Humming, Balkazar let the boy feel it when his cock lurched. “You don’t have to die to bleed for me…”
“Right here?” Sickle asked, squirming against the war chief’s chest. “That’s your brilliant plan? Where everyone can hear? Sinadim might be a bastard,” Sickle snarled, “but he won’t let you do this.”
“Ah, so you don’t know, then. What the prince has planned for you.” Balkazar laughed, breathless. Heat pooling low in his groin, where he was pressed against something softer than him. “You’re going to do your duty to the pack, boy. The instant Renegade shits out her first litter of monstrosities, you’ll get your crack at her womb. Your precious little queen,” he spat, and shook with a ripple of cruel laughter. “She’ll never be yours, but maybe you’ll be permitted to mate one of her offspring.”
Sickle thrashed. “That’ssick—”
“I should throw you into the pit and let you get a head start on your new duties. And really,” he whispered, “you should be grateful.” A growl rumbled up, vibrating against Sickle’s nape, and Balkazar couldn’t help but grind against the smaller male’s ass. His cock lurching at the taboo thrill. Ripe and bloated with the flush of dominance over another male. “It’s the ultimate rush, to breed one of those whores. They take to it so easily. Beg before they scream. And we have a matching set.” Pressing closer, Balkazar felt a gush of fluid ooze from his slit, his forehead damp with a cold sheen as he mimed fucking Sickle into the stone. “The ability to breed…more…”
Planting his knuckles on the stone before him, Sickle snarled. “Then I guess I’ve got what you’ve always wanted, huh?” He laughed despite the way his fist clenched, the stink of fear rising up between them. “A purpose.”
Something malignant plucked at Balkazar’s heart, and he stilled. Shivered in the warm breeze.
“Go ahead,” Sickle spat, and pushed back. Arching his spine, he ground himself against Balkazar’s dick as if bracing to be mounted. “Do what you came down here to do. Find out if I take it as easily as Renegade can, but I’m going tofuckingruin you for it.”
At this Balkazar laughed, his left hand wandering the length of Sickle’s torso. Claws scoring his hip, he pressed his teeth against the fuzz of the boy’s ear, and said, “Feels like I’m the one set up to do the ruining, boy.”
“Oh, so you don’t know then?” Sickle hissed, clawing at Balkazar’s forearm. “What I know. What I saw you do when you thought no one else was watching.” Voice cracking, Sickle coughed up a bark of brittle laughter that stank of terror. “I wasthere,war chief. Saw that feral piece of shit rub cum and slick on your lips, and I saw you lick yourself clean like the helpless little whore you are.”
Ice flooded Balkazar’s veins. A wash of cold realization that settled deep in his gut.
“I waited because I had hope,” Sickle said, “that the virus doesn’t spread through fluids, but you’re sweating. Sniffling and hot. You’re sick, Balkazar.Infected, and maybe that meansyoushould be the one at the bottom of that pit. But for some reason, I doubt Giaus will have much tolerance for the bastard who was so awful to his mate. Andthat,” Sickle said, gaining confidence with every syllable that crossed his pointed teeth, “is what we call leverage.”
For a moment, the war chief merely lay atop the other male. His erection going limp, soft and harmless against the curve of Sickle’s bare cheeks. And then, “I’m going to enjoy throttling the insolence out of you.”
“Except you won’t,” Sickle returned, low and taunting. “You need permission to kill me, because you’re every bit the slave I was, aren’t you? Can’t make a move without Sinadim’s approval, but I have worth in this feral court. Apurpose, even if it’s heinous. But you?” he chuckled, one eye sliding back to watch the war chief with a wicked gleam. “You are obsolete. Expendable, just as you’ve always been. In service to the Silver City or not, you’re a relic who can’t adapt. So get off me, you worthless sack of sewage.”
Seething, his mane stiff where it stood on end, Balkazar shivered despite the heat pulsing beneath his skin. Sniffled when a drop of snot ran down his nose and was sucked into the back of his throat.
And then he shifted enough that the little Hathorian male scrambled free of his clutches. Sat back on his haunches, watching. His eyes aching in a way that might not have come from a beating, but from something far moreinsidious…
Sickle paused to snatch up his clothing. Unable to hide the tremor that ran through his limbs when he jerked his pants over slender legs. His hands clumsy in his haste.
But before he returned to the safety of pack, he paused, glanced back over his shoulder, and said, “I don’t know what’s happening out here, in this place where the Nine seem to manifest in the shadows. Don’t know how Giaus has done the things he’s done, but I do know a beast like that won’t be down for long. There’s change on the wind, Balkazar. We can all feel it.” Sickle shrugged, then. Adjusting the collar of his jacket, he ran inked fingers through his mousy brown hair. “There’s a new kingdom rising in the wild, and there’s no room for relics that can’t adapt.”
Balkazar didn’t move for a long time after that, didn’t so much as watch him leave. His back to the distant flames, he sat and watched the river slide by. Head throbbing. Growing worse with every beat of his heart, until even the dancing light of the moons was enough to make every blink a painful chore.
And then, tracing swirling designs on red rock while the ache in his kidneys grew sinister, Balkazar smiled.
For Sickle was right.
Change was on the wind.
And from the ashes, Balkazar would see a new ruler rise to take the throne…
19
Confined in a deep, dank pit with his mate, Giaus watched her pace. One leg bent at the hip to protect his ribs, the other was stretched out before him, long enough that his toes nearly touched the opposite wall. Forearm balanced on the point of his knee, his wrist left to dangle—the illusion one of restful ease. That he was unconcerned, while his other forearm was tucked between his belly and the top of his thigh. Hidden from sight, wrapped tight around his middle. Long fingers prodding the bandages dressing his wound.
Assessing the peculiar gesture. That this bizarre pack of misfits would waste their precious medical supplies on a competitor they should have killed.
Lost in thought, Giaus remained still, but for the easy slide of his eyes.
Tracking his mate’s every furious movement as she stomped from one end of their dreary prison only to turn and skate back down the gentle slope to the other side.
The pit was deep.
Floor an uneven slant.
