Some might say it is savage, but we Ulfarri have always been slaves to lust. Those few remaining elders who have witnessed or even experienced the rut say it is akin to madness, that an Alpha in rut is no longer coherent or able to control even his own body. That is why Omegas in estrus produce so much slick—to ease a frenzied Alpha’s passage even without preamble or care. He can rut her to his heart’s content with no fear of doing too much damage to her more delicate, feminine body.
Beta females, on the other hand, do not produce slick, but their cunts do get wet when they experience pleasure. Which is why most of the females who take part in the annual hunt have signed up for it. They enjoy being chased and held down. Ulfarri are known as The Brutal Ones.
This extends to the way we fuck.
The Beta female pants, “Yes, yes, yes,” in time with the Alpha’s thrusts.
Brokk cocks his head as he watches the frenzied coupling happening a few yards away from us. “The hunt’s off to a good start.”
I shrug. There was a time when this scenario would have made my cock hard, and I would have hastened away to catch a female of my own.
Now, I’m bored.
“Ulf,” Brokk exclaims, straightening in his saddle. “I think I saw something. Over there!” He kicks his tyrlee into motion and sets off. I’m about to follow him when I catch the faintest whiff of something delectable. It’s so light, I almost missed it. Inhaling deeply, I let out a low growl when I smell it again—slightly stronger now. The tart sweetness of a leeberry, combined with honey, and dewy grass. But there’s a deeper, musky scent which goes straight to my groin.
The floral scent makes my canines tingle, and my heart pumps faster.
Pounding hoofbeats make me turn. Several of the Alphas who’d fallen behind are passing me at a gallop. Did they catch the same scent?
I nudge my tyrlee’s sides and she lunges forward. I lean over her neck, becoming one with her movements. Being king has some advantages. Taking my pick of the tyrlee is one of them. My mount, therefore, is swifter and stronger than most, and I overtake the other Alphas easily. Once I’m in the lead again, I close my eyes and concentrate, following the scent.
It’s getting stronger. The source is near.
I guide my tyrlee, veering down a hidden side path. The glowing ferns part before me. Let the other Alphas gallop on. I don’t know what I’m about to find, but I may not want to share it.
My tyrlee is panting, her flanks heaving, so I slide off her and pat her broad neck, making reassuring clucking noises. I set off, padding lightly, my nostrils flaring as I follow that delicious, honeyed aroma.
I know this forest more intimately than anything. It’s my home. So I know where I am, even in the gentle lilac glow cast by the moons. I would know it blindfolded.
I’m close to the waterfall.
The scent of my prey is so strong now, I grow dizzy, as if I’ve drunk too much wine. There’s a tightening in my balls and lower belly, and a tingling in the base of my spine. I want to beat my chest and roar, but force myself to continue moving slowly, carefully.
After what feels like several moon-cycles, I come to the edge of the clearing and peek through the dense foliage of a yaknos fern.
That’s when I see her.
A strange, tiny female with a cloud of dark hair, and dark eyes shaped like lysia petals. She looks like a ghost, partly from the moonlight, partly because of the translucent wet gown clinging to her curvaceous body, and partly from the luminous light brown color of her skin. She’s climbing out of the river. As she steps carefully up the bank, streams of water trickle in rivulets down her heaving chest, her bare legs, her long, thick hair…
I’m transfixed. I’ve never seen anything lovelier.
Who is she? And why is she emitting this scent that is making me ache?
A tiny voice in the back of my mind is whispering the answer, but my rational side is arguing that it cannot be.Shecannot be.
Can she?
As she moves closer, I force myself to inch back. I must remain hidden until the last moment. Decades of hunting have made that instinct as natural to me as breathing.
And yet… that scent. I’ve never smelled anything like it before. But I’ve heard tales…
Ulf, I’m hard. My cock is painfully rigid, straining against my breeches.
No female has ever had this effect on me before. But then, no Beta I’ve encountered has ever smelled this way.
Omega, my inner voice—my entire being—insists.
She cannot be. There are no Omegas left on Ulfaria.
