Freshly infected and showing the early signs of his long, slow demise, he was already touched by the grotesque physical mutation the Trax virus was infamous for causing. But onlyjust.
They’d been too late to save him.
His wounds still wept, showing how fresh the infection really was. That the pack had been meredaysaway from adding this loner to their ranks, instead of being forced to put him down.
Oblivious to the watchful eyes, the infected male ground his teeth. Head slung low, skin stretched thin where the bone of his forehead bulged. Deformed. Already making him utterly unrecognizable as the proud Anhur he’d once been.
Hanging from slack lips, a drop of grayish drool glistened and swayed, until it snapped. Spattering the leaf litter. He stopped then, tugging at a thick bulge.
His prick—or what was left of it.
The thing being tortured between clawed fingers would no longer meet the definition of a sex organ. Bloated and raw, it was a mess of boils and hardening patches of bright red skin. Where the blood had been forced too close to the surface for too long, unable to drain. And from the tip, yellow semen dribbled with each pass of pumping fist.
Mindless, he’d been drawn in by the scent of slick. Rotten brain retaining nothing but the most basic instincts, to eat, drink, and fuck.
This feral was hunting.
And though his gait was slow and ambling, he would pursue their Hathorian female until his dying brain lost the trail, or he was presented with an obstacle he could not overcome.
Silent, the Alpha crept through the ranks of his pack, taking his place on step ahead of the war chief. His gaze settling on the infected male who paused to sniff at the trunk of a young tree.
“For Priiigussss…” the feral moaned, voice thick with arousal and a hint of despair, pausing only to tug at his weeping cock. Shoulders bunching and coiled as he worked himself into a lather. Head thrown back, they watched his face contort. Cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, hair matted with acrid sweat and arousal—yet above it all, the unfortunate creature reeked of sickness.
Of disease.
The Alpha sneered, unabashedly watching another male as he shivered and came, spilling rank and curdled cream. The muscles of his ass flexing just below a ragged wound where his tail had once stood high and proud, the feral turned his back. Returning to the hunt after marking a tree the girl had touched.
Claiming it—her.
It could not be allowed.
The female washis.
Taking a deep breath, the Alpha issued a bellow of challenge that shattered the silence. The pack fanned out around him, forming a semi-circle around their prey.
Not so much as a startled blink was given in reaction, the feral mindlessly pursing their female’s scent, repeating, “Priiigussss…” over and over again under his breath. A mantra none could comprehend.
“What’s that mean, you think?” Balkazar asked, brows drawn together in a tight scowl.
The Alpha shrugged, feeling the ghost of his tail flick in agitation. Indecisive, for in terms of physical, mental, and battle prowess, their pack was proven. Blooded even before the hybrids had joined their ranks and pledged their strength.
This threat was inconsequential.
But should any of them touch that infected creature…
It was Sickle who stepped forward. The little male in full blower, his muscles held so taut, they vibrated as he faced off against a thing that could doom him with a single, rotten touch.
“Sickle,” Balkazar warned and placed a large hand on a slight shoulder.
Ignoring a direct command from the war chief, Sickle shook off the heavy touch and stepped forward. Bristling. Saliva dripping from pointed teeth as his slender chest vibrated in a low growl. His ears laid out, not tucked back in submissive fear, but displaying uncharacteristic anger. Challenge.
He too, was ignored by the feral.
Until the wind changed.
Carrying Sickle’s scent—that of an enraged Hathorian—a gentle breeze ruffled fur matted with blood and filth. Pausing in the middle of whispering, “For Priiigusss…” the feral male stopped short. Head rotating on a twitching pike, the feral turned glassy eyes upon Sickle. Spent cock twitching to renewed life.
Sickle grinned through his madness, issuing a delicate roar of his own.
