“None of that now.” The Other’s giant paw closed over her ankle. Another sizzling press of flesh that left her dazed and breathless. “I’ll be the one determining when you receive pain. Not you.”
Fighting the unwanted sensation, she reared upward, lips peeled back, fangs ready to sink into his skin.
“Not a second time.” He jerked her off the ground. She flopped back, her target denied.
Her panic grew.
The moment she’d seen this particular savage in 223’s territory, she’d known the winds of trouble were stirring. His olive skin was too close a match to the shadowed crags of the planet’s spartan cliffs, his shoulders and thighs almost as wide as boulders themselves. His swagger too arrogant to put him anywhere but at the top of the food chain. A lethal king among despicable beasts already feared by her kind.
Then he’d dared to touch her.
The burn of his hand closing around her breast had been a jolt of heat and sensation that pulsed against her skin even now, rotations later.
She’d been sure he’d die. Instead, he’d dared to live—and reach for her again. As if the curse really had no effect on him.
Stunned, she’d almost failed to fight back. She could not afford to be so slow again. Her pack was counting on her.
With a hiss, she kicked out with her other leg.
He caught it easily. “Not happening.”
Rough, calloused hands stilled her puny resistance as he lifted her hips and bottom off the ground. The tips of his hard footwear dug into her lower rib as his gaze lasered in on the area between her thighs.
“Definitely all female, and pretty and golden here, too.”
While fleeing she hadn’t given much thought to her naked state. But now, hanging uselessly in midair, her arms bound to her sides while her lower half was bared to him, her vulnerability hit hard.
After hating her anazi pelt for so long, she now desperately wished it was wrapped around her, shielding her from sight.
She still didn’t understand why the Other wasn’t dead. He’d touched her skin several times and still appeared as vital as ever. Her pack leader, Talg, had been very clear about what would happen to anyone foolish enough to press their skin against an abomination like her.
Perhaps her captor was imbued with some dark magic? Or was he simply such an evil creature that touching someone cursed like her didn’t matter?
It was shocking. It was revelatory. It was the culmination of one of her secret hopes, and it mattered not at all.
The beast was her enemy and she’d soon be too dead to even consider the ramifications of what she’d just discovered.
“Flat-toothed savage.” She spat the words at him. Insults and bravado all she had as the unique male scent of the Other—a potent mix of sweat, determination, and hate—invaded her lungs.
“Mouthy, too, huh?” He lifted her higher, muscles rippling with ease as she swayed in his hold. “We’ll fix that soon enough.”
Her stomach shriveled. Seeing him up close in the harsh light of the suns confirmed what she already knew. Her captor was a true beast, every part of him rippling with corded, ropey muscles that screamed brute strength and power.
Unlike the smaller hairless shimmering bodies of pack males, his square jaw and massive chest were covered with shadowed black fur, as if the prickly darkness within had crept its way out. The curling hair on his head was dark as a night with no moons. His eyes the same bright green as the thigose when it hunted at night.
He was marked by scars. Everywhere. The most prominent, a thin raised line under his throat and a still-raw burn across his ribs. Strange symbols also decorated his skin. Dark, slashing lines as aggressive as the barbarian himself.
If that wasn’t proof enough of the violent life he led, an array of weapons and rope dangled from the leather bands strapped around his biceps, one thick thigh, and his chest.
Everything about the beast was foreign, barbarian, and terrifying.
Unable to help herself, her gaze flickered to the massive bulge barely contained by the fabric wrapped around his hips. That was another difference from the males of her pack. He was far
bigger there, too. He would split her wide.
Would he touch her while he rutted her? If so, Ancients help her, but the part of her that was so starved for contact wondered fleetingly if it could be worth the agony.
Disgusted by such traitorous, weak thoughts, she struggled harder.
“Stay still and this will go a lot easier for you.” Rough fabric slid between her thighs. Before she could kick out, her legs were forced together, gripped in a single hand-hold. Coarse cord wrapped tight around her ankles, then her knees.
It dawned on her then that he was adding more rope, tying her up tighter.
Thrashing, she tried to break his grip. It proved impossible.
He flicked his wrist. The scratchy fibers between her thighs scrapped sensitive, untouched skin before wedging tight against her center.
She cried out.
It didn’t matter. Dropping her trussed legs to the ground, he straddled her hips before circling the rope around her neck, yoking her like an animal. She flinched. Protested with a whimper. In the next instant, her wrists were bound and her arms crossed over her breasts. More rope surrounded her, pining her arms to her chest as his boot landed lightly on her shoulder.
She had always hated being helpless. Yet look at her now.
With a gentle push of his boot, she was rolled over and over in the dirt, dust filling her lungs as the rope circled her belly, hips, closed thighs, knees, and calves, securing her tight, making movement impossible.
A wilding brought to heel.
Coughing, she landed face up. Staring once more up at the sky—and him.
She had thought she was strong enough to survive anything. She had assumed all the trials, deprivations, and punishments had made her resilient. She was certain she would never look back on what she had done at the Other camp and regret.
Now, she wasn’t so sure.
5
Grif stepped back to survey his rope work…and to gain a little distance.
Securing his target was supposed to be quick and impersonal, but the brush of silky skin against his knuckles had fired his blood. A slight break in protocol. Still, he got it. The crisscross of his rope against all that starlit flesh was a nice visual.
Next to the scrape of the ropes between his palms, the look of his intricate knots across skin was his favorite thing. Both beautiful and terrifying. A legacy he couldn’t escape.
It was a good reminder, too. Evil needed to be dealt with, monsters eradicated, and he’d been molded from his youth to do just that.
He straddled his target’s hips.
She snarled, those small fangs peeking out from her lush upper lip.
“I wouldn’t.” He patted the dagger strapped to his thigh. “Bite me again and I’ll remove those pretty canines permanently.”
She flinched.
He gripped the rope where it snaked beneath her ribs. “Tell me what I need to know and there’ll be no unnecessary suffering. Otherwise…” He fell into his usual script, lifting her upper body off the dirt and bringing them nose to nose. “You won’t like what happens next.”
Call him sexist, call him a screwed-up product of his childhood, call him one-tenth decent, but whatever the reason, he wasn’t a fan of using beatings and slicing to get what he wanted from female targets—not even a feral, golden-skinned humanoid bitch who traded in slaves and likely deserved it.