Shouted cries of triumph shattered the glassy haze enveloping her mind. And she looked, knowing she shouldn’t. That doing so might well be her last free decision.
But she couldn’t help it.
And it was too late to run… to get to her spear. To hide.
Hadim was nearly free.
Chapter 21
“I can’t go any further,” Sickle gasped, sweating as he worked with arms raised high above his head. Sawing at the tar-coated ropes keeping the Anhur stranded and out of the competition. “I—I can’t reach.”
Sneering, the Alpha shoved his hand through the net, palm up. Reaching. “Give it to me,” he said, fingers clicking until the rough handle of Sickle’s make-shift blade landed with a slap. Jagged edges threatening to tear skin, until he set it to the itchy ropes. “Move,” he snapped, shoulders bunching as he worked. Trying to saw at the cords beneath his ass, no matter that doing so made him rock against Balkazar.
Made him throb and drip.
The Omega mewled, pained and desperate. Her Biquea glands swollen to the point of acute agony the likes of which he’d never witnessed before, visible from even this distance.
This was no lowly runaway on the cusp of maturity, fleeing the change that would see males fight over breeding rights—females like that were easily serviced by a hybrid’s weak knot. It was a handy trick, to use a well-trained hybrid to subdue females in heat. To keep their wares pristine, their wombs untouched and hovering at peak-value. Break them in without hardening them off.
But not this girl.
Micah’s girth should have been enough to at least partially relieve her—and yet, she was as agitated as any he’d ever seen.
Which could only mean…
Wonder lit the Alpha’s face for an instant. A brief moment of realization and stark hunger for a thing he’d thought lost to him forever.
This girl was an escaped harem slave.
Somehow, by the grace of the Nine, she was here. Thriving in the beyond.
There would be no lengthy training period, no messy tears of a virgin needing to be broken in.
She’d been bred for endurance, schooled in the arts of giving pleasure, her bloodline was ancient—one he recognized, if he couldn’t quite place it. Hand-chosen with the highest pedigree, her Biquea glands had grown hard, resistant to abuse from anything but a truly massive knot of a dominant Anhur male.
Maybe even a prince.
The thought saw his hackles rise with scarcely restrained glee.
It was how the ruling Anhur preferred their breeding Hathorians—desperate to be knotted, tolerant to lengthy periods of neglect, and utterly ignorant of their own bodies. Oblivious of their history or what they were built to endure.
He squinted at her face, searching for recognition beneath the hanks of sopping hair. The flushed cheeks.
Instead, his one-eyed gaze was drawn to the bruised globes of a tight female ass, at the scar where her tail had once been and where Micah couldn’t keep her full. Where she leaked and gushed and went unsatisfied around a knot that hadn’t a chance of subduing her.
Only he could give her what she truly needed. What he’d given countless others just like her.
Relief.
Enough compression on her inflamed glands to milk them until they were empty. To release the built-up chemicals that would trigger her eggs to drop and allow him to seed the wily little bitch.
He’d been denied long enough. Forced to watch as she’d been pumped full, the Alpha bellowed. Shredding the ropes and his palms, both.
The netting snapped beneath the makeshift blade, exposing the hanging Anhur to a void. A sharp drop and a dull thud.
Gasping, the Alpha was up first, fighting free of the net, he landed a few savage strikes to the back of Balkazar’s skull. Not stopping until the war chief was limp. Giving himself the advantage, he left Balkazar laying in the netting. Out cold, yet still twitching toward the female.
Frozen where she’d stopped, she watched his approach with wide, dark eyes.
And despite the urge to rush toward her, he slowed. Enthralled.
There was challenge in her glare, even now. A note of defiance, no matter that she hadn’t a hope of escaping.
Not now.
Not ever.
A dainty pink tongue darted out, wetting. Tasting. Lingering on the bow of her lower lip, even as she made to scramble back.
Rumbling deep in his chest, the Alpha’s hand went to his pant front. The laces torn in haste.
He’d watched her take the lesser males, one by one. He’d watched as she allowed each of them to spill within her and knot. He’d watched Micah pour sperm down her throat and send her deeper into the haze he wanted to inspire.
And yet, she refused him? Deliberately ignored his orders. His commands to be set free so he could ease her pain.
He’d never known an Omega to deny her caste. To fight what she’d been born to do—and while in the thrall of a natural season, no less.
It was a wonder.
A rarity.
Refusing to submit could only mean the little bitch wanted to be conquered. That she was testing him to see if he were worthy of filling her womb. Of claiming her as he might a natural queen.
Forever.
Commanding without words, the Alpha snarled. Hackles rising and on full display, his chest rumbled with a deep compulsion to obey. Taking his time in the approach instead of succumbing to the instinct to throw her down in the dirt and fuck her pregnant.
“Please,” she whispered, cringing back from a display that should have seen her melt and submit. Oh, she presented her back, all right. But it wasn’t to be mounted—the little bitch began to crawl in the opposite direction.
Nostrils flared, the Alpha kicked at her ankles just to watch her cunt gape. “Enough of this, Omega,” he spat, words bumping over the edges of his furious snarl. “You can’t escape. There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you now.”
She twisted, terror etched into pale Hathorian features.
“Oh, yes,” he breathed and pumped his fist over his length. “You’re mine.”
A strained sound splintered through her lips. Great, fat tears spilling over dark lashes.
“Beg for it,” he said, looming above her. Stroking his cock as she shuddered and went still. “Beg me to stuff you full of this knot, little slut.”
A drop of drool spilled over her lips, ebon eyes rolling in her skull as her glands flexed around nothing. Forcing her to stop, head hanging low. Sweat glistening on her low back, her nape. Dripping from the tips of reddened, inflamed nipples.
The Alpha smiled, cruel and ravenous. “Look at you,” he rattled, pressing his every available advantage. “Desperate for this knot. Don’t worry, Omega. I’m going to mount you.” He knelt behind her, taking his cock by the root. “You’re going to take my seed deep as you can,” he cooed, slapping his palm down on her left cheek. Squeezing a handful of ripe flesh, he pulled her petals apart even when they clung and stuck. “And then,” he said, sweeping his prick through the mess of slick and cum, “you’re going to milk my knot for more.”
Burbling, she pushed back. Tried to take his helm inside to ease the ache, even as she whispered, “Nooo.”
“Oh, yesss,” he replied, balls aching. Pulsing with every frantic flutter of his heart. It was a primal demand to seat himself deep as he could go in her spoiled walls and rut until his muscles gave out. Until he erased the other males paltry attempts to take what was his. An instinct screaming for him to force his sperm through the barrier guarding her womb, just so he could watch her belly grow round with his young.