Page 29 of Sinadim

On the third night, his Razie fell in around him and tightened their ranks without a word. Assuming a defensive position, they reacted to some unknown threat he hadn’t noticed.

Color high in his cheeks, breath coming hard, Sinadim cast a quizzical glance at the war chief.

“We’re being followed,” Balkazar said, but that was all as he continued glaring into the night.

The prince nodded, his claws extending to dimple the palms of his hands at the prospect of looming bloodshed.

Pressing forward until their party came to a stout outcropping of desert rock, the Razie scattered without a word of command. Setting a trap for any foolish enough to venture into the desert with those born to rule it.

It didn’t take long.

Staggering, an exhausted Walleri was tracking their footsteps. A massive, flightless raptor that stood nearly as tall as Sinadim himself, it spread tiny vestigial wings and drew to a halt as soon as its massive clawed feet touched the rock.

Snapping its oversized beak at the shadows with a hollow thunk! it trilled low at the back of its throat.

Sensing a trap.

The Razie attacked.

Bleeding from the shadows, they surrounded the exhausted beast. Subduing the creature without killing it, they relieved it of its cargo with brisk efficiency and left their prince to watch as a hooded figure was dragged from the saddle.

“Pl-Please!” a tiny voice rasped. Thin and frail. Ravage by the desert heat and days of hard travel.

Sinadim stepped from the shadows, stalking the moons as he edged ever closer to the hooded figure made to kneel.

“I have”—a dry cough and a rattling breath—“news. News for the prince.”

Frowning now, Sinadim circled forward for a better look at who might be daring enough to brave the desert to deliver news.

“From the Silver City?” he asked and hooked one deadly claw beneath the edge of the hood. Revealing the very last face he’d expected to see.

A female.

An Omega female.

“No,” she rasped, trembling beneath his inspection. Trying to hide wide, luminous eyes even as she said, “A-About the Master’s s-son. About Varjim.”

Setting his claws beneath her chin, Sinadim tilted her face back. Made her look.

She was one of Veli’s, though the change in just a few days was profound.

No longer hanging in lank, greasy clumps, her hair had been washed. Perfumed and trimmed. And she’d been fed. Watered. Tended with the care of the very best surgeons he’d brought from the Silver City.

Still, the desert had not been kind. Her neck was still thin enough to snap with too harsh a wind, and her tail—peeking out from beneath a shoddy, stolen cloak—was still crooked in a way that would never heal.

But the fire burning in those wide, luminous orbs still burned. Her fight far from extinguished.

“Such a brave girl,” Sinadim cooed and scooped her up. Pressing her to his chest, where she trembled against him and burrowed deeper. “Tell me why you’ve come. What news was so pressing that you thought to risk yourself just to share it?”

She blinked. Slow and dazed, pressing her nose against his chest where she filled her lungs with the scent of his sweat. His rich, Anhur musk. “The Master’s son,” she slurred. “He has… a male. A Hathorian. One… one from the Silver City.”

Humming, Sinadim let his fingers wander. Toying with the slope of muscle between her neck and shoulder. Knowing just what that tender space meant to one of her kind when threatened with the pinch of a mark.

“A pretty thing,” she added. “Inked by queens, he… he glittered until the Master stripped him of his jewels.”

The prince’s fingers found purchase at the base of her spine. Rubbing tiny circles that bade her relax further still.

“His name,” she whispered and blinked up at him. Seeming to lose herself in his gaze, just for a moment. Long enough that he watched her pupils swallow the band of color disguised by moonlight. “His name… it was…”