Little teeth flashed around his knuckles, her fury rekindled as she tried again to fight him—and Sinadim’s cock jumped, connecting them with ropey strings.
“You’ll say ‘thank you,’” he said and made her lips part.
Wickedness gleamed in her black gaze, and she laved his tip, ears drooping in acceptance at last. “Thank you, Hadim.”
Something in him snapped. To hear Hadim rewarded for his efforts? It frayed his temper at the edges, and it broke on a laugh. “I’m not your master, Omega,” he snarled, feeding the length of his cock to the back of her throat until he felt his crown breach that tight ring. “And my father would never bother himself to come for you. One escaped harem slave isn’t worth the effort,” he spat, just to watch her eyes grow damp, hurt and confusion bleeding into watery defiance. “The Karahmet Heir has hundreds more just like you.” Sinadim pulled her face toward his groin, borrowing deeper with a grunt. “One for every day of the year and two on holidays.”
When she spluttered, he let her slide back. Her breath coming in heaving pants, eyes wide and rimmed in white as realization dawned in those glassy black pools.
“You belong to me now,” he said, and dragged her lower lip down with his thumb, admiring the cut of blunted teeth. “And I want to hear you say my name.”
Chapter 27
She blinked. Confusion buzzing though her mind as the fog thickened and thinned in waves. Keeping pace with the rate of the war chief pumping her tight sheath, she existed in a blur of conflicting needs. At once a haze of lust and the shiver of painful revelation, for the monster wearing Hadim’s face wasn’t her master come to retrieve her.
It was his son.
She shook her head. Impossible. What he claimed was impossible because out of anyone, she would know—
“Sinadim,” he murmured, tracing her lips with the tapered head of his cock. Thicker than she remembered. A different shade of red pulsed beneath the skin she’d thought she knew. “Say it.”
Head shaking, ears tucked flat, she whined. Pulling back, she impaled herself on the war chief’s prick, whispering, “Please… please… please…” under her breath. Over and over, trying to wake up in her hidden den before this nightmare ever began. Before the confusion of heat had melted her faculties and she’d become what she feared most.
A cock sleeve, desperate to be filled.
Sobbing, she wished for the Nine to release her. To give her a cloak reeking of death she might use to slink away, because her only chance in reclaiming her freedom lay in her knowledge of Hadim. His habits and triggers.
But Hadim wasn’t coming, and Sinadim was a dangerous enigma.
Unpredictable, for no matter that she’d managed to win a few meager battles, she was utterly unequipped to win a war.
And how could she? The Anhur were always ahead, always ready for the next rebellion before she’d even realized an injustice had occurred. Bigger, stronger, faster…
No, to fight was to be ruined by an unstoppable force. Hopeless and futile.
Trembling, she turned liquid eyes up and found not the face of a monster, but a male already lost to the rut. One who hadn’t used excessive force, who stood before her fighting his composure just to hear his name spill over her lips.
There was power in his restraint. A dare to take her fill, to look at the male who meant to rule her and judge his worth for herself.
And though he glared—one blackened pupil blown wide, the other cast in silver and fixed in place—he made no move to force her obedience. Sinadim simply waited as Balkazar sluiced through that tight ring of glands, standing still as her gaze wandered.
Right cheek mutilated with the slash of four claws, the left a nightmarish reminder of the sire who’d tormented her dreams only half as badly as he’d terrorized her reality.
He was younger, perhaps not as wide in the shoulders as Hadim. Half a hand taller, and beneath the scars, she could see that his skin was darker now that she’d been given the chance to really look.
And his cock—it wasn’t the one she’d carved from memory.
It was different. Long and thick. A drop of lust beaded at his tip, swelling before her eyes, until it ripened and burst. Spilling down the underside of a shaft riddled with juicy veins.
Sinadim was not his father.
He was a clean slate. A chance to be who she was inside, with a male who had no knowledge of who she’d been before. He hadn’t hunted her with the intent to drag her back to the harem, to lop off her limbs and punish her with a gruesome gift of severed bone and sinew.
His needs were simple.
The rules in the beyond different because she demanded they change.
There was power in that, too. In knowing his threats to deny her were meaningless, that their battle was one of endurance.
And who knew better than she how to mewl and present? How to please an Anhur male even without the aid of suppressors keeping her slick from spilling over. She’d been bred to endure in a way that the Anhur themselves had not.
In a grip that offered no room to squirm, Sinadim seized her jaw between forefinger and thumb. Mane standing on end, reeking of aggression, he pulled her closer, glaring with his good eye. “Say it, Omega!” he barked, voice edged in desperate need, the point of his claws prickling her skin.
Ingrained obedience saw her lips part—but it was laced with a something wicked. Something devious that decided not to fight, but refused to be a pet.
“Sinadim,” she purred and lapped at his cock. Tasting him before an audience of males thick and engorged with want. “Mmm… You taste good, Sinadim.”
Fingers tightened in her hair, and Sinadim pressed forward with a groan, forcing her to take his girth down her throat. “Good girl,” he whispered, his jaw going slack. Eyes glazed and hooded.
Why should she fight when it was so much easier to coo and squirm? When the show of submission would grant her leniency without wasting a moment of effort.
“And what’s your name?” she hummed, twisting to make eye contact with the male rutting at her back when Sinadim next allowed her to breathe. Emboldened by the taste of Anhur semen on her tongue, by the hint of authority crackling through her veins.
Chest rumbling, the war chief forced a breathy, “Balkazar,” through his teeth, hiking her thigh over his hip as he made space between her knees.
The muscles of her back flexed where she would have flicked her tail. Invitation for a worthy suitor.
But she had no tail to lift, and so it couldn’t be used as leverage while she was held trapped beneath Anhur claws. And in that, she found another sort of freedom.
“Fuck me,” she breathed, the simple act of making demands enough to make her head spin. “Breed me, Balkazar. If you think you can…”
“What—” Balkazar barked, fucking her all the harder.
“Leave it,” Sinadim snapped, and must not have been impressed by her guile. With claws extended, he reclaimed her attention with a throaty snarl, aiming to silence her with cock until she offered up a dainty purr. Feminine, light and breezy, she purred a song of submission and deceit for Hadim’s son. Swallowing his prick until his scowl eased and his fingers went slack in her hair. The aggression bleeding from tense muscles as she drank him in and swallowed him down.