The Betrayal
A shrill, synthetic beeping sliced through the cave like an ice blade. High, calculated, relentless. A mechanical heartbeat shattering the isolation.
Jules’s eyes snapped open. The deceptive security of the nest evaporated in a heartbeat. Adrenaline slammed through her like an electric shock. Her pulse hammered in her throat. The sound came from the pile of torn clothing in the corner of the rock alcove.
Beep.
Not the primary beacon. This was the backup transponder. A military data logger that Jinx had sewn deep into the lining of the Kevlar jacket. It didn’t send a passive signal. It responded to active scans. To search frequencies.
The Syndicates were here. Raze’s troops were combing the sector. Cold horror punched Jules in the gut. The sterile stench of disinfectant and the sweat of fear rose in her memory, displacing Kore’s musk.
“No,” Jules gasped. She spun around. Bare feet slapped against cold rock. She ignored the burning in her thighs, lunged for the shredded jacket, and frantically dug through the stiff fabric. She tore at the seams, broke her fingernails, until her fingers closed around the metallic block.
She ripped the device from the lining. A red display blinked once per second. A silent, glowing target broadcasting coordinates to the scout drones.
“Off,” she forced through clenched teeth. Her thumbs slid frantically over the metal, searching for the kill switch before the hunters could triangulate her position. “Turn the hell off!”
Behind her, the air exploded. A guttural roar shook the cave floor. No warning. Raw fury.
Kore didn’t react to blinking lights. He smelled caustic lithium, sharp ozone, hot plastic. He caught the scent of the parasite in her hands—the stench of Raze, the enemy warlord driving his troops through the jungle. The transmitter marked his mate. It called to enemies.
His eyes glowed toxic amber. The pupils vanished in that blazing fire. He bared his fangs. The cords of muscle in his neck and back went rigid.
Kore launched himself. The force displaced the air in the cave. He was a blurred streak of dark skin and murderous intent. Jules didn’t even hear his boots hit the stone. She only felt the heat wave slam into her back. She whirled around, the blinking device pressed to her chest.
“Kore, wait! I have to turn it o—”
Her words broke off. The warlord slammed down in front of her. He didn’t slow. His hand shot forward, curved claws fully extended. He aimed for the tracker, snatched at the device, but at the wrong moment Jules instinctively stepped back half a pace.
Hard fingers struck the metal casing. The force ripped the device from Jules’s grip. At the same time, an extended claw grazed her bare forearm.
No resistance. The razor-sharp tip slid through Jules’s skin as if it were air. The pain was a burning flash.
Jules gasped. She jerked her arm to her chest and staggered backward until she crashed hard against the cave wall.
A smooth, deep cut ran diagonally across her forearm.
For a split second, she saw only white skin and the deep gash before blood rushed to the surface.
Heavy, iron-red blood welled from the wound, flooded the edges, and ran in thick streaks down her arm. It dripped from her elbow.
Kore had caught the beacon mid-motion. His fist closed around the device.
A single, heavy drop of blood fell from Jules’s arm. It landed squarely on the glowing display in Kore’s hand. The blood smeared across the glass, dimming the red blinking.
The metallic scent hit Kore’s nostrils. Not corrupted jackal blood. Her blood. Oxygen-rich. Hot. Spilled by his own hand.
Kore’s chest froze. The roar choked off. He gasped for air. His nostrils flared as he drew the scent of injury deep into his lungs. The red drop on the display burned into his retinas. He had injured his female. In his own nest.
The shock cut through his madness but didn’t extinguish the rage. He looked from the blood on the display to the tracker. The device was to blame. The parasite. The false metal that had lured the enemy and driven him to make his mate bleed.
The hatred in Kore’s eyes hardened to murderous cold. His jaw ground so hard the bones cracked. The cords of muscle in his forearm tensed to the breaking point.
He closed his fist. He didn’t just crush the device—he destroyed it with every ounce of raw frustration.
The thick metal bent with a screech. Glass shattered, boring into his palm, but he didn’t feel the pain.
He squeezed. Circuit boards burst, wires tore.
The synthetic beeping died in a grinding scream.
Kore crushed the remains into a shapeless lump of scrap and blood. He jerked his head up. His nostrils blasted out a hot cloud of air.
