Where he could taste the change unraveling in her blood.
In her the Trax had become something more.
Something new that reeked of potential. Of stable balance.
His eyes flicked back to Sinadim, to the imprint of her teeth set in a half moon high on his shoulder.
And he wondered what she would be, this tiny queen he would keep.
With a grimace, he stood and draped Renegade across Sinadim’s chest—to protect her against the chill of damp stone.
It was a disrespect. To use the other male by paying him no mind. Treated not as a rival, but a pacifier for his mate.
Only when she was settled, did Giaus dare to unpack his own wound. Pulling the prickly lichen from the hole where the spear had been, he caught the scent of fermenting garlic. Sweet and sickly, but not the reek of festering meat.
And there, peeking out from the limit of his vision, the edges already pink and warm with new growth. His mutated body trying to make light of so grievous a wound.
Still, gore spilled over his hip. Sluggish, but pulsing with a surge of fresh blood.
Grinding his molars, Giaus stuffed a wadded bundle of linen into the pocket between his ribs. Trying to stop the bleeding before it pooled inside. One hand pressed to the rough shale, his tail tucked between his cheeks. Sucking tight breaths through thin lips, he replaced the package of healing herbs and laid his palm over the wound.
A tiny sound drew his attention back to his mate.
Pain. Renegade squirming on Sinadim’s chest. One hand kneading at her ribs where a phantom ache throbbed and writhed.
He swallowed, and gleaming amber eyes slid over the curve of her back. Where Sinadim’s only working arm was wrapped around her middle.
Mismatched eyes glared back from the dark, Sinadim roused by the fussing. His brow damp with miserable sweat.
“She can… feel… everything, miner. Mutilate me, if you want to torture… her.”
Lips peeled back, Giaus pushed off the wall. Kneeling at Sinadim’s side, he wrenched that shoulder back into the socket with a squelching crunch, and said, “Speak.”
With a gasp, Sinadim writhed in place.
But it was Renegade who sighed, her brow smoothing out as the source of her discomfort was lessened.
“Tell me everything you know of Hathorian mating bonds,” Giaus grated, and slipped both hands under Sinadim’s armpits. Propping him up against the crumbling shale, before he reclaimed his mate. Sat back against the opposite wall of the prison, his tail tucked as he cradled Renegade against his chest. “Leave nothing out.”
Glaring in the dark, Sinadim merely flexed his fingers. Claws extending and retracting, he tested the function of his repaired shoulder.
But said nothing.
Giaus smirked, taunting. “She means for you to be a general.Mygeneral,” he rasped, voice reedy and faltering. “You spoke once of unity. Of marching side by side as we take vengeance on the Silver City.”
Sinadim’s lip curled. His fingers moving up, to prod at the bloody ring of Hathorian teeth set into his skin.
“I have no interest in the wars of weak males swaddled in luxury,” Giaus drawled. “There is far more to be gained as the ruler of these wild lands. Where the Nine breathe life into their chosen few.”
“Trax,” Sinadim said, and scratched at his claws until they came away wet. “A plague of the unworthy.”
“There are things out here you cannot imagine. Dangers spawned from the ashes of our ancestors, fed by the fools who throw Anhur over the wall.” Giaus’ mane flared. “Fools you know better than any.”
Blinking, Sinadim slung one arm over his knee, and said, “Make your offer, miner.”
“An alternate proposal,” Giaus hummed, his smirk a wicked thing. “One that puts you second only to me.”
“A general.”
