Page 23
It wasn’t enough.
Not with the sounds dragged from Teliah’s throat still echoing in his skull. The knowing of what transpired in the gloom of that reliquary, where he’d abandoned her to the Sultan’s depraved whims.
It was a slow, helpless anguish.
A fire not doused, no matter how many torn throats he left gushing in his wake.
No, the crushed skulls and twisted spines only added fuel to unquenchable fires, for no matter how grievous their injuries, they all laughed in Rustem’s cruel voice.
Sinadim’s mane bristled, his tail a stiff warning of potent musk as he stepped deeper into that blind gloom. Senses sharp, primed for any whisper of movement that might have slipped past the Razie.
The scent of breeding Omegas struck him first.
All it took was a single breath.
A taste of that potent ambrosia born of Hathorian females, and his rut ignited—and with it, homicidal levels of testosterone surged through his veins in a way only a prince might know.
Hatred festered in his heart.
Loathing of Veli. Of being forced to cut a swathe of murder across the continent in his grandfather’s name. Only to return to the Silver Court in time for his wedding to a female he’d failed.
Marriage before the bulge of deception began to swell between Teliah’s hips.
Mane a bristling cloud of golden vengeance, Sinadim slipped into the center of his Razie. Protected by the massive bulk of his hybrid generals, yet directly in the thick of the oncoming battle.
Exactly where he needed to be.
“Another fine victory, my prince,” Balkazar hummed from his side. Ever that respectful half-pace at the rear. “You’ll add many quality bitches to your harem today, eh?”
Sinadim grunted, not yet willing to claim victory. Not until his claws were tacky with Veli Zaganos’ essence.
The narrow hallway bloomed into a dark cavern.
And he staggered.
Dank and wet, festering with the unspeakable grime of blatant neglect, the stench struck him like a blow.
Eyes watering, his nose stinging at the scent of stale piss and cum, the putrid air left Sinadim gagging on horror.
“By the Nine,” he rasped, pressing the back of his wrist to his nose and upper lip. Moving deeper into the dark. Each step grew heavier than the last. Weighted with the dread of knowing what he would find.
That it would be worse than the brothels of Tengit, for there were few more depraved than those born to inherit obscene wealth. Those who would abuse their power and indulge in unhinged depravity where none might interfere.
Still, the discovery tore at Sinadim’s frayed temper.
What should have been the most cherished females in the kingdom, lived in unspeakable squalor.
And then, one by one, a sea of hollow faces appeared in the dark. Peering at Sinadim’s forces from the gloom, they were skinny, wretched things with sallow skin and lank, unwashed hair.
“Where is your master?” the prince spat, reeking of a furious, dominant male, he shivered with disgust.
At their treatment.
At the sight of festering claw wounds left on narrow hips.
The angular poke of flesh stretched thin where he could plainly see the line of slender bones. Ribs and pelvises, femurs without so much as a hint of healthy muscle.
Bellies swollen with malnutrition and pregnancy… or both.
