Reminding him what this precious, impossible creature had suffered just to be here. What she had endured—the wilds… exile…Hadim.
She had been blighted by the cruelty of the Silver City, just as he had.
More,for he’d been a prince before he’d been a general.
And she… she had been Hadim’s.
Groaning as he dined on ambrosia, Sinadim slipped one hand back and worked himself all the way to the edge. Balls growing heavy, flexing with the urge to pump her full. To breed her, because she was ripe. Here. His.
Theirs.
Using his every unfair advantage to please his mate. Just to watch her dance for him, he played on the edge of an orgasm because he knew how it would set her ablaze and he wanted to watch her dance at his behest.
Slick gushed forth, wetting his lips and chin as tension wound her muscles tight as they might go. She trembled at his command. This impossible queen he shared with a beast.
The thought spawned a savage thing to unfurl in his chest. One that saw Renegade gasp, her pupils liquid pools of seething, ravenous black.
It was merely a reflection.
One mirrored from the tempest raging in his heart. Cock an aching band of steel that begged for attention, he pumped as he feasted. Once, twice, milking himself until a bead of pearly lust burst from his slit where his knob peeked between the circle of his fingers. A drop of desperate want captured on the pad of his thumb, only to be sent through sodden folds an instant later. Spreading her with that laced digit, he exposed the bundle of swollen nerves, pulled her clit between his lips and sucked.
Hard.
Thighs quaking, Renegade came undone. Clenching and thrashing, her back bowed, thumping into the furs as she gave up that liquid gold.
And an instant before her eyes rolled back, her lips parted on a poisoned barb that shredded the thin veil of sanity he’d clung to all his life.
A nickname uttered in ecstasy, she tried to call out his name and instead, found his deepest most painful memory.
“Sina!”
17
“Sina!”
Wailing long and low, he watched her pace a ragged line, mewling for help. Reaching as the guards took aim, ruined fingers mangled by the virus lifted in a pitiful salute before the spears began to fall…
A breathless howl of madness ruptured the fabric between past and present. A sound that came from Sinadim’s own lips. Denied too long, the rut flooded in. Consuming everything in its path, a monster was born between spread thighs.
Any hint of cultured civility was ripped away.
Replaced by a savage.
A snarling heathen who abandoned his meal in favor of marking it as his own. Primal, that urge. To plunge into the depths of his mate and stain her with his scent. His seed.
His sons.
Mane standing on end, reeking of aggression, he surged into her and pressed a snarl under her chin. Lips ghosting over her pulse, just so he might taste her where she was frantic. Where the tendon between shoulder and neck was bow-tight.
“Do it,” she rasped, goading when she should have guarded that spot for another.
But Sickle was dead.
Fucking him from below, she worked his length with a divine cunt. Rippling along his shaft, she set her lips to his temple. A whispered, “Impress me, Sina,” stabbing him straight through the heart.
And without meaning to, he snarled, “You will not call me that!” and caught her throat in a cage of claws that dimpled that fine alabaster skin. Dragging her thighs over his hips, one after the other, he sheathed his throbbing prick. Over and over again, bullying his way inside, desperate to find her end and crash against it, he bucked into her depths. Howled when she arched beneath him—towardhim—that tight sheath grew warm and impossibly slick.
Welcoming her destruction with a smile.
