to be over and to move on to the more civilized part of our lives.

The battles continue in the arena, but I can’t keep my eyes off my new mates. I finally run an identification scan on them and it comes back with brief bios. The stone dragon’s name is Donte Surri, a hundred-year-old duke from an ancient aristocratic line. He has risen to power as a chief minister of the Draxos Senate.

The fire dragon’s name is Uri Ro’ow, a fifty-year-old warrior in the Draxos military defense. He’s a high general, a great achievement for a warrior so young.

Both are excellent matches with high positions and good breeding. My children will be well taken care of. I bite my lip at the thought of having hatchlings with two dragons… of making hatchlings with two dragons. I’m lost in thought about my new mates, Donte and Uri.

The dragon in the ring is sleek and stealthy, shadow black, claws dripping with poison. The viper dragon comes up behind a larger space dragon too quickly for it to be anticipated, his movements so fast he’s almost invisible.

The viper dragon’s claws slash across the space dragon’s neck, slicing through the tender flesh and drawing blood. He thralls, his venom’s potency heightened instantly. The space dragon falls from the air, slamming to the arena floor. The viper dragon lands on the ground, shifting into his bipedal form. His muscles are pumped and sweat trickles down his dark flesh. He looks at the convulsing space dragon with wide eyed horror.

Medics rush into the arena, attending to the space dragon. He’s shifted now, and bubbles of toxic spittle foam from his mouth. I stand, shocked and bewildered. Males have died in the ring before. Could my new mate be a killer? I gaze down at him and our eyes lock. Three males I am fated to now. Three more than I wanted this morning. The medics hurry the space dragon’s limp body out of the fighting ring and the judges float down into the center of the arena on their flying platform.

“Gentlemen!” Ge’ono says above the noise of the crowd. “Everything is under control. Prince Farrisha will recover. We have our best medics attending to him now. We have our third thrall of the night. Flume Beck, you are the fated of our White Queen. Congratulations!”

The judges fly their platform back to the wall above the match and call for the next round to begin. I sit, bewildered, agitated and becoming increasingly intoxicated on spiced merrow wine. All I can think to do is start a background search on Flume Beck.

He’s a special forces operative for the Draxos military. This is the first time he’s been back to the Draxos system in thirty cycles. At seventy-five cycles old, he’s my second oldest mate. Something in his eyes tells me he’s seen things that would melt my blood.

My heart flutters inside me and I clench my fists, pressing my sharp nails into the palms of my hands. Three mates. How am I supposed to bond with three mates? Even as I ask myself the question, I know they all belong to me. It is the deep inner knowing that happens once the thrall has begun. It is the same for both the males and the females. However, I will not have access to my own thrall form until I’ve been claimed.

I’ve never met any of these men but somehow it just feels right. As a scientist, I wish that our race had a more scientific way to explain the emotions that come along with the mating ritual, the connection, the instant bond, the deep lust. The terms we use to describe our reactions just don’t seem enough when I’m faced with feeling it myself. Pheromones and genetics aside, my newly awakened desire for these men borders on what I would call magical.

I cross my legs, my need burning brighter with each additional thrall. I sip wine from a crystal goblet and try to contain my desires. My three fated mates stare up at me, not taking their eyes off me for an instant. I can feel their need. My nipples tighten as the instinct to mate slams into my chest.

I cannot hold back my desire much longer. I wish this tournament would end and I could finally meet them. The judges are keeping us separate until the end of the games to be fair to the rest of the fighters. At this moment, I don’t care about being fair. I want to meet my mates. I want to put my hands on their flesh and feel it slide below my palm. I want to know things about them I’ve never known about anyone.

The games pass in agonizing tedium. I can’t focus on anything but them. When the field of fighters is almost clear, two more males thrall for me. It happens so quickly, over two consecutive matches, and it multiplies my already alarming harem of males. The same deep need to be together radiates between me and the newly thralled males. I can barely breathe as the desire wraps its fingers around me.

One of my new mates is a shimmering blue water dragon with dark hair and light aqua green skin. He is Reese Brio, a poet prince of the underwater kingdom of Umbria. Umbria is full of vast riches and secrets beyond measure. Not all dragons can breathe under water like water dragons. Just as other types cannot survive in space like space dragons. Water dragons dominate the seas of the Draxos systems, creating an almost secondary subculture all their own. Reese is sleek and agile. Just older than Uri at fifty-two cycles old.

The last male to thrall is the youngest of my mates. At only twenty-five, Mika Loz’iah and I are practically the same age. The golden skinned air dragon is serpentine, slender and long in dragon form. As a man, he has the body of a youth who hasn’t come into his prime quite yet. For a race that lives for two hundred cycles, being in your twenties is almost like being an infant. But since the Draxos mature quickly, dragons my age are capable of mating and reproducing.

All five of my men hold me in their gaze. I’m transfixed by them for the rest of the tournament. When the last fighters finally complete their match, the judges call the game over.