Traumatized.
Those enticing black eyes bloodshot and glassy. Where she had been slathered in his scent, she now reeked of dread. The aroma of slick second to a female in need of defending.
His female.
Snarling, he shook the male who’d damaged her. The beast whose belt was, even now, wrapped about her throat. Who’d left her bleeding and scraped raw without the benefit of a taming hunt to make those wounds worthy of display.
He would suffer before he died.
A fragile, painful cough dragged his attention away from the looming bloodshed, to the place where his mate struggled back to consciousness.
The hunter spun, dragging the other male across the stone. The lava-kin burns on his skin pulling with every step, throbbing with the need to be tended. But not before he claimed his mate atop her aggressor’s battered corpse.
Flailing, she tried to scramble back only to slip. Her body landing with a soft thump that nevertheless made her squeak in pain. Made his heart lurch at the thought of her fine bones broken beneath all that pale skin.
He knelt before her, the other male still thrashing where he was caught between the hunter’s claws, back thumping against stone as he fought for breath. Kept out of sight of the female quivering at his feet. Discrete, so she might be soothed without being confronted.
“No!” she hissed, ears pressed flat. Lips curled back, inky eyes rimmed in white.
Adorable.
He caught the end of the belt with his free hand. Hooked it with the underside of ruined claws and used the leverage to tug her closer, despite her screeching for help. Tugging the thing loose with gentle, confident pulls that caused her more pain despite his best efforts.
When it slithered free, he snarled at what he found hidden beneath leather.
Purple, framed top and bottom by blood-red lines where her skin was broken under the surface. The growl that rattled free was a tempest. A building storm over which he had no control. It spelled catastrophe for any foolish enough to stand against him. Annihilation for the male stupid enough to invoke this storm and hope to survive.
Wide black eyes searching his face, she went white. Tinged with green as she stared up at him. A destitute creature with nothing, she looked upon him as if she saw a bastard son of the Nine. Paralyzed, unable to look away, her ears went slack. Flat, but not pinned back.
Wetness touched his knee where he knelt, prostrate before a tiny queen.
Urine.
Hathorian piss.
His mate had lost her bladder at the mere existence of his temper. Overwrought by the sight of the one male who should have brought her comfort.
Frustrated, the hunter roared, misting her in spittle. Venting the cyclone before it consumed him, he watched her eyes roll back. Watched her slender body slump where she sat, succumbing to unconsciousness once more.
But he was far from finished.
There was punishment to be dealt. An outlet to be used.
He dragged the other Anhur to his side. Set the villain’s cheek and nose into that tiny, warm puddle, and ground him into the stone before wrenching his arms back. Looped the belt about his wrists, another loop sent to encircle his throat, and hogtied him so he might see how one was meant to treat a creature as precious as this. So the hunter couldshowhim how to handle a Hathorian—a lesson, before he was sent to the Nine for judgment.
In pieces.
Standing, the hunter sent a savage blow rocketing into the other’s ribs. A kick that echoed with the pleasing sound of cracking bone and a pained yelp that squeaked between clenched teeth.
And then, careful not to bruise his female, the hunter gathered her slack body. Held her close to his chest and folded her limbs so she might fit into the crook of his arm. Beneath his chin. Her hip notched between the hard slabs of his pectorals, he didn’t waste a moment on disgust for the wetness spreading against his forearm.
He pressed his lips to her hair, and breathed her in.
Tongue darting out, he tasted what the Nine had given him. There were tears, yes. But he hummed at the salty bite of sweat honestly earned, the taming hunt run admirablybecauseof the way she’d ended it. On her terms.
Turning, the hunter stooped to wrap his free hand around a narrow strip of leather, then stood. Dragging his prisoner as he stepped into the sunlight. Without so much as bothering to tear his gaze from the delicate slope of a perfect face, he lifted the other male and strode toward the wood. Seeking shelter from ravenous eyes, he left the scavengers to the fire-kin’s carcass still smoking in the morning light.
A prize he would have dressed and stored, if he hadn’t a far greater trophy to attend.
