Eyes squeezed shut, Sickle gripped her hip as hard as he could. Keeping her folded over him as he bred her, nose pressed to throat. His mouth watered with the urge to mark her in the way of their people. Her nipples scraping over his chest.
And then herBiqueaglands pulsed against his shaft. Working in tandem, they kneaded and milked. Tiny gripping hands forcing his knot to bloom even before he spilled all that frothy seed, expanding against her glands at just the right moment to send her spiraling into bliss.
Twitching and quivering, he felt her orgasm ripple around him. Felt her glands clench and chew on his shaft as he fought to subdue her. The pleasure from so fine an intimate grip sent him into convulsions of ecstasy he was ill-prepared to deal with, let alone weather. Pumping jet after jet of seed into her sodden channel, only to seal it inside with his knot.
Fighting against the pulse of glands too tight to deflate.
When he was finally spent, his sack drained and hanging limp between tacky thighs, he tried to purr for her. To show his gratitude for that short and wild ride by producing a frail little warble high in his chest.
She shivered, bearing down. Still clenching. Still riding him, and though he’d begun to soften, he could still feel her glands locked around his knot. Defiantly hard. Filled to the brim with the antidote to so mindless a season.
An antidote he’d failed to extract.
As he met the inky gaze of a female consumed by need, he knew she hadn’t been tamed.
Knew she needed more.
Tears sprang to his eyes, but with a tight swallow, Sickle pushed her off. Withdrawing from her warmth with a sucking pop.
There was nothing for it. The others had to be freed.
His queen needed, and he would provide.
Chapter 16
Eyes bleary, pussy seeded but still aching, she watched the blurry form walk away from her. Leaving her throbbing and hot.
Empty and too full.
“Nooo…” she mewled, trying to crawl after him. Skinning her knees, her palms. Ass swaying as cum and slick spilled from flush, plump lips. Long strings of pearly white reached for the red rock, staining it a deep, murderous red where it dripped and dropped. “Please…please…”
But Sickle ignored her. Walking faster than she could crawl, she watched him approach the other males. The dangerous ones who wouldn’t let her control the pace. Who wouldn’t obey, and couldn’t relate to her on a fundamental level—the way only another Hathorian could.
Sickle abandoned her without a backward glance. A shard of red stone clutched tight in his hand, and even through the fog, she knew what he intended to do. That his loyalties lay with his masters, not his people.
A hiss spattered between her lips, through blunted teeth. Ears pressed flat to her skull, she tried to reverse. To crawl back into her den and hide before it was too late… before she forgot why she should deny the burning need to be stretched out by a thick knot when they were ready and available. Just as needy as her.
“Let us down,” one of the Anhur snarled. Commanding and deep, though she couldn’t tell which had spoken. Hadim or his war chief.
She gushed, hardly understanding the language when Sickle said, “The ropes are… well made.” He cleared his throat. “I-I’m trying, sir.”
And he was.
Blinking lazy and doe-eyed, the female watched Sickle work to saw through the anchor ropes for the first of her three hanging nets. His lips moving in a constant flood of words she could neither hear nor understand.
All she could do was watch. Clenching around nothing—trying to tear her eyes away as the seconds dwindled. Would they let her live after what she’d done? After she’d chosen a Hathorian over them?
Hadim wouldn’t.
Her twisted, fuck-drunk brain could only hope they’d knot her properly before she died. That she might have a few stolen moments of relief before she went into the arms of the Nine.
Cursing, Sickle tried to rush through the last few strands, but it snapped before he finished.
With a startled yelp, a net fell from the trees.
And when she could focus, the girl could see onlyonefigure fighting to get free. Not the Anhur, then, but a hybrid.
He was up before she could lift her head, eyes blazing. Bigger than an Anhur by at least a third, the massive male closed the space between them in three loping strides. He scooped her into his arms without bothering to slow, snarling but a single word. “Konjo.”
