“Blehhh,” she hissed. Gooseflesh pimpling every centimeter of her chilled flesh, she shuddered with disgust. “I’ll never get used to that taste.”
Rather than respond, the matron placed a soft hand on the girl’s cheek. Eyes glistening with emotion. The unspoken sentiment shimmering in milky blue eyes that had faded with age.
Chin dipping, the girl tore her gaze away. Unable to stand the attention, yet grateful all the same. Cherished by her, if no one else.
“Darling”—the matron coughed—“There’s something you must understand—”
“Fires of Tor, it’s dank and dreary down here!” came the very last voice either Hathorian had expected to hear down in the Harem. “Torches gone out, filth in every corner. I’m going to murder that husband of mine.”
Going pale, the matron snatched the empty mug from the girl’s fingers and tossed it into the spring. Having only enough time to assume an appropriate pose before Samina herself was standing in the grotto in all her pregnant, Anhur glory. “Mistress, we weren’t expecting you. I—you must forgive our lack of preparation.”
Samina waved her off. “Nonsense, Omega. How could you have known my husband would be such a colossal ass over so insignificant an error?” She smiled, hands laid over the swell of her distended belly. “I’ve come to collect the girl. Hadim was rash and cruel to punish her so.” Her smile grew sly when she added, “And I was looking forward to a peaceful night with the bed to myself. Come along, girl. Hadim will take care of you because I demand it.”
Humbled and in awe, the girl moved to obey. Heedless of the now sheer garment clinging to her nudity, she rose from the bathing pool. Knowing that Samina had seen her in a far more compromising state than she was now. As if in a daze, she went to the Anhur queen. Eager for the burning pain to stop, to be knotted and subdued by Hadim—and by his wife’s royal decree, no less.
Blushing to the roots of her pitch-black hair, the girl exhaled a held breath, then said, “Thank you, mistress.”
Samina went still, utterly so. Her nostrils flaring wide as she took in the Hathorian’s scent, pupils narrow pricks of suspicion. “What is that? What do I smell on your breath?”
The matron fluttered, her hands twisting restless knots in her skirts. “What smell, mistress? I—”
One hand landing over her belly, Samina took the young Omega by the throat. Pulled her in close, and pressed her nose to against trembling lips. “Breathe,” she commanded, loosening her grip.
Tail tucked, ears flat, the girl obeyed without question. A reflex she couldn’t help.
It was all Samina needed.
In an instant, her demeanor turned from one of camaraderie to that of a hardened warrior. Stinking of a gravid female protecting her young, Samina’s skin grew damp with a fine sheen of sweat. Her tail standing high and proud to broadcast her rage. “Yarrow root. Youdareto consume that vile filth?Here?”
With a pained cry, the matron threw herself at Samina’s feet. “She didn’t know, mistress! It was all me!”
For a moment, Samina’s fingers tightened to the point of pain, making the caught Omega splutter and gag around that clenching grip. And then she threw her to the ground at the matron’s side and turned toward the tidy garden at the heart of the grotto. Pausing only long enough to kick over the clay teapot simmering over coals. The expression etched into her proud face was a thing of horrific beauty, the renowned warrior making herself known to the females cowering in the dirt.
With a grunt and only one hand, Samina uprooted the bench, leaving one of the legs mangled and bent before moving on to the rare evenwood tree that needed no sunlight to bloom. Leaving destruction in her wake as she searched for the forbidden flower with its poisonous roots. “Where is it?” she hissed, turning a fearsome glare down the length of her nose.
The matron pointed, soft flesh beneath her arm trembling. Cringing, her ears flicking forward and back a clear sign of her agitation.
And when Samina pulled up the indicated plant in an incriminating shower of dirt, she spun. Her eyes blazing when she snarled, “Up.Now!”
Scrambling, the Hathorians did as commanded. Eyes downcast.
“Explain,” Samina spat, hurling the Yarrow at their feet.
“It—it was my idea,” the matron said again, stammering. Reeking of terrified submission. “I just wanted to give her a few… a few years before she bore Hadim’s sons, mistress. A few years without the heartbreak of having a suckling torn from her breast! That’s it!”
Samina let out a hissing breath. “Oh, is that it? You eat our food. Enjoy a pampered life bred to a fucking prince, and you dare to insult us by feeding her Yarrow root tea?”
The matron cringed, tail winding tighter between her legs. Ears nearly hidden beneath wiry gray hair. “Only during her heat, mistress, I swear it! She hasn’t lost a single litter because they hadn’t the chance to implant!”
“Oh, what a comfort to learn you’ve only been rendering a healthy young breeder infertile!” Samina laughed, incensed. Faster than either Hathoriancould react, her hand flashed out and caught the matron by her fleshy upper arm. Stooping until their faces were a few centimeters apart. “Where did you get it, hmm?”
Speechless, the matron’s lips parted on a breathless squeak.
“Was it Ahmelek?” Samina asked, deceptively quiet. Taking deep breaths of the matron’s scent, her pupils expanding to swallow every last speck of color in her beautiful eyes. A predator readying for a hunt.
The matron could only nod, her fleshy jowls quivering and pale.
“Good,” Samina hissed. “I’m going to slaughter that little shit myself.”
