Page 11 of Bonds of Hate

Chapter One

LOGAN

The beta I have bent over the desk squeals every time I buck into her. These little grating sounds she makes are like nails on a fucking chalkboard, but the grip of her cunt is tight enough to make up for it.

I would tell myself to remember earplugs for next time, but I know damn well there won’t be a next time. There are enough betas in the harem that I could have a new one every day for months. I rarely have to bother with repeat visits.

She makes the noise again, sounding like a rooster crowing at the same time that a freight train passes by the farm.

I’m half-sleeping through this, so at least the noise is enough to keep me awake. I hoped a quick release would help get the day started, but we should have been done ten minutes ago. My ever-growing to-do list is already a mile long.

Right on cue, the door behind me swings open wide enough to hit the opposite wall with a loud bang.

I know it’s Cillian without bothering to look. The bastard never bothers to knock.

Though I guess that’s on me for always “forgetting” to lock the door.

“You have an audience with your father in five minutes,” he tosses off unnecessarily, sounding bored.

“I need another fifteen, at least.”

“You can’t keep the king waiting.”

I punctuate each of my words with a thrust of my hips, surprised he can even hear me over the beta’s shrieking. “I’ve done it before.”

“This is different and you damn well know it.”

I spare him a glance, one eyebrow raised. Cillian prides himself on his reserve, on his absolute control. If he feels driven to cursing, then he must really be in his feelings today.

My gaze lingers on his brow, where anger has drawn the skintight. He’ll get frown lines if he isn’t careful, marring all that smooth skin. You hate to see it.

“Would you rather I show up to an audience with half a knot tenting my pants? I’m sure even my father would agree that most things are best finished once they’re started.”

Cillian scowls. “One wonders why you wouldstartwhen this audience has been on your calendar for weeks?—”

I cut him off. “Then it can’t possibly be that urgent.”

“For weeks,” he repeats. “Because that is how long you’ve been rescheduling it or making excuses.”

Sweat sizzles on my back from the exertion. I pull off my shirt and toss it at him. He takes a half-step back, so it crumples at his feet.

I can’t help myself from taunting him. “You could joinme, you know. I might finish faster with a bit of help.” A pull on the beta’s dyed hair draws another squeal, but also a satisfying clench of her cunt that draws my balls up tight. “Rochelle…that’s your name…right, sweetheart? I’m sure Rochelle wouldn’t mind.”

I know damn well Rochelle isn’t the beta’s name, but I didn’t listen when she initially mumbled it. Betas live for these little signs of disrespect, of degradation. It makes them feel more like Omegas.

And the way it feels when her body tightens up from that small amount of pain is absolutely divine. It’s almost enough to make me forget the coming shit storm gathering on the horizon.

Cillian’s mouth maintains a stiff frown, but his eyes burn. “Unfortunately, I’m on duty. Some of us still remember what that is.”

The barb isn’t meant to be subtle. I flash him a rueful smile, acknowledging that the arrow hit its mark.

Duty.

Obligation.

Burden.

I might consider abandoning it all if I thought we might survive the experience.

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