Anhur males tied together in sickness and corruption. A fallen prince and a peasant who would be king, between them, a female who dared.
Renegade.
Hathorian queen.
Hisqueen.
His… mate.
Sinadim swallowed, but didn’t blink.
Balls flexing, knot blooming against his palm, he couldn’t look away from those vacant, glossy pools of tepid black.
Giaus reacted.
Taking advantage of his sheer size, his overwhelming reach advantage, Giaus’ fist found an anchor in her hair, and with it, he forced her to twist. Index finger hooked between her lips, Giaus set his knuckle between her teeth and made her open before he guided her down.
Chilled and wet, her tongue skipped off Sinadim’s weeping prick, and so the first salty splash striped across the bridge of her nose.
“Drink,” Giaus barked, purr rattling through the single syllable. Forcing obedience without a blink, he adjusted and pushed at the back of her head. Made her lips stretched around that glossy helm, and bade her swallow every lashing drop of Sinadim’s seed.
“Fuck—” Toes curling, Sinadim left one hand on his knot. Jerking his base, he painted her tongue. The back of her throat. Feeding her everything he had, his fingers laced over Giaus’ without a thought. Hips pumping with all the pitiful strength he could muster.
She gulped it all down, ruining him with hollow cheeks. Nursing until his balls dropped and his head hit the granite. Until the strength went out of his limbs in a rush that left him weak and shivering once more.
Shamed.
Blissfully so.
Still rumbling, Giaus reclaimed his mate. Lifting her easily, his massive hands dwarfing her waist—fingers touching where he cradled her narrow ribs—he held her aloft. Pulled her off his thick, shining cock, and set her between his legs.
It was the same process. A command to, “Drink,” gentle guiding pressure, and another male filled her mouth with a few precious, meager calories and a drop of moisture.
A drink.
Hazy, delirious with thirst, Sinadim swallowed a dry, wheezing cough as Renegade’s cheeks bulged around a mouthful. Her throat working to obey, pretty, sopping cunt left on display… Glistening in the dim light.
Giaus’ eyes tracked his every movement. Daring him to touch.
For a moment, the Anhur stared at each other. One with bristling mane, the other trembling under the might of a killing fever.
And then, with a cocky smirk, Giaus’ cock popped free of plumped lips. An audible smack splatting against the feral’s stomach, he traced the bridge of Renegade’s nose. Scooped up that first splash of Sinadim’s seed and pushed it into her mouth.
Wasting nothing, for she came first.
Their mate.
3
Purring, Giaus’ voice was distorted and raw, his vocal cords chaffed by long hours of extended effort. Savaged by the need to soothe his precious Renegade, to see her through the worst of the killing fever that had rendered her so pliant. So helpless and fragile in his arms.
All to no avail.
She was limp.
Her head lolling at grotesque angles when he tried to wake her with gentle force. And there, echoing at the back of his skull, the prince’s words were there to haunt his every action. His every aborted plan and sinister intention curbed by a veiled threat, by a bluff Giaus couldn’t call without also risking her life.
“You’ll kill her with ignorance long before she bears your monstrous seed…”
