“Where were they,” the king drawled, “when Balkazar beat you into submission and threw you into the dark? Where were your precious hybrids,” he asked and didn’t blink, “when you were left here to die with no food or water? Beaten to the edge of death. Exposed to a virus that produces horrors that drove an entire civilization into hiding?” Bristling, Giaus let his mane flare, his scent broadcasting his derision with far more precision than any sneer ever could. “They left you torot, dear prince, and they are unworthy of saving.”
“It’s our blood pact,” Sinadim said, defensive of his brethren despite the horrible ring of truth in Giaus’ bitter words. Swallowing even as a muscle jumped at the corner of his jaw. “Grant no mercy to the hopeless infected.”
“And yet”—claws flicking through the gloom, Giaus gestured at his massive, mutant self—“here I am. Alive, at your mercy.”
A shout of alarm echoed in the distance, muffled through the layers of rock.
“They’re good men,” Sinadim pressed, looking up. Fists clenched as he tried to suppress the flare of his mane. To master himself and win this point. His instinct screaming that Giaus alone could stop it. “Valuable warriors.”
“Theywere,” Giaus drawled, and offered a horrible toothy grin. “How do you know they haven’t been infected while you slept at the bottom of a pit?”
Cold sweat bloomed along the back of Sinadim’s nape, where his mane stood on full, bristling end.
Balkazar. There hadn’t been time to warn the others before…
“You’re toying with me,” Sinadim said, attention snared by the way Giaus’ smirk curled at the edges. By the twinkling, amber gleam of a gaze half hidden. Watching from beneath lowered lashes. “Micha’s instincts are unparalleled.”
That amber glare dropped, once more inspecting the exotic sweep of Hathorian bone structure. “Then they will survive the horde and prove themselves worthy of a place in my kingdom. Or they will die,” Giaus said, careless. Cold and indifferent, even while his touch was delicate on Renegade’s cheek. Her brow. “Forgotten,” he murmured, and one massive hand dropped to the cradle between her hips. “Easily replaced.”
“You’re a fool,” Sinadim hissed, and took a single menacing step—before Giaus stopped him with a glare. “Micha, Keever and Konjo—they’re blooded warriors—”
“Loyal toyou, if they’ve any loyalty at all. Tell me,” Giaus drawled, and inspected his ruined claws. “Why would I want such fickle creatures in my court? Even as servants.”
Sinadim scoffed. “Hybrids are loyal to their fathers, until their fathers fall and free them in death or exile.” He clawed at his scars, itching at a wound that was no longer oozing but itched all the same. “And then? They’re mercenaries who serve any Anhur worthy of their skill. Who’d serveyou, if—”
“Yourmen.”
A frustrated snarl burst free of Sinadim’s lips. “Why would you want them dead? We have a real chance to build something here! This… this queen’s landing—it’s defensible! Guarded at the rear by a wall of stone, a river on one side, forest everywhere else. We’ve got resources and comfort for the first time since our exile from the Silver City. But we cannot hold this place and guard the girl without soldiers to stand between us and a horde!”
That infuriating little smirk returned to crease the king’s lips. “What the horde needs,” he said, “is something to chase.” Giaus lifted one burly shoulder, and said, “They have their use—as bait.”
“So that’s it?” Sinadim asked, clawing at his cheek. “Am I to be a general of nothing in your kingdom of the dead? You’d rather it be just the three of us? Running. Enduring the wilds and the predators and the next horde and the next. Constantly struggling to defend her until one of us dies, or she falls pregnant with hybrids who cannot carry your line forward.” He laughed. Bitter. Reckless. “You cannot be a king without a throne or legacy, Giaus.”
Eyes slitted to a dangerous margin, Giaus’ mane flared and his scent grew heavy in the still air. “Speak your next words very carefully, little prince.”
But it was far too late for caution. “Sickle is with them!” Sinadim shouted. “In him, the ability to produce more Hathorians. More hybrids. And the potential for us to break my bond with the girl, so you might have her all to yourself!”
“At the cost of breeding my mate to yet another ofyourmen?”
“Sickle ishers,” Sinadim countered, swiping at the anxious sweat beading along his brow. “Hathorian males serve their queens—and no other.” It was Sinadim’s turn to sneer, and in doing so, he condemned the Omega male and his matronly heart. “The little fool is inlove. With nothing more than a few words and a single sloppy fuck, she took his heart.”
At this, Giaus threw his head back and laughed. Ignoring yet another round of panicked shouting as it grew closer and the window for aid grew more narrow by the second. “I should feed you a fist full of your own jaundiced liver.”
“These are the choices of sultans,” Sinadim snapped. Fists clenched at his sides, his mane flared into a full bristling halo reeking of defiance. Of challenge. “Difficult, uncomfortable decisions I was born to make. My experience won by surviving a vicious hellscape of sibling rivalry that earned me the title of First Born. You want a general for your feral army?”
Giaus hummed, one brow cocked. Smirk firmly in place as he combed through the wild snarls of fine, black silk.
“Then heed my expert fucking counsel. To have a matching set ofhealthyHathorians, out here? Where an Omega female is only slightly more valuable than an Omega male? Andher?” he said, chin jutting an instant before he gestured at himself. “This new strain that doesn’t kill but grants divine sight?Giaus—the Nine themselves are speaking to us! Save my men from the horde,” Sinadim pressed. “Save Sickle, and let us see what can come of this feral court.”
For a long moment, it seemed that Sinadim’s words had fallen on deaf ears. That Giaus couldn’t be moved into action that risked his life or his mate.
But with one final lingering glance, the mutant king hefted Renegade off his lap. Tucked her neatly away with her limbs all folded around herself, and stood, saying simply, “Fine.” Clapping his hands clean, he turned that golden gaze up, to the latched roof of their prison. “Then let us spill some blood, shall we?”
Deflating with his shallow victory, Sinadim glanced at Renegade, mouth watering at the sight of all that naked, unguarded skin. “Icouldstay,” he said, and felt the rut surge to the fore. “To protect her…”
Huffing out a laugh, Giaus caught Sinadim by his ruined jacket—and tossed him like so much trash. Sent him sailing straight up in a display of sheer, unmatched strength that rendered Sinadim silent when he might have screamed.
He crashed into the lattice an instant before Giaus’ bulk followed him up. Launching himself free of confinement in a single leap, the king caught Sinadim’s wrist and dragged him over the ledge and straight into freedom.