“Betrayal!” he roared. The word sounded like splintering rock. “False metal!”
Kore yanked his arm back. The muscles in his shoulder tensed into hard knots.
He hurled the shattered beacon like a projectile.
The bloody metal lump tore through the water curtain at the entrance, crashed through the jungle canopy outside, and flew in a wide arc hundreds of meters into the black undergrowth. A dead trail in the swamp.
But Kore didn’t watch the parasite’s flight. The problem was eliminated, yet the sharp, iron scent of freshly spilled blood hung in the air like an accusation. He whirled around.
Jules stood pressed against the rock. She held her injured forearm tight against her stomach. Hot blood seeped relentlessly through trembling fingers, dripped onto the bare stone, and formed a dark pool. Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts.
“Don’t touch me,” she forced out. Her mental shield flickered up, but naked fear of his territorial fury was written all over her face.
Kore ignored the words. Irrelevant noise. He closed the distance in a single stride that shook the ground. He dropped to his knees directly in front of her. His sheer mass blocked every escape route, the heat of his body hitting her like a physical wall.
His hand shot forward, claws fully retracted into his fingertips. Hot fingers closed like a vise around her wrist. Jules flinched violently. She yanked at her arm, but the grip didn't budge. He wrenched her forearm up to his face.
Kore stared at the red gash in her pale skin. His jaw worked. Deep, steady breaths blew hot across the open wound.
He bared his fangs. No hesitation. He lowered his head and pressed his tongue directly into the open, bleeding flesh.
Jules's mouth flew open. A hoarse gasp tore through her throat.
The texture of his tongue was pure sandpaper.
Rough papillae scraped mercilessly over exposed tissue and severed nerve endings.
The pain was a white-hot lightning bolt up her spine.
She dug her free hand into his mane, yanked at the thick hair, and tried to shove him away.
Kore remained an immovable monolith of muscle and bone. He didn't even register her resistance.
He didn't lick the blood away. He drank it. Wet smacking echoed off the bare cavern walls. He dragged his tongue from elbow to wrist with grinding pressure, delving deep into the scratch and cleaning the frayed edges with possessive precision.
The initial pain shifted. Kore's saliva mixed with the blood.
The viscous fluid burned like acid for a fraction of a second before a throbbing numbness seized the wound.
The alien biochemistry reacted instantly with the tissue.
A numbing tingle replaced the pain. The bleeding stopped almost immediately.
The saliva sealed the cut like hot liquid glue.
But Kore didn't stop. He kept cleaning the skin, sucking up every drop and scraping away the dried residue.
The murderous roughness of his tongue and the iron grip around her wrist short-circuited Jules's mind.
The predator that had nearly shredded her arm in blind rage was now healing her with exactly the same animal ruthlessness.
The mortal terror and shock evaporated under the dominant friction of his mouth. Jules's knees gave out. Her muscles surrendered to the overstimulation. She slid down the rough rock wall until she sat on the cold stone.
Kore followed fluidly. He bent over her, pressed her to the ground, and kept her arm pinned relentlessly to his lips. He scented the shift in her pheromones—the ice-cold adrenaline of flight giving way to the dark sweetness of arousal.
He lifted his tongue from her skin and raised his head. The dark muzzle was wet with her blood. The sticky fluid gleamed on his white fangs and trailed red streaks across his chin. The blazing fire in his golden eyes had given way to a cold, uncompromising claim.
He didn't wipe his face. He wore her blood like war paint.
“My blood,” he rumbled. The words were a rough bass that vibrated straight through Jules's chest. “No other alpha. No machines.”
He released her wrist. Before Jules could pull her hand to her chest, his arms slid under her back and thighs. He lifted her effortlessly, carried her the few steps back to the center of the nest, and dropped onto the furs with her.
He wrapped his scaled tail like an iron chain around her legs. He pulled her directly onto his hot chest, pinned her hips to his pelvis, and buried his bloody face deep in the damp curve of her neck. His rough tongue dragged a long stroke over her throbbing artery.
The vibrating purr returned to his lungs, more dominant and demanding than ever before. The acoustic seal of the cave. In here, under his mass and his blood, everything belonged to the king.