Page 57
Crushing the letter in a clawed fist, Sinadim whirled. Tail a bristling flag of impotent fury. A volcanic eruption that needed an outlet.
Shivering, the prince stalked to their nest. To the bubble that couldn’t last, the Omega carrying his hybrid offspring, and the secret that could destroy him if this were the Silver City.
Tearing at his laces, he glanced up and met the icy blue eyes of his war chief. The male he’d allowed to touch what should have been kept sacred. Even now, Balkazar’s knot was buried in that sheath, on the edge of spilling common seed in a female of outstanding breeding.
And the prince found he didn’t care.
Not with the scent of sex thick in the humid coastal air. His every blink poisoned with the opulent scrawl that spelled out his end.
Doomed.
He tore himself free. Pulling a flaccid cock from his pants, the prince settled into his place at the head of the nest. Back to the great window, legs spread wide enough to allow his brave girl to inch toward her reward for enduring Balkazar’s cruelty.
She didn’t disappoint.
A tiny sound spilled over her lips. Hunger and desperation, it was need unlike any he’d ever known before, for he was a prince.
Born to privilege few others might ever know, boasting a harem large enough to rival the Sultan and the Heir. It was a duty. One he performed admirably and to great success. But…
… he’d never indulged a pregnant Omega.
There hadn’t been time. Not with so many who needed his attention. The neverending conveyor belt of females in need of being bred with the next wave of hybrid soldiers.
He turned vibrant green eyes down, watching as she emerged from the nest. Glassy eyes clear from the fog of heat, she looked at him with reverence. A sort of adoration he didn’t deserve.
Claws extending to dimple his thighs, he watched her crawl. Bringing Balkazar with her, she settled between his legs, took his flaccid length between her lips, and began to nurse at his length. A blissed-out smile gracing her lips.
Sweat began to gather at his nape. His mane grew damp with an emotion he’d never known, and couldn’t name.
Still, she took her time. Tongue lapping at spongy flesh, she pulled him between her lips with the sort of enthusiasm impossible to fake.
“Ahh,” Balkazar groaned, tilting his head back as he clutched at sorrel hips and let her work. “That’s a good little cunt. Drain my sack of every drop. Take it all, now. Make sure my brats get everything they need to grow into fine soldiers worthy of battle.”
Sinadim swallowed the lump growing in his throat. Trying to smother the crushing weight of doom lurking where he couldn’t quite see.
But every blink pulled him back and rubbed his face in the words he’d tried to crush.
Orders from the Silver City.
His duties as Firstborn.
All of it an elaborate lie dressed in pretty words.
For the Sultan himself had written those words to taunt. Ordered Sinadim to stay in Tengit and make reparations for damaging decades-old trade deals, and daring to fly Karahmet colors over the coastal city.
But it was the singular mention of one precious jewel that spoke of Rusteem Karahmet’s true intention.
“Teliah is… well-tended.”
It was a taunt. A jibe meant to incense, for a command to stay away could only mean she was not yet carrying the Sultan’s bastards. That he wanted more time to plant his sons in the potential queen and ensure the Karahmet blood ran thick through their twisted family tree.
Oblivious to these heinous revelations, Balkazar snarled as his restraint began to fray. Hips clapping in micro thrusts, the war chief fucked into the tight, milking sheath crushing his knot. “Yesss,” he hissed, shuddering from tail to mane. Claws threatening to puncture tender, bronzed flesh that had only just begun to gleam with health. “That’s… yessss…” he slurred, and came. Jerking with every violent lash of seed he pumped inside.
Still, Sinadim couldn’t be roused.
No matter the talented throat working his tip, the spittle dripping down his length, or the daring, dainty fingers massaging his balls—he was soft.
Distracted.
