Page 4

Veli was holding out on him.

The slimy cretin was forging his records to avoid paying the Karahmet throne what was owed.

Sinadim drained his mug. Bristling, another low growl erupted over lips gone thin and white with irritation.

The reports were a disappointment that only added to his responsibilities. Only stacked the odds against him.

A rush of warm wetness soaked his balls and thighs, and with a shiver, the seal broke. His knot popped free.

Gathering his things, Sinadim stood. Cracked first the left side of his neck, then the right. Laying his documents in neat piles, he marked the last passage he’d read, then took a swig straight from the bottle. Cock hanging heavy between his thighs, softening, yet still bloated with the rut.

Still work to be done.

Hybrids to whelp.

He grinned, returning to the nest where a sleeping Omega lay tangled in loose bedding. Pretty little cunt glazed white with his seed and slick that bubbled and gushed before his eyes.

Mouth watering, he knelt at her side. Tempted to have her cleaned so he might drink his fill of that addictive ambrosia.

But he resisted, for without the suppressing oils, he’d spend her entire season drunk on the rut. Needing just one more taste…

A luxury he could afford to deny, for there was always another Omega going into heat. Another to taste. More slick to be had. Always another to take his knot and whelp his brats.

Stroking life back into his prick, his fingers found her blonde locks once more. Dragging her near as an idea bubbled through the urge to fuck, he peeled her lips apart and fingered her tongue. Lost in thought as she began to suckle at his digits.

Aside from a few aging Murikai, there was little in the way of weakness to be found in Hadim’s armies.

But only the weak waited for opportunity to ripen. Only the bold might sit with the Nine.

And Veli Zaganos may well have given him the leverage he needed.

“Wake up,” Sinadim said, gruff. The rut setting the flames of lust in his very blood. Mane standing on end, he pressed his cock to her lips. Humming when she began to nurse at his tip without opening her eyes. “Even without the oils, you’ll be bred well this night, Omega,” he rasped, forcing his length deeper. Enjoying the smooth glide of blunted teeth scraping over his shaft. The way her tongue laved the thick vein and reached for his balls, leaving him shining and wet, but cleaned of cooling sperm.

“Mmm…” she hummed, taking his tip through the ring at the back of her throat. Swallowing before she pulled back, and said, “Thank you, Alpha,” in the dreamy tone of a Hathorian lost deep to the urge to be mounted and fucked pregnant.

Violently aroused, Sinadim pushed her back and dove between slender thighs. Filling her in a single, brutal thrust, for with all the confidence found in the fog of a heavy rut, he knew what the Nine meant for him to do.

With, or without the correct leverage, Sinadim was going to kill his father.

2

Groggy, Sinadim woke to the scent of a long, wet night. The slender limbs of a well-fucked Omega were tangled around his own, and there, pressed to his chest, a smooth, warm cheek.

Humming, a satisfied smile traced his lips. Balls utterly drained, yet his cock grew thick with a tired sort of interest.

He could go again, just one more time, before he sent her back to the harem reeking of cum and slick with a command to fall pregnant. Just to listen to her whine, to know that she’d do all she could to ensure it if only to please him with another litter of hybrid sons.

One eye cracked, he found where she was slippery with seed and slick. Mane rising, his tail flicked once, and he was on her. Pushing bruised thighs apart, he worked two fingers inside walls lined with muscles overwrought by so thorough a breeding. Her Biquea glands drained but still ripe enough to see her mewl at his touch.

The heavy knock of a fist interrupted Sinadim’s focus, followed by the familiar voice shouting, “My prince!” through the thick wooden door.

Balkazar.

His right hand.

His war chief, and the very male responsible for a great many of Sinadim’s successful campaigns on the battlefield.

A possessive snarl ruptured Sinadim’s composure, and he returned his attention to the salted quim spread before him.