The Alpha blinked.
Blinked again, releasing his hold on the other male’s shoulder. Teeth leaving a distinct ring.
A trap.
That clever little bitch had set a trap. He’d stepped on a hair trigger and was ensnared in a hand-crafted net which would yield to no amount of snarling or struggling. Not giving under the weight of two furious Anhur males drunk on pheromones and rut, whose limbs were now tangled aroundeach other. Both of them bloodied and speckled with the other’s teeth.
One by one, each member of their pack had been caught up by the breeder’s whims.
Konjo hung to their left, upside down. Alone, yet breathing hard as if he too had struggled to right himself. Pupils tiny dots of nothing as he strained to free himself and reach the female who’d saturated them in her scent. Who’d shamed them all without so much as bothering to make herself seen.
Behind them, Keever and Micah had been snapped up together. Micah, whose dark skin bore the raised keloid scars that spoke of his dedication to battle. Deadly and massive, Micah fought his capture the hardest. Snapping and bellowing his impotent rage, trying to pull the rope lattice apart with nothing but sheer, physical prowess—no matter the danger he posed to Keever.
“Stop fighting!” Sickle shouted, trying to get the attention of the hybrids writhing in their bonds. “I’ll cut you down, if you’ll just give me a moment—”
But Sickle didn’t have a blade. It was protruding from the windpipe of the diseased creature he’d slain. Abandoned.
Shooting a helpless glance up, Sickle grimaced. Wise enough not to voice his judgment, long schooled in the art of quiet reprimand in his service to the Anhur queens. Instead, he traced the anchor keeping them suspended with sharp eyes. Tracing the actions of a female lost to her hormones, he searched for the place she’d anchored the ropes.
Silence fell upon the wood. An eerie shiver skated over the Alpha’s skin, making his hackles bristle, his claws extend.
“Hurry,” he hissed, scanning the clearing for anything out of place.
And so it was that he was the first to see her. The only one who saw the lone figure rise from dark waters thick with misty steam.
Chapter 14
Shivering, the girl stood. Twitching, overheated muscles quivering as she paused at the water’s edge, drawn in by the sound of furious shouting.
Hadim.
He’d come for her at last.
A tremor skated through her system, revulsion and lust all rolled into one. Her hatred had only grown since she’d last seen her master, and now, absent her shield of clothing, she could see what he really was. The almost deadly reminder etched into the flesh of her right arm, four claws that had torn deep enough to never fade.
She could see him just there, struggling in the nets. Ruined face pinched in a tight scowl, another male sharing his dangling prison. Caught in nets she’d woven herself.
Fingers snaking down, she touched the smoldering, liquid heat streaming between her legs. Pussy plump and wet with the ache of need. Her glands rubbing together with every throbbing pulse of her heart.
The males fell silent. Quiet enough to hear her fingers squelch when she pulled them free.
Watching.
She took another few hesitant steps toward her prize, water splashing around her thighs.
The entire pack. Instead of two manageable, sterile hybrid males, she’d caught all three. Caught both Hadimandhis war chief. All dangling in her nets unable to fight their way free.
Except one.
Sickle.
The Hathorian male who hadn’t been ravaged by the others. One who was still aesthetic perfection, despite a certain cautious rugged edge that was beginning to peek through the smoky glamour. Maybe because of it.
Tipping her head back, she tasted the still air. Slick spilling down her thighs as she stepped over the edge of the hot spring.
Hadim had often threatened to share her with his favorite sons. Promised to stretch her out until herBiqueagland grew hardened and stubborn, until they couldn’t be subdued without two knots ripping her up at once.
Heat spilled down her nape, sending her muscles into a fresh wave of scalding spasm. Heat that pulled and clenched. Pulsing where it couldn’t throb. Oozing where it ached the most.
