Beloved blue eyes rolling. Lurching. Left one twitching as it stuttered in the socket. A garish, fleshy mask slid over the kind face she’d loved, now forever still. Fucking hideous and wrong. A mask that sagged, smiling around a gaping, sucking maw…
Head spinning, she yelped. Ears lying flat, teeth bared. Clenched. Adrenaline flooded her system, every wild thrash of her heart inching her closer to flat-out panic. Her vision split between reality and horror.
Fetid breath misted her cheeks, fleshy jowls quivering above her as the beast wearing a beloved mask became lost to the rut. Grunting as it speared into her guts, it burbled up red foam that reeked of spoiled seed. Long strings of drool reaching for her face… her lips. Alive and wriggling, trying to worm down her throat… to burrow into her womb…
Pupils blown out, she reacted. Pure instinct fueled by unresolved terror, giving her strength she’d never had. Strength she wouldn’t remember the instant it faded and burned out. With one foot planted on red rocks, she bucked beneath him. Lithe and deceptively strong, she forced that living nightmare to roll then settled astride it, balanced on a spear of throbbing power. Her left knee trapped in a massive hand, the other braced against a thick, sweat-slicked chest.
Scrubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm, she tried to banish the repulsive thing beneath her, then dared a peek.
Still grinning, the grotesque creature writhed between her hips. Thrashed and bucked until its head struck the earth with a hollow thud. Her own hand flashed out, claws sunk into waxy dead flesh. Pulling the meat apart with hardly any effort, her fingers coming away sticky with unspeakable gore. And there, where the voice box should have been, thick arteries and veins spraying clotted jam that never stopped gushing… Through it all, the beast laughed as it fucked her from below. Dealt a mortal blow, and still battering her cervix harder than the savage grip bruising her hips… Still denying her a knot…
Using everything she’d ever learned beneath Hadim’s pounding hips, she again squeezed her eyes shut. Blocking out the ghastly creature making a mess between her thighs. Tears streaking down flushed and dirty cheeks, she flexed her pelvic floor. Trembling with the effort to crush that slimy shaft with an insufficient knot, to capture it in the tight band of swollen tissue it couldn’t compress.
HerBiqueaglands cinched tight and held fast, drawing an inelegant squawk from the thing trying to force dead sperm into her womb. A pitiful yelp that enticed her to look once more, even as she redoubled her efforts to sheer that prick in half and expel his invasion.
Rattling, the eyes behind the mask went glassy. Pupils expanding to claim slow millimeters of watery blue, until the empty husk of rotting meat simply… melted away as if it never really were in the first place…
She blinked, squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and didn’t stop until she could hear the rushing flood of effort pounding at her ear drums. “Not… not real,” she mumbled, shivering with fever. A confusing blend of heated need keeping her skewered where she was. “Not real, not real, not—”
A distinctly male voice rumbled beneath her, groaning as rough fingers clutched at her hip with firm, yet tender fingers. “Feels real enough to me. Don’t stop. So—ugh—fucking tight.”
Her eyes snapped open and she met the lust-damp gaze of the male she had trapped between her knees…
Konjo. His eyes not the haunting, watery blue of a dead matron, but a stark mossy hazel. Throat undamaged, very much alive, and on the verge of spilling his seed for the second time.
Not a wound in sight.
Chapter 17
Seething, Balkazar’s chest vibrated with a near-constant growl. Outraged. Incensed beyond anything he’d ever known or felt, for he’d beendenied. Unable to claim the privilege being Anhur afforded them, he and his Alpha had been made to watch the others breed their bitch. Dangling above the action. Helpless to intercede.
The net itself was outlandishly well-made. Tarred to seal the rope fibers, baked in the sun to make touching it an excruciating, prickly nightmare. Across his exposed skin, it had already left bright red lines of irritation. His palms were raw and bleeding, and no matter how hard he’d tried, Balkazar had been completely unable to break the sticky, criss-crossing ropes.
And then, just to wallow in the insult, the prince had lost his head and fucking marked him. An AnhurAlpha, lost to the rut with only a taste of the honey that lay between that girl’s thighs.
Balkazar’s nape throbbed, oozing where his Alpha had bitten him—though indeed, the war chief had returned the favor as best he could. Teeth stained with gore, he’d left his Alpha’s throat and bicep dotted with the imprint of his incisors.
One brother turned against the other by a tiny slip of a girl.
A lowly Hathorian breeder completely swallowed up by her instincts, and she’d trapped them all without so much as bothering to gloat.
Choking on fury, Balkazar jerked when she cried out. Unable to look away from pale, flushed skin or the sinuous curve of her spine as it flexed and bowed. Breath hissing through clenched teeth, he exhaled a snarl when yet another orgasm was wrung from her slight body. An orgasm he was unable to feel wrapped snug around his cock, pulsing and teasing at his knot until it bloomed.
Despite his temper, the war chief was unable to blink. Attention riveted to the lewd scene below. Soaking his leathers with the steady drip of precum, he undulated in time with the rocking of her hips.
At his back, the twitch of the Alpha’s cock pressing against his spine, damp where they’d been unable to turn away from each other no matter how hard they fought the netting.
“Sickle,” he snapped, making the slender male flinch on the red rock below. “Get that fucking anchor cut.”
“I’m”—Sickle took a gasping breath, fumbling the make-shift blade with shaking fingers—“I’m trying! Almost there…”
The crackle of snapping rope fibers serenaded his ears, Balkazar’s every muscle going tense in preparation for the drop to the earth. To separate him from his Alpha before things became decidedly more… uncomfortable.
A scream teased at his senses, the high-pitched wail of a female who needed to take a knot and was being denied. Bred to be desperate for it.
Forhim.
Even if she didn’t know it.
