Page 34 of Sinadim

When he finally let go, it was with a possessive snarl. Mane standing in a full bristle, he emptied his balls. Sending jet after jet of potent, royal seed into the very mouth of her womb, he saturated her in his scent. Marking her from the inside and out.

“Take every drop, now,” he cooed, mashing himself deeper still as he pumped her full. “Gonna keep you sealed tight, just like this,” he slurred, lazy now as he pulled at her nipples. “Fat with my cum until these pretty little tits grow ripe and swollen with milk for my brats.”

She couldn’t hear him, but he told her anyway. Whispered promises of safety and protection. A monologue splattered with a litany of lewd filth. Of all the things he’d teach her about her kind as she learned to serve him. As she learned what a Hathorian female was truly capable of when indulged and cherished by a prince.

“You’ll breed for me, brave girl,” he murmured as his knot began to deflate. “But in return, you’ll have justice.”

He left her there in his bedding. Ass upturned, a chalice filled to the brim in tribute to the shrine he’d make of her womb.

It was late when the prince finally stepped away—two of the moons already sleeping. Already dipped below the edge of the desert as the sun stretched and yawned on the opposite horizon.

Skin gleaming with the dew of exertion, he stretched. Looking to the tents of his generals gathered in a tight ring around his own.

And Balkazar, standing guard with an exhausted, but living Walleri sleeping curled up at his feet.

The war chief offered a lewd grin. “Seems at least one Omega can offer a bit of fire after all, eh?”

“More than a little, and”—Sinadim clapped the other male on the shoulder before he sat with long legs sprawled before him in the sand—“tight as a virgin. All but untouched.”

Balkazar groaned, stumbling as if dealt a mortal blow. “And here I seem to recall something of your profound dislike for virginal bitches. Something to do with their lack of enthusiasm.” He laughed, but couldn’t quite hide the bitter edge in his voice when he said, “Ah, to have but one night of that famed Karahmet privilege…”

Laughing with him, Sinadim relaxed. Settling in to watch the sun rise over desert sands.

But when his eyes slid back to the war chief’s profile, there was a question in the prince’s heart.

A whisper of something taboo that no amount of rank, privilege, or time-honored tradition could silence…

10

It took three days for her heat to truly set in.

Three days of keeping her pussy oiled with Kesh, while feeding her the complimentary fertility herbs that would make her ripe enough to breed, but docile enough to control.

All of it necessary to stave off a natural Hathorian heat that would fog Sinadim’s senses and compromise the coming battle. To make her more receptive to the sperm of a species not her own, so she could grow ripe with royal seed.

For without the herbs and oils, breeding a Hathorian female was all but impossible. The bridge between species slick and impassable without a careful dance designed to mimic the primal ritual between male and female. A dance clouded and corrupted by a steady diet of Anhur interference.

It was one of the greatest kept secrets of the ruling class.

A secret not even Balkazar knew, despite the many campaigns he’d waged in the Karahmet name. That he knew more about keeping Hathorian females than most any other commoner Sinadim had ever encountered, for Balkazar had been born in the underground brothels. In the muck, where such illicit knowledge was gained through the most unsavory means.

Only upon establishing and holding a harem of their own for three years, would fathers of royal blood pass such knowledge to their sons. A secret entrusted only to Karahmet males who’d proven themselves worthy of one day taking the Sultan’s throne for themselves.

Sinadim grinned. Watching the Walleri keep up to their grueling pace as his brave girl clung to its billowing feathers.

Tiny. Tucked away behind flightless wings, she endured the sprints through the night. Embraced it in a way that drew Sinadim’s curiosity toward the true nature of the Hathorian species.

A species that clung to darkness. Who squinted and hissed with ears pressed flat at the first hint of morning light.

He watched, even now. Observing as she buried her face in billowing feathers when the rays of the desert sun pierced the horizon and licked the sands with blinding heat.

Calling a halt to their march, Sinadim took a brief respite with his Razie, consulting the maps as they ate their simple rations.

“She’s slowed us down,” Balkazar said through a mouthful. “Not half as much as I thought she would, but we’ve lost two days.”

“Still,” Sinadim returned, pulling a dainty, exhausted female into his lap, “we’re days ahead of Varjim. Enough to mount a respectable ambush at the gates of the Summer Palace.”

It was Balkazar’s turn to grin, and it was a thing laced with the lust for bloodshed…