They mocked his progress, the trees. Standing in the way of his mad flight—forcing him to dodge and weave—they whispered things he couldn’t quite hear. That he should turn back. Join with the legion and serve it from within so he might feed the beast what it was owed…
Balkazar shivered as he ran.
Murmured lies, all of ‘em. Tripe that distracted from the one and only thing that truly mattered.
Sinadim.
It was the only clear thought present in Balkazar’s rotten mind. The distant drone of the horde, the demands of the many spoken in a language he had no interest in learning… all of it was overpowered by thoughts of his prince. Thoughts that echoed in the puss that leaked from his ears, in his every faltering footfall as he fled the horde.
He had to get back to the pack.
Couldn’t rest until he’d returned to that clearing of red stone, where the end had begun. Where the least of them had been given the first taste and an Omega female had named herself queen.
All of it for nothing if Balkazar failed.
Sinadim had to be warned.
The prince must be made aware of the coming wave before it crashed over them. Had to know just who’d sent it to drown them all, if only so he might warn the Nine of the betrayer in their midst and stop him from returning.
Sickle.
Insolent little shit.
He’d slipped away before Balkazar could take him to task. Abandoned his oath to the brotherhood with weepy little tears staining his face, and forwhat?
That sodden fucking quim, that’s what. Betraying his brothers for a meager sip of Hathorian slick, for a few spoken words from a female who’d been just as happy to present any of her holes to a beast as a prince. Her cunt open to any male willing to shove his prick inside and leave it messier than he’d found it.
She couldn’t help it, he knew. Hers was a meaningless life lived in service to her betters. Property with a simple purpose—to breed for a prince and feed their addiction to slick. It was what she’d done for Hadim, before he’d thrown her out and left her ruined. Docked and mutilated like the rest of them, she was bred for temptation, the lure that had brought them a gift meant for a prince.
Sneering, Balkazar’s mane flared in an uneven halo about his shoulders. Three claws on his left hand shot out, catching at the trunk of a mighty oak as he barreled past.
Thump-pat, thump-pat.
And Sickle had thrown everything away for nothing more than the tainted fucking memory of the little bitch. Even now, she belonged to another. If the beast hadn’t ruined her with his absurd girth, she’d be stuffed full of the prince’s knot. Begging for more, as she was trained to do. It was her purpose, her destiny to bear the first litter born to the wilds.
Everything was as it should be.
Everything in the proper place, falling into the specific order willed and written by the Nine themselves…
… until Sickle had refused his duties. Pouting because he thought himself above his station. Thatheshould be the one to be mated to Renegade.
A grin spread over the war chief’s cracked and flaking lips. Lips that were swollen and disfigured on the left side, lumpy and hard where they should have been soft.
The boy would pay for his crimes to the pack, Balkazar would see to it himself. Such was his duty, when Sinadim himself was occupied.
He sniffed back a glob of phlegm and stumbled to a halt. Pausing his flight to fish his prick from his pants, the war chief set his forearm to a tree whose trunk seemed the most stable and aimed at the roots.
Little shit thought Balkazar was a relic?
Spittle dribbled down his chin.
Insolent brat.
Sickle would regret all he’d said. All he’d done in her name. As soon as Sinadim rose up from the dark, Balkazar could resume the hunt and recover his honor. With his prince at his side, the war chief would swear a new oath. To defend a new line, one who’d inherit the majesty of a gift not meant for the likes of Giaus or Renegade.
The Trax had been for Sinadim.
It hadalwaysbeen for Sinadim.
