Before the Alpha might even notice he’d come, Sickle was gone. Moving not to the lie of protection with his brothers, he veered left and found a ledge. A few crumbling handholds and a footing wide enough for him to haul himself off the ground. Spidering up, he climbed hand over fist. The muscles beneath his ink twisting and bunching as he scrambled up. Still favoring the hurt in his knee and hip, using that leg as little as he could, he climbed until the ledge grew wide enough to bear his weight.
An outcropping too slim and fragile for any of the Anhur to follow, he turned and worked with his back pressed to the sheer face of red stone. Pack slung over his shoulder, he inched along until he claimed an outcropping not visible from the clearing below.
Trembling and in pain, soaked in a cold sweat, he sat. Let his head fall back where it thumped against the cliff face.
It was quiet.
Peaceful in a way Sickle had never known before, almost… uncomfortable in the hush. A thing he didn’t know and couldn’t name. But for the first time in working memory, he took a breath that wasn’t saturated with the stink of Anhur pheromones. The scent of smoke a teasing hint where it was thinned by the breeze.
This was a place to think without being made to choke on the tensions rising between Anhur. On the horrors Balkazar had whispered in the dark. Hints that his future was bleak and dreary, that brotherhood amongst this pack born in the wilds was an illusion.
That he’d been afoolfor thinking otherwise.
Sickle’s ears flicked back, teeth bared, his brow bunching over a scowl.
To think… what the prince meant to do him. To Renegade and any children she might bear… that he might be forced to set his claiming mark on the nape of his own—
Bile splashed against the back of his throat in a rush that surprised even him. And, turning just in time to avoid coating himself in sick, Sickle vomited a streak of sickly yellow that was dark against the red stone.
Heaving until his ears popped, he gagged and coughed. Ears drooping as he shivered on his quiet ledge.
“Fuck.” He spat. Swiped at his lips with the back of one trembling hand, and spat again to free himself of that putrid aftertaste. His teeth coated with a layer of tacky filth that begged for a sip of water. For him to descend from his lofty perch and slake his thirst in the river.
But he resisted.
Unpacking his medical supplies, the slender male went to work. Laying out a strip of salvaged linen boiled clean, he smeared a spoonful of honey across the fabric. Spread thin, it was tacky enough to make a sprinkle of ground lichen stick. Enough to hold the assortment of various herbs topped with a fine layer of garlic sliced thin as he’d been able to manage.
And then, sucking a bracing breath through the points of his teeth, Sickle slapped it cold against his nape. Pressing it deep, he worked the poultice into the gaps between split flesh and ignored that it ached worse than the wounds themselves.
When the burning stopped, he selected another strip of sterile cloth and sealed the whole mess under it. Tied it off with a knot that sat at the base of his throat, then turned his gaze to overlook the camp.
To the place where Renegade had set her trap.
Where it had all gone so terribly wrong, and could only get worse.
He swallowed, head thumping against stone. Forearms braced over knees, he ignored the way his tail stump ached and throbbed.
She was lost.
Beyond all hope of rescue.
Bonded to a life-mate who would never return such a gift. Her undivided devotion meant for aHathorianmale. Not this… creature spawned by the Nine. A true juggernaut who could take as many females as he could entertain and never feel an instant of the ruin he would lay on Renegade’s heart.
It was the Anhur way.
A polyamorous species who didn’t form lifelong bonds.
And Giaus was the most gifted Sickle had ever seen—inside the Silver City and outside it. Such a beast could surely entertain a harem twice the size of Sinadim’s. One the Sultans themselves would envy.
If the Trax didn’t kill her, Renegade wouldwither.
Her enchanting fires extinguished in a bond that couldn’t flourish.
Choking on the anguish, Sickle swallowed. Fighting not to think of that tiny, fierce queen locked away with the horrid beast she’d honored with her most precious gift.
Vulnerable and alone.
Sick.
