Chapter 11 Syra

The Farlanders have us surrounded.

Even if I couldn't see them, I would know they were Farlanders based purely on their scent—a rancid, goatish odor that is like an obscene perversion of the way the Central Ruins alphas smell. That scent is so strong I can taste it in the back of my throat, and it makes me want to gag, but I do my best to ignore it and focus on the task at hand—keeping the Farlanders at bay.

So far, Markus and I have managed to put an end to two of them, but there are still ten of the bastards left, and they're circling us like a pack of wild dogs, snarling and snapping. Some of them have even filed their teeth down into pointed fangs.

Markus and I are not completely helpless, however. I still have my spear, and Markus has his obsidian dagger, which he has just drawn from the sheath on his leg—the only piece of clothing on his entire body. It's still more than what I've got on. Aside from the little rawhide band holding my hair back in a ponytail, I am completely naked.

I'm also technically still mating with Markus.

We are still knotted, our bodies locked together at the genitals. It is an adaptation that's supposed to ensure successful breeding, but right now it's liable to get us both killed.

Then again, there are some advantages to fighting like this. No matter which way Markus turns, he's always got a pair of eyes in the back of his head—me.

And I've got my spear.

One of the Farlanders lunges toward us, and I jab at him with my weapon. The speartip cuts a deep gash across his forehead. It's hardly a fatal wound, but it's enough to make him retreat a few steps.

His companions are not as cautious. The reason is my scent. Even though I have mated with Markus, my body is still in heat, and the Farlanders can smell it. It's driving them crazy with lust.

I hear a snarl from behind me, and I feel Markus's arm move in a slashing gesture. Something warm and wet splashes all over my naked back, and the air fills with the copperish smell of blood.

Three down, nine left.

Markus continues to turn, and the Farlanders continue to circle.

Another one charges at me, and I thrust my spear hard under his chin. The blade disappears into his throat, along with a few inches of the shaft. I close my eyes as blood showers my face.

Four down, eight left.

I try to tug my spear back, but it won't come free. The tip is caught on the bones of the Farlander's neck. Two of his buddies rush in and grab the shaft. They wrench it from my hands.

"Markus!" I shout. "They've got my spear!"

"Just hold on."

Markus keeps turning and slashing with his knife, but it doesn't sound like he is able to land any more blows, and without my spear to keep the Farlanders at bay, several of them are able to rush in and take him from behind. I try to kick them away, but it doesn't work.

"Separate them!" one of the Farlanders roars.

He is bigger than the others, and he has rows of rusted nails embedded in his bald scalp like a metal mohawk. He must be the leader of this gang, because the others do what he says and start prying me and Markus apart.

It takes five of them to get Markus's arms under control, and even then he manages to headbutt one of them, crushing the Farlander's nose.

The one with the nails on his head punches Markus on the chin.

"Stop that!" I shout. "Leave him alone."

The Farlanders just laugh cruelly and continue pulling Markus and I away from each other. They manage to separate our upper bodies, but our loins are still locked together. I wince in pain as Markus's huge knot tugs at my entrance.

"Uh, Boss?" one of the Farlanders says. "It looks like they're knotted."

Nailhead grins. "It would appear so."

In the course of the struggle, Markus dropped his knife. Now one of the Farlanders picks it up and holds the obsidian blade against the alpha's throat.

"Want me to kill him, Boss? That'll get rid of his knot quick enough."

"No," Nailhead says. "Not yet. I want to punish him first, for killing our brothers. We're going to make him watch while we play with his mate."

"So we're just going to wait for his knot to go away?"

"No. My cock is too impatient for that, and this omega smells too fucking good to resist. We're going to pull them apart."

"That'll damage her, Boss."

"I know, and we're going to do plenty more damage before we're through with her. Now get ready to pull."

Markus groans. He is still reeling from Nailhead's sucker punch and struggling to remain conscious. Four of the Farlanders take hold of him, two on each arm. Two more of them grab me by the arms, and a third pulls my hair. One of them takes the opportunity to grope my naked breasts. Nailhead stands by, watching the proceeding, and directing.

"Alright, get ready," he says. "On the count of three, you're going to pull with all your might…"

Panic seizes my heart. I try to will my body to loosen its grip on Markus's cock, but it doesn't work. Not that it would matter anyway. Markus's knot is still as big and hard as ever, and if getting socked in the jaw isn't enough to make it go away, then I don't know what is.

I'm going to be ripped apart.

"One…" Nailhead says.

I shut my eyes and brace for the pain I know is coming.

"Two…"

Hot blood gushes across my belly, and I cry out, but not in pain. Strangely, it doesn't hurt at all, and I think my body must have gone into shock or something. The pain will be arriving momentarily.

Only it doesn't arrive, and when I open my eyes a moment later, I see that my body, though stained with gore, is still connected with Markus's, and apparently unharmed.

Then I glance upward, and I see where the blood came from.

Nailhead's jaws are opened wide, and a full twelve inches of spear is protruding outward from his open mouth. Though it is coated in thick red blood, I can see that the speartip is not made of steel like mine is. It's made from knapped stone, like the blade of Markus's knife.

The spear withdraws with a wet schluck, and Nailhead's body drops bonelessly to the ground.

Before I have a chance to see who killed him, all hell breaks loose around us. The Farlanders let go of me and Markus so they can face these new attackers.

Markus throws his arms protectively around my body as the whirlwind of violence surrounds us. Blood spatters us from every direction. The air fills with shrieks of pain and the sound of snapping bones.

In a matter of seconds, it is all over.

The Farlanders lie dead around us, sprawled in the grass and draped over the gravestones of the ancestors.

Only two figures remain standing.

Two alphas.

My eyes go first to the one who is standing nearest. He looks to be around the same age as me and Markus, with short brown hair and keen hazel-colored eyes. I've never seen him before, but he is dressed like a member of the Central Ruins tribe, with a simple deerskin loincloth, and steel piercings glinting on his face. He has a ring through his left eyebrow, another through his bottom lip, and several more on each ear. His left arm bears a series of short, evenly spaced scars.

As soon as he sees me, his nostrils flare, and I know he is taking in my scent. A sudden bulge pushes at the front of his loincloth, indicating he can smell my heat.

My own body responds to the young alpha's presence in kind. Even though I am surrounded by death and spattered with blood, even though I am still held by Markus's knot, my body surges with renewed arousal. I tell myself it is only because of my heat, but that does nothing to lessen the intensity of my desire. My skin fires with lust, and my nipples grow rigid with excitement.

The young alpha moves toward me, only stopping when Markus bares his teeth and snarls a warning. The young alpha returns the gesture, and for a moment I think the fight may not be over.

But then another voice booms through the graveyard. A voice as deep and rumbling as thunder.

"Back off, Brik."

I turn my attention to the other, bigger male, and my heart skips a beat. I do not know this alpha's name, but I have seen him once before. His dark hair is silvered at the temples now, and his short beard is flecked with gray, but his stern brow and piercing eyes are unmistakable. I would recognize those eyes anywhere, even though I haven't seen them in a long, long time.

Nine years, to be precise. The night I fell through the ceiling of the ritual chamber.

He is the one who caught me.