Page 75 of Hell's Secret Omega

“Please,” he begs.

“Say it. You’re my vergis, but on my knot you’ll be mymate. I’ll give my thrall to you. But you must say it.”

The words are raw and feral. Cyrus lets loose a noise he’s never heard, not even during his heat, a noise of pure need and longing. “Yes,yes. Mate me. Knot me.”

Mezor’s eyes gleam. He pushes Cyrus down.

It’s not easy. It’s hard and painful, huge, his hole not slick enough, his body exhausted and resistant. Mezor’s arms come around him, carefully avoiding where his back aches the deepest.

“You’re so good,” he murmurs. “Taking my knot so well. You’re so tight, my little vergis. You need to relax.”

Cyrus shakes. He’s going to start sobbing again. How mortifying—a vergis who can’t even handle his primus’s cock. But slowly the deep ache eases as slick floods his channel, wetting the pulsing knot of flesh inside him, easing the way for Mezor’s cock to push deeper. He swallows back the tears building in his throat.I won’t. Against all odds, instead of making him feel weak and small, pinned on his primus’s massive girth, Mezor’s knot fills him withpower.

He’s taking it. It’s not even his heat and he’s taking it—loving it—wanting it. No one can take this from him.

Mezor vibrates under his palms. He guides Cyrus down until they’re flush, until the whole thing is inside. His head tips back until his horns brush the ground and his neck draws taut. A deep groan spills from his lips. The bond is incandescent. Cyrus pants, his legs completely liquid, unable to move an inch. And then Mezor is jerking, shuddering. His knot pulses inside Cyrus’s tender hole, a wave that seems to shiver all the way up Mezor’s length. With a jolt, Cyrus feels something touch a spot deep, deep inside him.

“Ah!”he yowls, and he’s pulling tight, soaring, free from everything. Release scatters him as if he’s passing through the gate again.

Mezor lets out an animalistic moan and heat floods Cyrus’s whole lower half. With Mezor’s knot plugging the way out, his seed builds and builds until it can’t go anywhere but into Cyrus’s womb, sending waves of unbearable pleasure through the very core of his being. He can’t tell if the hot liquid dripping down his cheeks is tears or just his soul leaking out of his body.

Mezor’s hand winds into Cyrus’s hair and he cradles Cyrus close. Cyrus collapses onto his mate’s chest, spilling come and slick everywhere and utterly empty of all thoughts except one.

“Mine,” he whispers.

“Yours,” Mezor murmurs, and the bond flares with finality.

Cyrus hisses as cold,stinging water trickles across his back. Mezor tears strips of cloth, handing them over one by one so he can bind them around his chest and seal the wounds away. Most of the whip marks have scabbed over now, but his back stillburns and aches. Even lifting his arms makes him sweat. The flush of energy he got from taking Mezor’s knot is quickly draining.

Mezor is quiet, but Cyrus can practically hear his primus in his own head now. His thoughts swirl in a mix of protectiveness and smug pleasure, with an undercurrent of fury. Mezor wants to tear the Court apart stone by stone.

He can’t say he disagrees.

Where the gate took them sits between the pit and the wilds, where the shale is overgrown with pale scrubby mosses and stunted, twisting trees. Mount Hythe lurks on the far side of the pit, and high above it is the eye of Earth’s sky, the opening between realms. Dust and storms pour over the edge in drifts, forming strange clouds around the mountain’s midsection. The light from Earth’s day suffuses everything faintly, a distant dawn rising over a sea of shale. But the light here makes him feel exposed. Cyrus wants to hide in the dark forever, just him and his primus.

He takes the last strip of cloth from Mezor and hesitates, arms shaking with exhaustion. Mezor plucks it from his fingers.

“Here.”

He knots it deftly and tucks the ends under. His fingers trail over the old scar on Cyrus’s chest, and a deep furrow cuts his brow.

“You have other scars.”

“He’s never whipped me like this. Not more than a couple blows.” It seems important to say. But Mezor’s furious scowl grows.

“He should never have dared to touch you.”

“Who would have stopped him?” Cyrus shrugs.

“I should have.” Mezor’s expression grows serious. “I ignored the violence and tumult of the Court, believing it wasn’t my domain. But by doing so, I haven’t done justice to my kind.”

“We entered the Court willingly. We knew the price.”

Mezor sits back on his haunches. He’s partially dressed again, but Cyrus is naked. The cool air is a balm on his skin. Everything aches, from head to toe, and he longs to fall into a deep sleep and not wake up until the world is right again.

“What happened in there?” Mezor asks.

Cyrus shuffles closer. The air feels different between them.Are our souls already entwining to become one?He struggles to turn his mind back to the Court.

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