Without suppressors. Without Hadim’s thick knot to force her submission.
Ears going flat, she hissed, baring her blunted teeth. Seeing her master’s hated face every time she blinked. Remembering his scent, the taste of his seed. And with each beat of her heart, the throb of her stump fed the well of seething hatred simmering in her gut.
But still, she ached for the only cock that had ever offered relief. For the knot that had torn through her maidenhead and shaped her to thrive on violence.
Already, the Biquea glands inside her sodden channel were pulsing and swollen with hormones. Begging for release, making her mindless with hunger. Thirsty for a spurting prick to fill her to overflowing.
Hands shaking, she put bone knife to the hilt of her spear.
What need had she of Hadim? She, who ate when she hungered, who wandered at her leisure. Making it through a heat without her master should be easy, given just what she’d been through already. How much she’d been made to endure.
Teeth bared, she redoubled her efforts. Carving the tapered tip of Hadim’s cock, because she didn’t need him or his knot—she was going to carve a dick from maple and see herself through this heat.
The dregs of the nest she’d made in her sleep mocked her. Nature laughing at her frail attempts to stop the inevitable, for no matter that she’d destroyed the fluffy snuggle-pit as many times as she’s made it, she was driven by instinct now. One usually managed by the suppressors. At first, gathering the softest detritus she could find was little more than an irritating distraction. But in less than a day it had grown into an all-consuming need. One that stole sleep, bypassed hunger, and infected every infernal thought that floated through her sex-addled brains.
She had to build a nest.
How else would her young be safe and warm?
She hissed, clawing at her nape. Using the lancing pain to distract from that insane train of thought, only to find her skin raw and already bleeding. Self-inflicted wounds, forgotten over and over again.
There was no distraction capable of denying the fact that she’d already built dozens of nests. Improvised in the absence of luxurious furs, she’d built them obsessively, only to come to her senses and stomp her efforts into nothing. Kicking the discarded bits and pieces when her mind cleared of hated instinct. Instinct that hissed and raged, for no matter how perfect the construction, each and every one had been incomplete. Missing a fundamental piece she couldn’t forage or create.
Missing Hadim—or more specifically, his salty, sticky cum.
Disgusted, she abandoned her carving project, tossing the wooden cock aside. A wasted effort that couldn’t work, not without a cunt full of sperm and a knot to seal it inside. Her spear shortened for nothing.
She swallowed, throat clicking. Treacherous quim growing plump and needy with little more than the thought of being mounted by the male she hated more with every breath. Every instant of separation from the life she’d abandoned.
But if Hadim were here now… she knew she’d beg. With one breath of his scent, she’d scream for more as he pressed her into her shitty nest. Plead him to fuck her until her womb was seeded. Cry until her voice was raw.
Her chest grew tight. Pussy sopping wet, she fought for every breath to come easy, yet knew it was almost upon her. Knew the heat would addle what was left of her faculties… that it was going to be worse than anything she’d ever experienced thus far.
If she belonged to a harem, the matrons would have guided her through a natural season. They would have prepared her in the old ways—with oils, soft hands, and calming song once the breeding was through. They’d braid her hair and nurse any mating wounds she’d earned, blue eyes shimmering with understanding and cutting humor, but not pity. Never that.
But she didn’t belong to a harem, and blue eyes would never shimmer again.
Out here she was alone. Beyond the crust of civilization, criminals roamed. Dangerous males who hadn’t caught a female’s scent since they’d been tossed over the wall—if ever. Their tails docked to mark them as other, they were unfit to belong. Criminals. Rejects and outcasts maimed for the things they’d done.
Like her.
By the fires, if one of them caught wind of her pheromones?
She’d wish for the days of being a mere concubine.
There’d be no detached, efficient breeding and months’ worth of solitude. No harem full of Hathorian females to share the burden and no soothing hands or watchful matrons.
She’d be lucky if she weren’t fucked to death by a horde of desperate Anhur males.
No, she was trapped out here on the edge, her scent screaming of fertility, thighs tacky with slick. But was she doomed to submit to the first males lucky enough to stumble across her? Or… or could she make something of herself that was more than a sex slave and breeder?
Something that could thrive in the wilds… something like Samina…
Glimmering overhead, the moons peaked between the clouds. A gust of heated summer wind held whispered hints of what she needed, thick with the scent she craved. What it would take to end her torment.
Males.
Distant, yet. But there all the same.
Her pelvic muscles screamed and ached, begging to be stretched beyond all reasonable limits.
Once her heat settled in, all else would be pushed out. All but the need for teeth and seed. Pummeling hips.
Hadim’s knot.
Taking a breath, she threw back her head and howled at the three moons hanging ever-present and low on the horizon. Fury bristling, silky black hair whipped about her face as she screamed her angst into the evening chill. Howled until her voice splintered and broke, until her breath came on a gasp and some of the fervor abated.
If she wanted to retain some semblance of sanity, she’d have to find a male. She’d have to sort through these rejects and monsters and find one capable of seeing her through a brutal heat. One that she could discard just as easily, while she searched the wilds for enough yarrow root to keep her womb in pristine condition.
Decision made, she gathered her supplies, and with only a moment’s hesitation, retrieved her shoddy wooden cock.
Just in case.
***
Flushed with renewed purpose, she turned her nose into the breeze. Searching for the hint of wet vegetation that would indicate a water source, for if there were males to be found, it would be by the water.
She didn’t have to search long.
It was a modest creek. One without a great deal of volume, perhaps, but sweet enough to drink even if it carried a hint of sulfur.
She dipped her hands then pressed them to her nape, trying to cool herself. And it was then, as she knelt by the edge staring at her reflection, that she recalled faded blue eyes. That to soak in cool water was to soothe the ache of a heat denied.
Fully clothed, she waded into the stream. Sucking in a deep, calming breath, for this was usually a risk she didn’t take. Washing away the stench of the dead was a foolish luxury she could ill afford.
Survival this long in the wilds beyond the crust depended on her ability to suffer. To endure without adequate hygiene, knowing she would never be able to build a shelter by a ready supply of water, for if there was ease to be had out here in the beyond? It was a locale worth fighting over. Drawing in desperate males from every caste.
And draw them in, she would.
A hint of warmth twisted around her fingers. Even through her sodden leathers, she felt it kiss the flesh of her thighs and knew she’d found the place to set her trap.