In seconds, he was on the other side of the tank—darted beneath its forelimbs with fluttering entrails flapping in the breeze.
He caught the disemboweled beast as he made a second pass, spun it around—as if winding a bobbin of slippery guts—and leapt over the tank’s shoulder once more.
The tether ran short.
With a jolt that took the smaller beast off its feet and left it swinging madly from a torn belly, Giaus hauled back on his leash and rigged a garrote to strangle the tank with the dead, thrashing weight of another.
A counterbalance that dragged the tank toward a smothering, even as it strained to free itself.
Afforded the luxury to turn away, to conserve strength as he dove back into the writhing masses, Giaus turned just in time to see a mortal blow swing through Sinadim’s blind spot.
And there was nothing he could do, but watch. Horrified by the implication—delighted by the twist of fate that might see Sinadim’s bluff called, that might see his bond with Renegade severed. For better or worse.
Balkazar.
Haunting his prince’s shadow, the fallen war chief caught that death strike before it could land and took the damage upon himself. Bellowing a wordless protest, Balkazar swung back, his claws leaving horror in their wake.
Something howled back.
Somethingbig.
A creature born of nightmares only Giaus himself had seen, it was a demon of the third wave.
One he was utterly unprepared to deal with here, now. With a vulnerable mate, and a half-blind prince tied to his every decision.
Blue eyes laced with gold flashed up to meet Giaus’ stare.
And for a moment, the king saw the ugly side of his lineage in a kinder light. One that could fight the call of the legion, andwin, for with something that might have been a tight-lipped smile stretched over ghastly gums, Balkazar’s misshapen head tipped down. His chin dipping in a nod.
Solemn when he turned, drew in a lung full of righteous fury, and roared.
Loud enough that silence fell in the aftermath. That every mutated head turned toward him, muddy eyes tracking the source.
Again, Balkazar trumpeted challenge, defiance of the horde and the legion that meant to claim them all in service of a monster.
And then, with a final, lingering glance back, Balkazar the Unworthy did something that should have been impossible.
He turned heel, and fled.
The horde turned with him.
Mindless. Endlessly hungry, they were drawn away from the queen’s landing by a moving target. A final gesture from a decaying brain, it was sacrifice. An apology of action.
It waslove.
“Huh,” Giaus hummed, head tilting to the side. “Bait.”
The earth rumbled long after the horde had turned, the heavy waves yet unseen as they clung to darkness and obscure shadow. Their dead abandoned without a thought, their corpses left to poison any carrion eaters foolish or hungry enough to take the risk.
Straightening, Giaus clapped sticky hands and rubbed the slaughter off on his naked thighs—only for his palms to come away wetter than they’d been a moment before.
Sinadim staggered toward the behemoth still choking as it gasped and thrashed for breath, sending a lance clear through its brain he delivered mercy with the point of a spear. Only then did he move to Giaus’ side. Panting. Painted in unspeakable grime, but whole. His hide undamaged, except where Renegade’s mark lay upon his skin. “Fuck,” he whispered, but that was all. His eyes wide as he surveyed the damage Giaus had wrought with such frightening ease.
Looking toward the void where Balkazar had been and gone.
But Giaus spared nothing for the curiosity that was the Unworthy wretch, instead he spread his arms. Flaunting his nudity, he turned to address the hybrids standing shocked at the mouth of Renegade’s den.
“Are you not impressed?” he asked, voice booming through the silence. Mane risen to display his prowess in all its magnificent, unclothed glory. Reeking of powerful pheromones that left no question as to who had won the day. “Are you not grateful?”
