Rutted By The Bighorn Stepbrother (Red World Monster Stepbrothers #1)

Chapter 1

We marched through the rust-colored dust of the lower wastes, my sandals sinking into grit that baked under a heavy, relentless sun.

Above us, the canyon walls rose in jagged terraces of deep terracotta and burnt orange, cutting sharp lines against a cloudless sky.

The heat here pressed a steady, dry weight into my lungs, hot enough to make me crave the evening shade, yet bearable if I kept my breathing slow and deliberate.

A dying Earth felt like a distant nightmare now.

When our home world choked on its own ashes, the portals offered our only escape into these crimson rifts.

My mother understood survival better than anyone; she married the warlord of the Bighorn clan within a month of our arrival, trading her independence to secure protection for our family in a world ruled by territorial beasts.

I wiped a layer of red silt from my forehead and kept my eyes fixed on the trail ahead.

The warlord’s orders had been swift and non-negotiable.

With the summer rut fast approaching, a season of raw, aggressive drive when the bighorn males lose their civilized restraint to breeding instincts, he demanded that his heir lead his two sisters and me away from the main stronghold.

We were bound for a secluded estate built onto the highest, most isolated summit of the canyon, far from the chaotic energy of the lower camps.

Once the rut passed and the males regained their minds, the warlord would select mates for us from the clan.

My new stepbrother, Nartab, led the ascent.

He moved along the sheer cliffside on a narrow goat trail that would have terrified a normal human, his hooves clicking with rhythmic precision against the stone.

I climbed directly behind him, while my two stepsisters followed in single file at my heels.

I was placed right in the middle of my new stepsiblings.

If the thin altitude made my head spin and I struggled to step up, my stepbrother could reach back and pull me over the ledge.

If my foot slipped backward on the crumbling shale, my stepsisters were positioned to brace my fall, giving him enough time to catch me before I tumbled into the rocks below.

A sharp shard of shale bit through the thin leather of my sole, sending a sting of pain up my heel.

I winced, cursing the Roman-style sandals strapped around my ankles.

The light tunics we wore suited the dry canyon drafts, but these flimsy straps and flat soles were a mockery on an almost vertical climb.

I longed for a pair of thick, ridged mountain boots with reinforced toes, anything capable of gripping the loose sandstone without tearing my skin to shreds.

"Keep your weight leaning into the stone, Veliria," Nartab said without turning his head. His voice carried a deep, gravelly resonance that vibrated over the scrape of loose grit. "The rock gives way near the edge. Step where my hooves leave a mark."

"I am trying," I muttered, gripping a warm shelf of sandstone to pull myself over a high step. "Your hooves are built for this. My feet are not."

He paused on a wider ledge above me and finally looked down.

The sight of him caused a sudden, involuntary catch in my throat.

Above the waist, Nartab possessed the build of an ancient gladiator: broad, sun-bronzed shoulders, thick biceps, and a muscular chest dusted with fine red sand.

A draped linen cloak hung over one shoulder, revealing the sheer physical power of his torso.

A thick leather belt circled his waist, securing a shortened linen tunic that draped just low enough to cover his groin and rear, much like the armor of an ancient soldier.

But below that hem, his human form vanished.

Powerful, fleece-covered hind legs bent at an animalistic angle, ending in heavy, cloven hooves that anchored him effortlessly to a ledge barely three inches wide.

His face was a breathtaking display of monster heritage.

He had an elongated, ovine muzzle covered in short, dark amber fur, a strong jawline, and thick nostrils that flared as he scented the hot air.

Massive, ridged horns curled out from the sides of his head in sweeping, heavy spirals that framed his skull like a crown.

His amber eyes, marked by wide horizontal pupils, locked onto mine with an unblinking intensity that made my skin prickle.

"Give me your hand," he commanded, reaching a large, calloused palm down toward me.

I stretched up, letting his rough fingers wrap around my wrist. With a single, effortless pull, he hoisted me onto the ledge beside him.

His skin felt radiating with heat, his grip firm and unyielding - a physical reminder of the brute strength simmering just beneath his calm exterior.

"You are holding a good pace," Nartab noted, releasing my arm only after my sandals found solid purchase on the rock.

"I do not have much of a choice," I replied, brushing red dust from the hem of my tunic. "If I stop moving, my new stepsisters will just headbutt me from behind."

A low, rumbling sound vibrated in Nartab’s throat - a dry amusement that sounded like rolling pebbles.

"Lesta and Miri would simply step over you.

But you would climb easier if you stopped fighting your footwear.

" "I will stop fighting these sandals when someone in this canyon invents proper mountain boots," I muttered, adjusting the thin leather straps.

"Too bad we left all the useful shoes on Earth to burn. "

Behind us, a soft clatter of hooves announced the arrival of our sisters.

I stepped aside to give them room on the ledge.

They shared their brother's monstrous lineage, yet every feature on them looked softened, graceful, and impossibly elegant.

Their bodies were lithe and slender, covered in light cream-colored fleece from the waist down, ending in delicate, polished hooves that danced over the treacherous trail without displacing a single pebble.

Their ovine faces carried a distinct, exotic beauty.

Delicate, curved horn-buds crested their foreheads, and their wide-set eyes held a calm, ancient awareness.

They wore flowing, saffron-tinted tunics pinned at the shoulders, their garments fluttering lightly in the warm canyon draft.

Neither of them showed a single bead of sweat or a hint of breathlessness.

"You worry too much about her, Nartab," the older sister, Lesta, said softly as she stepped onto the shelf. Her horizontal pupils shifted toward me with quiet curiosity. "She has good balance. Her mother gave her a strong spine."

"A strong spine does not stop a human ankle from breaking on loose shale," Nartab replied, turning his broad back to us to scan the rising path. "We have three more terraces to climb before the sun reaches its peak. The heat will trap in the upper gorge by midday."

"Is the summit stronghold much farther?" I asked, looking up at the towering red cliffs that seemed to scrape the vault of the sky.

"High enough that the scent of the lower valleys will not reach us," Nartab said, shifting his massive weight until his hooves ground against the sandstone.

"High enough to keep you safe when the madness starts.

" He did not wait for my answer. His heavy hooves struck the stone as he began the next ascent, his massive, spiraled horns cutting through the dry air.

I tightened the leather straps of my sandals, took a slow breath of the juniper-scented wind, and followed my stepbrother higher into the crimson rocks.