“And what,” Giaus asked, feral amusement gleaming in amber eyes, “does my vicious mate require of her king?”
“I am not your womb. Not a mewling cunt to stuff full of soldiers, doomed to die in your petty Anhur wars.” She circled, crouched low. Oblivious to the horror squishing between her digits. “I said you would be a king,” she murmured, low enough that they were made to strain for the honor of her words. Her first decree. “I gave you a general with royal blood. My gift,” she said through a sneer, without bothering to so much as glance in Sinadim’s direction. “But a king without a queen is nothing at all, and my submission is not free.”
She paused to hold their attention. Letting the silence reign to give this moment—her moment—the weight it was due.
And then, because Giaus had already done it, she said, “You will kneel,” through a devious smile. “Kneel and pay proper tribute to your queen.”
The poisoned darts in her chest shivered with a violent yawn. One that threatened to tear her ribs from her spine as her heart was split right down the middle.
Conflict.
From Giaus, a vicious hunger. Desire that tore through her blood and ached to see her bend to his rule—even if it cost him a sullied, bent knee. From Sinadim, savage rejection. Hatred of all that she was, all that she’d become. To him, to the fledgling kingdom rising in the wilds, but most of all… sick, twisted loathing of himself for needing his mate to want him, too.
She smiled.
And it was dreadful.
11
For a moment, as he towered above her, Giaus considered the cunning warrior before him. The echo of her demands left chattering on the wind as he stared deep into her eyes. As he took in every aspect of the female who’d done what he feared impossible—and survived the killing fever.
And by the Nine in their firey halls, what a sight stood before him now!
Crouched low in the aftermath of the horde, she returned his glare. Matching his temper, beat for beat. Reeking of belonging. Of ownership. Bold, as an Omega had no rights to be. Her ears laid out, tucked tight to her skull in a display of temper—not fear—his precious mate readied herself for battle. Againsthim.Preparing to rail and resist, to claim her place not at his feet, where he’d prepared to host her in pampered comfort, but by his side.
A true queen.
But it was her eyes that had his mane standing on end, his cock stiff and bloated where it hung heavy between his thighs. On proud display.
Pupils blown wide, her irises were a tight ring of gleaming feral gold. Alien. Striking.
Gorgeous.
Giaus had never used the word before Renegade. There had never been a need.
And so, before a pack of males he’d taken by force, he did as the tiny, budding queen demanded.
He knelt.
Because it cost him nothing to do so.
Because he had nothing left to prove.
Because here, among lesser males, a heap of dead, and all the wild, untamed madness thriving in this feral court, Giaus was king. Uncontested. Dominant. Ruthlessly superior, he’d proven himself worthy of the tiny creature demanding his loyalty, for even then, with his knees soaked in blood, Giaus towered above her. Dressing her in shadows that suited her so well.
But the reward of bending for her? It sent blood rushing to his cock in a giddy surge of violent need.
Renegade’s lips parted on a shocked breath as the fight abandoned her. Replaced by everything he felt for her, as the need to lift the tail for her mate replaced all that conflict. As she softened before him, her ears flicking forward and back. Wide, luminous eyes blinking once, twice before her tongue darted out. Too new to send that taste over the roof of her mouth, to taste his need on the wind the way he’d already tasted hers.
Teaching her would be a joy.
“Come,” he drawled, and extended his hand, fingers absent the deadly point of hooked claws he’d happily spent in her defense. Still grimy with murder. “Take what you have earned, my precious mate.” He flashed a quick, deadly smile. “My Renegade queen.”
Still, she remained. Seemingly torn between want and stubborn defiance.
“Ah,” he breathed, breath laced with the faintest edges of a drugging, noxious purr. “Shall I send them all to their knees for you?” he asked, humming low at the back of his throat. Withdrawing his touch, he turned it back upon himself. Fingers spread across his chest, his palm trickling down, over the ridges of muscle and scars. Over his belly button and into the thatch of dark hair trailing down, his fingers traced a path her gaze couldn’t help but follow. “Will that soothe your vicious heart, sweet Renegade? Or do you need something”—he took his prick in hand, pumping in a slow pass that drew up a bead of pearly want—“more. Something to match that sweet temper?”
She shook her head.
