But, desperate and unable to do anything at all, Giaus’ back was left exposed. Vulnerable and wounded.
The illusion of easy prey, Sinadim knew, for even wounded, this beast was no easy kill.
Driving the tip of a spear between his ribs had been enough to create a stalemate, but little else. The titan forced to his knees, and yet, Sickle’s throat was still caught in a cage of claws. Choking as his face began to purple.
“Giaus!” the prince shouted, and stepped from the gloom. Intervening before Balkazar ruined everything. Before Sickle’s throat was torn free of its moorings, and Renegade was ripped apart between warring males. His every ounce of focus spent on this one task, a hint of the sweetest victory teasing his senses. Fixated on Sickle, who clawed and fought for a single breath.
After all… a dead Hathorian was a useless one.
“Giaus!” Sinadim called again, his palms raised.
Wicked, gleaming amber eyes slid over Giaus’ shoulder and that breathtaking, insolent glare shifted instead to the prince. Halting Sinadim in his tracks, for it showed nothing of the pain of being impaled, that Giaus feared the pack of jilted males thirsty for the taste of feral blood. Indifferent to being cornered… wounded, a handicap wrapped snug around his dick. No, the titan appeared utterly unconcerned, merely caught in a moment of weakness and waiting for the tension to peak.
For his moment to strike.
And then the prince saw the mark laid down by Hathorian teeth in a new lightnottarnished by petty jealousy. His vision cleared of the rut and the lure of an easy victory, he saw through the eyes of a former heir to the Karahmet throne. One who’d been exiled and maimed, who knew what it was to live outside the law.
He saw leverage.
Given by a lowly Hathorian female.
In hunched shoulders and gentle hands, Sinadim found the authority of rule over a beast equal parts divine protector and merciless killer.
A male held at the end of a blade, prisoner to the knot locked fast behind a delicate pelvic bone—a seal easy enough to break…if one held no regard for the female’s health.
It was Sinadim’s turn to grin.
Hands splayed in a bid for diplomacy, the prince said, “She’s a treasure, our little Renegade.” He took a step closer despite the warning rumble issued from between clenched teeth. “Her bloodlines are pristine. A rare prize many would kill to claim, out here in the beyond,” Sinadim continued as the pack circled. Inching ever closer… tightening the noose, their hands laden with thick branches with splintered ends. Ignoring the way Sickle’s eyes bulged, Sinadim offered, “And if you let the boy go, you can keep her.”
Head thrown back, Giaus coughed up a barking laugh. Mirth echoing through a voice so deep, it made Renegade quake, her slick gushing where she was sealed tight.
And then he pulled back enough to make Renegade’s pussy blanch white around his knot. Tail held in an arrogant arch, his song became a possessive snarl that commanded his need.
“Giaus—hnngh—” A muffled squeal rolled off her tongue as he pressed back inside, nailing her to the boulder. His knot keeping her drugged and sedate. Compliant while the males decided her future.
Sickle thrashed, spittle bubbling on his bottom lip. Ears laid back, a desperate scowl mutilating the elegance of his tattoos.
And then Giaus caught her chin, mocking and cruel. “Keep her?” he asked, and tilted her face toward Sinadim with lips spread over a feral grin. “She’s already mine.”
“A prince commands you to yield!” Balkazar snarled. Adjusting his grip on the spear, shifting it as if he meant to saw through gristle. “Put the boy down, you insolent cur!”
But still, Giaus refused.
Seething with contempt, forehead spotted with the only hint of what must be an intense agony, Giaus’ glare only narrowed. His claws prickling Sickle’s throat until the skin grew dimpled and white, Renegade tucked beneath his chin.
Eyes speckled with red dots of burst blood vessels, Sickle coughed, his face swollen. Knuckles white where he tried to peel Giaus’ fingers away from his throat and draw breath.
Edging closer, Sinadim pulled air in through his nose. “You’re surrounded. We’ve won,” he said, and saw the haughty disinterest. A male deep in the rut, who refused the call to do battle. Whose burly arms only tightened around the prize he’d stolen, no matter the spear or the pack. That he was outnumbered and grievously wounded.
The prince stopped, just out of reach. “In return for such a gift, I seek an alliance. That you join us, brother, and one day turn your might on the Silver City.”
Falling silent, for a moment, Giaus did nothing but stare through a slitted glare. A heady indicator that the beast might be reasoned with. A deal struck. A powerful ally earned… the likes of which Hadim couldn’t begin to comprehend…
Sickle’s thrashing grew weaker.
And then Giaus issued a guttural chuff, the sound swallowed by a gravely laugh as he let the boy fall with a thump. Forgotten, gasping and coughing.
His glorious black tail flicked once, hips rolling back enough that Sinadim could see where Renegade’s cunt had gone white around a weakening knot that wouldn’t hold him prisoner much longer. Sealed by a true son of the Nine, her eyelashes fluttered. Lips parting on a gasp that ended on a hiccup.
