The mere sight of her—there in the flesh, alive and whole—all but sent Sinadim into a savage rut. Laces already pulled loose, his cock already exposed, he shuddered as he stared. Unblinking. His eyes growing dry, he swallowed and this time it was sour.
A warning.
Throat parched in such a way that could only be soothed byonething, Sinadim lifted one trembling hand and clawed at his face. At the wounds left by his father, scratching until his fingers came away wet.
She was his punishment, this girl. An illusion that couldn’t be trusted, one that still wore his father’s mark. He’d seen it etched in an elegant line down her back. The twisting script of her lineage written for all to see.
A brand of ownership, the mark of her worth.
Shivering, his mane bristled. Pupils blown wide only to shrink down to tiny pricks of feverish madness.
There’d be no mercy for the unworthy. The infected…
She was infected—he’d seen it. Those desolate cries still echoed in his ears, and with every blink he could see the way she’d begun to fester. Rotting from the inside out…
Sinadim tore his bleary gaze away from the girl, head spinning with confusion and desperate need, for he might have spared her this final indignity. It was his duty.
Grant no mercy…
But what would it hurt if he had just a taste?
A quick, stolen gulp of ambrosia before the girl ran dry. Before she went out of season and left him in the crippling pain of withdrawal with no harem to supplement the lack.
Before she succumbed, and the spears began to fall…
Scratching at his face, Sinadim let his head fall back to thump against a rough-hewn wall. Dizzy, his vision began to blur, dancing with a spectacular array of color and shapes that crawled beneath his skin and began to boil.
Fingers trailing down his cheek, his claws skipped over hard edges, tracing the length of his throat—and caught on a wound.
Still oozing and tender.
Fresh.
A half-moon that shouldn’t be.
Sweat bloomed across his brow as he remembered.
Renegade.
Her teeth at his nape. Salvation in surrender, she’d doomed him with that deadly kiss of teeth and blood.
Claimed.
Mated.
To a fucking Omega female, one he was expected to share with a beast.
Laughter, dry and reedy, crackled over Sinadim’s lips, for he finally understood.
Thiswas to be his punishment, to die this way. He, who’d waded through the vile underbelly of Anhur society and punished the skin-traders who dealt in slick. He, who’d exterminated whole nests of wretched, broken creatures bound to Anhur males who could never complete their bond, and would never grant so much as an ounce of affection.
There was no reason to ration her slick. No cause to deny his indulgence—not now. She’d given as much as she’d taken, their Hathorian queen.
Their mate.
It was a death sentence. For her. For Giaus.
Death for all three, this was payment for allowing her to mark his royal skin. For tainting the noble bloodlines and claiming a female who wasnotAnhur.
