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Balkazar was slower to recover.

One forearm slung over his eyes, the war chief gasped for breath. Still pumping his knot. Still coughing up the occasional weak jet of seed that splashed useless across his own belly, he was a mess of fluids.

Soiled by lust.

“Do you consider yourself well rewarded for services rendered?” Sinadim drawled, grinning at the male he’d chosen to share such a treat with.

Flipping a rude gesture at his prince, Balkazar didn’t bother to uncover his eyes. He merely said, “Ask me again when she’s shat out a few brats who don’t belong to your accursed bloodline. Until then, I expect full compensation. Easy access.”

Sinadim laughed, claws dragging along tawny flesh. “Such an appalling lack of grace for allowing you to indulge yourself.” He paused long enough to tweak bruised nipples that would soon swell with milk, then added, “We may just make a royal of you yet.”

To this, Balkazar shook his head. “Thanks, but I think I’m rather fond of my lowly station. Fucking hybrid bitches is quick. Painless. A few minutes of pleasure, the exchange of coin, and a cold mug of ale for my efforts.” A breath leaked between his lips. “A true rut is…”

Strenuous.

“Alas, we can’t all be meant for greatness,” Sinadim drawled, watching the war chief haul himself upright. Smirking as Balkazar swayed, as if the blood had yet to refill his skull after residing in his cock for so long. Stumbling, the war chief began to kick aside the dregs of her nest in search of his pants.

“When you’re ready,” Balkazar said at length, avoiding eye contact, “we’ll march. We’ve got ground to make up. Zaganos scum to exterminate.”

“Hathorians to rescue,” Sinadim added.

Balkazar rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. More sluts to add to your prodigious harem. With any luck, Varjim’s caravan was also delayed by the storm.”

Frowning, the prince shifted in the nest as the other laced his soiled pants. Careful of slender limbs still twitching as her orgasmic stupor dragged on.

And then, “But not lucky for the Hathorians trapped beneath the sands with a Zaganos male.”

Shrugging, Balkazar afforded Sinadim a point, but said, “It’s not like they’re unaccustomed to the treatment. They come from his father’s harem, after all.”

The prince watched him go. The sour taste of bile poisoned what should have been a delightful afterglow from what was sure to be a successful rut.

He looked to the fragile thing cradled in his arms. A dainty female who’d only just begun to recover from the treatment of her master. A creature who’d carry scars as a memento—scars not won in the sands, but through the tragedy of a brutal life.

Claws extending, a low rumble rattled through Sinadim’s teeth. Burning away the fog of rut with a thirst for vengeance.

For the destruction of Tengit.

For the females exploited in both his harem and in the brothels below the streets of an economically decimated city.

And for Teliah.

An Anhur female he’d meant to make his queen, but whose face had begun to fade from memory as days bled into months.

A female who, even now, was little more than a pawn. A tool used to force Sinadim to leave the Silver City.

Used by the Sultan.

Bristling from mane to tail, Sinadim’s temper began to rise anew. Ugly, vicious rage pumped through his blood, replacing the rut with a wash of bloodlust.

But Veli was dead.

The Sultan all but untouchable, perched in the Silver City, surrounded by the armies of loyal sons waiting for the perfect moment to enact patricide.

There was only one outlet for the blackness washing through the Karahmet prince.

A debt owed to Veli’s ghost.

One Varjim would settle with his life…