She scrambled free, kicking and thrashing until the nest was little more than scattered garbage. Ruined, but not beyond repair.
If she was nesting, that could only mean one thing—she was going into season.
Her first, terrifying, unmanaged heat without Hadim’s knot to see her through. Without the suppressors to keep her hormones in check.
Shaking, she dropped to her knees, an ache bunched between her shoulder blades… fingers itching to rebuild her nest…
Chapter 8
Heat.
It throbbed and twitched, oozing through her blood. Overpowering the scent of dead man’s fat, she reeked of fertility. Her scent promising this to be the most intense season she’d ever weathered.
Without suppressors. Without Hadim’s thick knot to force her submission.
Ears going flat, she hissed, baring her blunted teeth. Seeing her master’s hated face every time she blinked. Remembering his scent, the taste of his seed. And with each beat of her heart, the throb of her stump fed the well of seething hatred simmering in her gut.
But still, she ached for the only cock that had ever offered relief. For the knot that had torn through her maidenhead and shaped her to thrive on violence.
Already, theBiqueaglands inside her sodden channel were pulsing and swollen with hormones. Begging for release, making her mindless with hunger. Thirsty for a spurting prick to fill her to overflowing.
Hands shaking, she put bone knife to the hilt of her spear.
What need hadsheof Hadim? She, who ate when she hungered, who wandered at her leisure. Making it through a heat without her master should beeasy,given just what she’d been through already. How much she’d been made to endure.
Teeth bared, she redoubled her efforts. Carving the tapered tip of Hadim’s cock, because she didn’t need him or his knot—she was going to carve a dick from maple and see herself through this heat.
The dregs of the nest she’d made in her sleep mocked her. Nature laughing at her frail attempts to stop the inevitable, for no matter that she’d destroyed the fluffy snuggle-pit as many times as she’s made it, she was driven by instinct now. One usually managed by the suppressors. At first, gathering the softest detritus she could find was little more than an irritating distraction. But in less than a day it had grown into an all-consuming need. One that stole sleep, bypassed hunger, and infected every infernal thought that floated through her sex-addled brains.
Shehadto build a nest.
How else would her young be safe and warm?
She hissed, clawing at her nape. Using the lancing pain to distract from that insane train of thought, only to find her skin raw and already bleeding. Self-inflicted wounds, forgotten over and over again.
There was no distraction capable of denying the fact that she’d already builtdozensof nests. Improvised in the absence of luxurious furs, she’d built them obsessively, only to come to her senses and stomp her efforts into nothing. Kicking the discarded bits and pieces when her mind cleared of hated instinct. Instinct that hissed and raged, for no matter how perfect the construction, each and every one had been incomplete. Missing a fundamental piece she couldn’t forage or create.
Missing Hadim—or more specifically, his salty, sticky cum.
Disgusted, she abandoned her carving project, tossing the wooden cock aside. A wasted effort that couldn’t work, not without a cunt full of sperm and a knot to seal it inside. Her spear shortened for nothing.
She swallowed, throat clicking. Treacherous quim growing plump and needy with little more than the thought of being mounted by the male she hated more with every breath. Every instant of separation from the life she’d abandoned.
But if Hadim were here now… she knew she’d beg. With one breath of his scent, she’d scream for more as he pressed her into her shitty nest. Plead him to fuck her until her womb was seeded. Cry until her voice was raw.
Her chest grew tight. Pussy sopping wet, she fought for every breath to come easy, yet knew it was almost upon her. Knew the heat would addle what was left of her faculties… that it was going to be worse than anything she’d ever experienced thus far.
If she belonged to a harem, the matrons would have guided her through a natural season. They would have prepared her in the old ways—with oils, soft hands, and calming song once the breeding was through. They’d braid her hair and nurse any mating wounds she’d earned, blue eyes shimmering with understanding and cutting humor, but not pity. Never that.
But shedidn’tbelong to a harem, and blue eyes would never shimmer again.
Out here she was alone. Beyond the crust of civilization, criminals roamed. Dangerous males who hadn’t caught a female’s scent since they’d been tossed over the wall—if ever. Their tails docked to mark them as other, they were unfit to belong. Criminals. Rejects and outcasts maimed for the things they’d done.
Like her.
By the fires, if one of them caught wind of her pheromones?
She’dwishfor the days of being a mere concubine.
