But his body was perfectly balanced, naturally fit. Much like a lion or a panther whose grace and power was inborn, he did not train to look the way he did. No. Sasha could feel it, smell it from where she stood. He was fighting and pounding on those poor men to relieve the explosive pressure boiling inside of him.
She could hear him, rage and daring in his guttural snarl as he taunted his prey. "Can't you touch me? Can not one of you weaklings draw blood today? Where are the alphas? You think you are elite? You are weak little bitches. Come touch me, damn you. Cut me!"
Two men fell under one of his vicious blows, knocked silly and staggering back, only to be replaced by three more men. The men were all tired and bruised, as if they'd been trapped in that circle exorcising the warlord’s demons for days.
"Hurt me, you fuckers." He threw down the wooden swords with fury, now facing naked blades. "Can't a one of you make me hurt? Cut this burn out of me? Shaw, I thought I saw something in you, but you're just a weak little cocksucking priss like the rest of them, aren't you? Can't see for shoving your dick in Nicky's ass, is that it?"
He taunted and badgered; all icy control gone. To Sasha, the men were more cautious now that he'd dropped his weapons. She saw why when two men struck at the same time, one at his chest, the other to the back of his legs. Kane bent back away from the chest blow, and using his long reach, he grabbed the sword hand of the man behind him, yanking him off his feet and tossing him at the other.
The move left Kane flat on his back, men descending. But they weren't quick enough—and he rolled—swept out a leg that toppled men just watching and waiting their turn, bounced to his feet, and threw out his fist at another incoming blow.
His smell was more than spice and musk—it was feverish rage, heat, and unquenched need. Seductive tendrils of it filled Sasha's senses. Stormy light caressed his perspiration slicked body. She thought he might have lost weight. His cheeks were slightly concave, his abdominals pronounced with hills and valleys.
"Give me blood," he demanded, nearly walking into a weapon only to pull it from a man and pound him with his fist.
In response, all the men dropped swords and attacked with fists and kicks in such an impossible frenzy Kane couldn't avoid all the blows to his head, his torso, or his beautiful body.
It was hard to see what was happening in the writhing mass of testosterone fueled males. They were beating on him and simultaneously trying to subdue him, pulling him to the ground.
Sasha realized he wasn't wearing cut-off pants, but an actual black leather skirt. It flipped up when they tackled him and forced him to his back. Twelve men—more, because they were supporting each other, acting as anchors—pinned him with four sitting directly on him.
His massive cock, arched up away from his body, thick, dark, angry, and painful looking.
"Do it you bastards. Do it!" Kane was yelling like a madman.
With faces twisted in scowls, two men grabbed hold of Kane's cock. Hard.
Kane yelled again, even as another grabbed his balls, all of them punishing and squeezing together. There was no pleasure in this violence, not for anyone. It was ugly and forced, an act of mad desperation to cause a release. Sasha thought it was the thing that had been driving Kane, robbing him of control, making him insane with unfulfilled need.
He was in rut, a full on rut, and had taken no woman to relieve it.
With that thought, Sasha felt her own anger. That washers. What were they doing? She stormed forward. No one thought to stop her. No one dared.
"Get off him."
Her female voice was filled with quiet power. They heard her through all the noise of Kane's obscenities and male aggression. She was just a small bit of female nothing, but her fury—bitter and raging—was its own storm. Males scrabbled away as if a wild beast, sharp clawed and poisonous, had walked into their midst.
"Mine," she hissed at them. When they didn't move fast enough, she clawed at them with her fingernails. "Get away. He is mine, and I don't share."
Sasha attacked Kane. Throwing herself into his chest, she wrapped arms and legs around him even as he was sitting up.
She had one hand locked in his hair, the other clawed into the curve of his deltoid. His arms went around her in response. His sweat dampened her skin, his smell intoxicating, his strength possessive and unbreakable.
He got to his knees and stood from that awkward, top heavy position with Sasha clamped tight to him. The jarring made her think he was trying to leave.
No. Not again. She had chosen. He was hers.
Sasha opened her mouth on his delicious skin and gave him the bloodied wound he'd been asking for, biting hard into the fleshy muscle between neck and shoulder, clamping down with her dainty little omega teeth and claiming him.
Standing, ringed by his men, Kane threw back his head and roared. The primal sound reverberated through the ring and through the compound.
Every alpha in the compound answered him.
The triumphant agreement ringing in her ears, Kane jostled her. Her dress shredded—skirt torn. He bared her, moving his hand below her bottom, and with a flick and a pull, he opened the belt and released his skirt.
His cock was right there. He moved her, trapping the piece of flesh between their bodies, pressing the swollen slit of her vulva just at the top, clit to cockhead, so that the golden honey of her breeder's slick would spill down over him.
Sasha had to stretch her neck to keep her hold on her bite, sucking the thick iron of his blood while maintaining the perfect rubbing position of his fat mushroom tip lined up with the engorged bundle of nerves her clit had become.
