She cowered beneath the bulk of a male who outweighed her by easily six-fold, crying out with each desperate clash of pounding flesh. Eyes almost black, ears pressed flat, she squealed as Konjo worked that tight sheath with a knot that couldn’t give her relief.
She surprised him, then. With one foot braced on slick, red rock, she huffed, arched, then flipped them both. Going so far as to wrap dainty fingers about Konjo’s throat, dominating the massive hybrid as she tried to take what she needed. Her hips working in a furious blur as she rode another sticky load from the downed male.
Gasping, she scrambled free. Dripping. Shivering, a copious flood of cream gushed from her soiled channel, both male and female. None of it Anhur.
A fragile, tormented sound ripped free of her throat. A raw sound that made Balkazar’s hackles rise where they were trapped against his Alpha’s chest.
But instead of running, she stumbled to an unsteady stop a few feet away, swaying. Brow creased, she stood scratching at a spot on her jawline. Hugging her ribs and shivering.
Confused and still needy, the poor girl.
Desperate to sink his knot into that messy cunt, the war chief squirmed, setting the Alpha off when he snarled, “Sickle!Now!”
“It’s almost—there!” the boy cried, leaping back as the rope snapped at last. Whistling as it whipped through the air.
Nothing happened.
No sudden drop, no breathtakingthump…or…at least not for the Anhur males.
Behind him, Keever and Micah crashed into the earth, howling and snapping at each other. Thrashing against the net’s weight.
“Sickle, what thefuck?” the Alpha bellowed, trying to strain away from the wet spot spreading on Balkazar’s hip. To reach the girl before the others left her a twitching ruin.
Keever got free first.
“Don’t youdare!” Balkazar hissed at the new recruit, trying again to tear his way free until blood dripped to the ground below. “Touch that bitch, and I will turn your marrow into soup, you ungrateful mongrel!”
For the first time since the hybrids had joined the pack, the war chief went ignored.
Sprinting flat out, Keever bellowed a challenge in the girl’s face.
She managed to take a full step back before her knees went liquid. Before she melted and was caught, slung over a broad, dense shoulder, and spirited away.
“Sickle!” the Alpha bellowed, breath trembling on Balkazar’s nape. Dominance shimmering in the air all around him. “Find that fucking anchor, or—”
“There’s none left!” the boy cried, edging back from where Micah thrashed in the fallen net. “I cut both ropes already! And… and I can’t see—I don’t know where to look!”
Balkazar craned his neck back, tracing the inky black rope where it snaked through the foliage. It was there, in the sharp, zagging lines in the trees above. The fragmented mind of a female in the thrall of a natural season.
“Well,that’sinconvenient,” the war chief said, spotting their anchor at last—forty-five feet above unforgiving, rock-hard ground.
Following his gaze, Sickle paused, then said, “That clever minx,” in a quiet, breathy tone under his breath. And then, “I’ll climb for it, Balkazar. I’m sor—”
“No.” Balkazar shifted, eyes flicking toward Keever’s back. Watching as the Beta male sprinted toward the bubbling hot spring, then tossed the girl in. “It’s a foolish risk.” And one she was going to be punished for taking. Harshly. “Konjo!” he barked, and the freshly fucked hybrid flinched. Having the sense to look contrite, even as he struggled to tuck his thick, messy cock back into his leathers. “Get over here and boost Sickle up.”
The Hathorian male shifted on the balls of his feet. Brow damp with anxious sweat. “Why?”
“Because—”
At the pool, the girl screamed then went silent. Keever scouring her fragile body of his pack brother’s leavings, dunking her head under the water’s surface in his haste.
An instant later, Micah was free of the netting. Muscles heaving, his hackles up. Dark eyes fixed to the spot where Keever had forced her to bend, sending a thick cock sluicing through delicate folds.
And Balkazar relaxed, grateful for the gentle, dark-skinned giant—no matter the urge to rut, Micah would not allow her to be harmed, much less drowned.
Despite the interruption and the demand throbbing in his pants, the war chief returned his eyes to Sickle. Dangerous and glittering—a solemn vow of retribution. “You’re going to cut us free.”
Chapter 18
