Taking care, his claws retracted, Giaus slipped one meaty palm between them. Circling his knot with forefinger and thumb, only to squash the last of his vigor. Working it back without breaking eye contact with the prince, all it took was a gentle tug and he was released from that perfect cage of Hathorian muscle.
“Unngh,” Renegade grunted, pussy lips clinging to his shaft. Sucking and pulling as Giaus forced their uncoupling, working to compress that balloon of flesh and leave her intact. Unharmed.
Just as Sinadim knew he would.
But the prince grinned through the jealousy, the hurt, for there was a greater prize to be won. A Sultan could have his pick of bitches equal to this one renegade female.
She was nothing that couldn’t be replaced a thousand times over.
Giaus’ cock sprang free amid a gushing torrent of sperm, his girth in one fist, the other pressed to the earth. Seeking balance while Renegade was left to clutch at the hold he’d vacated.
Abandoned in a heap of twitching, overwrought limbs beside Sickle. Tiny hands clasped between her thighs, over her mound. Palms cupped to catch the overflow, twitching as if wracked by persistent aftershocks from such a thorough breeding. A soft, dazed smile tracing bruised lips, she was pulled into Sickle’s arms. Head lolling. Senseless.
That sight—a well-fucked Hathorian trying to plug her perfect, seeded quim—drew a quiet snarl from Sinadim’s throat. His sack growing tight with the rut still thick in his own blood. The memories of his harem setting his blood alight with cravings for a taste of slick…
And the anticipation. So sweet… so close…
But the prince swallowed it down behind clenched teeth, kept his mane flat and submissive as Giaus struggled to right himself.
Heedless of the spear lodged between his ribs, the giant turned and brought Balkazar with him. Mane standing on end, though he held no fighting stance, he grinned. Gleaming, feral eyes alight with an eerie intelligence.
And then, arms spread to display an impressive wingspan, Giaus’ head listed to the left, rattling breath the only indication of pain from his many injuries. “Make your offer,prince,” he spat, and it was a command spoken in a clear voice, absent any hint of corruption.
Hand outstretched, Sinadim’s lips curled around a smile. “Join us. Sire as many hybrids on the girl as she can produce, and march at my side as we take the Silver City.”
Teeth flashed in the soft light. “An intriguing offer,” Giaus said, mirth thick in that deep rumble. “But tell me,” the giant drawled, his claws pocked with the evidence of hard battle, “what doyouknow of the wilds?”
Mane shivering as it stood on end, Sinadim stepped back when Micha’s heavy palm landed on his shoulder. Urging caution. “We’ve survived, miner, and without succumbing to the Trax.”
Head thrown back, Giaus laughed. Towering above them, one hand on his hip. The other dangling loose at his side, where the spear threatened his life. “You scrape by in a place that kneels tome, prince. Weak, mutilated males that couldn’t hold a single tiny female. I’ve taken all you had,” Giaus said, flicking his claws at Renegade, “and now I find myself wanting…more.”
Sinadim swallowed. Employing his diplomacy to stop a bloodbath, he clung to the bluff as if it might stand between he and a true son of the Nine. “This isn’t a negotiation.”
“No.” Giaus hummed, then said, “It’s an ultimatum.”
“And if we refuse?” Sinadim asked, claws dimpling slick palms.
Giaus shrugged. “There is no place for weakness in my kingdom. Submit or die.”
At this, Balkazar snarled and moved to skewer the giant.
A strangled grunt died between Giaus’ molars, but he merely reached. Stretching one long arm toward the war chief—then tossed him aside like so much trash. Pupils narrowed to specks of seething fury, Giaus stepped between the pack and the Hathorians huddled together in his shadow.
And beckoned.
Inviting the pack to do their best.
Staring into the cleansing flames of the Nine, Sinadim knew.
He’d killed them all. Tipped them outside the balance, and sacrificed the whole pack for pride.
Too stupid to abandon his bravery or his duty to the Karahmet bloodline, Balkazar lunged again. A war cry shattered the hush, Balkazar feinting and weaving.
Giaus laughed, swung one mighty fist, and sent the war chief crashing to the earth once more. Dazed, now. Blood oozing from his ears, clawing at the dirt in a bid to regain his feet.
“Kneel,” Giaus said as if he hadn’t been interrupted, forcing the syllable through his teeth. “Submit now, to me, and you’ll be given a place of honor in the new world order. Gifts beyond your wildest imagining. A place—”
Sickle.
