Page 74 of Hell's Secret Omega

I should have brought that evil creature back to life and killed him again.

He cradles Cyrus carefully, a storm of emotions battering him through the bond. He’s not a kind, gentle, or loving person. He is a god, a hunter, a ferocious steward of the land. He is cold. Untouched. But when Cyrus’s tears wet his shoulder he knowsthatside of him is no more.

The Hunter is no more.

Now he’s just Mezor, a primus. Mezor, with a duty to abandon the one he loves.

Chapter 42

CYRUS

Cyrus shakes with bitter pain.It feels as though his world is crumbling into dust—he’s free, and he should be ecstatic, but all he feels is the hand around his neck, slowly squeezing him into nothing. All he hears are howls of glee, sounds of the Court’s victory over him. And Claudius’s words.You’ll have a place in the procession.

Right now, he’d rather die.

He clenches his jaw against sobs, his claws sinking into Mezor’s chest. Mezor bears the abuse silently.

“Tighter,” Cyrus mumbles. If only Mezor would put his hands on Cyrus’s neck in the exact place the Quartermaster did and replace that sensation forever.

“Your back?—”

“I need it,” he hisses.

“Hurt me instead,” Mezor rumbles. “I can handle it.”

Cyrus sucks in a stuttering breath. He digs his claws in harder, feeling the solid muscle give, drawing blood. He licks the sweat from the skin in front of his face, feeling it pebble under his mouth. The muscle shudders.Rip. Tear. His vergis howls. Mezor’s ribcage swells under him and his body goes taut.

“More. Let it out.”

He twists, trying to get closer, the bond sparkling with a storm of emotion. Sparks catch into flame. Molten heat spills down his whole body and into the pit of his stomach and a noise escapes his throat, raw and needy.

“Please—” he gasps. Mezor’s blunt claws suddenly grip him by the throat. “Yes!”

“Is this what you need?” Mezor grunts, bucking underneath him. His body gives off heat like a forge and the iron brand of his cock springs to life without hesitation, ready to service.

“Touch me,” Cyrus begs. He needs to erase the bitter smell of ichor and replace it with Mezor’s scent. To wipe the feeling of every cruel hand on him and replace it with Mezor’s hands. Fingers cup his thigh, hitching it high and exposing him. The fabric tears away. He squeezes his eyes shut as Mezor pulls him open with a snarl.

“You need it rough? You want me to own you? Take you?”

The words should feel wrong, but they’re perfect.

“Yes,” Cyrus sobs. His cock fits to Cyrus’s hole.Yes.The first thrust is agony and perfection. A howls wrenches from his throat.

Mezor’s hands are heavy on his hips. He pushes Cyrus down, all the way to the root, filling him in the most terrible way—with a gentleness he can’t bear. He sways, his breath catching. A thumb swipes under his eyes, claw trailing down his cheek. When he opens his eyes Mezor’s gaze is heavy. Too heavy. Mezor licks the salt from his thumb, his deadly teeth flashing.

“Let me give you a gift,” he murmurs.

He lifts Cyrus up by the hips, then brings him down again, using him gently, sweetly. The bond is an inferno, slowly eclipsing every one of Cyrus’s coherent thoughts. Cyrus falls to his hands on Mezor’s chest, hanging his head so he doesn’t have to look in his primus’s eyes. To have his soul bared by that knowing gaze. He’s limp in Mezor’s hands as Mezor useshim, just like he wanted, his cock emptying Cyrus of everything except him.

Then Mezor lets out a shocked snarl, and Cyrus finds himself sinking down over somethingbig, thick and punishing, and he yelps and scrabbles at Mezor’s chest.

“What—”

“Do you want it?” Mezor gasps, holding him still suddenly. His eyes blaze. “You have to tell me.”

“Oh—oh!” Cyrus’s legs tremble.His knot. It’s his knot.He squirms, frantically pushing back onto the intrusion. But Mezor’s grip is iron.

“Say it.”

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