Page 20 of The Manticore's Human Queen
The grand doors of the ballroom open, and my head snaps up. It is Lord Renlir, his movements fluid and arrogant. Beside him is his son, Zarren, looking smug. And between them, a ghost in deep blue silk, is Annelise.
Her face is a pale, perfect mask of composure, but the moment her gaze finds me, chained and beaten in the center of the room, I see the mask crack. I see the raw horror, the profound heartbreak she tries so desperately to conceal. A surge of pure, protective fury, so potent it makes the magical chains hum, rips through me. She should not see me like this. She should not suffer for my failure.
She takes a half-step toward me, her hands clenched at her sides, and I shake my head, a single, sharp, almost imperceptible movement.Stay back. Do not show them you care.It is the cruelest, most necessary act I have ever done.
“A magnificent centerpiece, wouldn’t you agree, my dear?” Lord Renlir purrs, his voice echoing in the vast, empty hall. He gestures toward my cage as if presenting a work of art. “A fitting decoration for the celebration of your union.”
Annelise’s gaze is a mild, detached curiosity, a flawless performance. “It is… impressive, my Lord. What is it?”
Zarren preens, stepping forward to take her arm. “A manticore, my pet,” he sneers, his hand possessively stroking her arm. “A rare and vicious beast. I captured it myself in the northern forests. A dangerous hunt, but I knew you would appreciate such a… powerful wedding gift.”
The lie is so blatant, so pathetic, it is almost laughable. My contempt for the elven lord is a cold, hard knot in my gut. He is not a warrior. He is a spoiled child, claiming the victories of his father’s guards as his own.
“A gift?” Annelise asks, her voice a perfect imitation of innocent wonder. “What will you do with it?”
Zarren’s smile widens, becoming a cruel, sadistic thing. “Why, we shall have a hunt, of course,” he declares, his voice ringing with a performer’s relish. “Here. On the night of our wedding feast. A final entertainment for our guests.”
He looks from my caged form to Annelise’s face, his eyes gleaming with a possessive, triumphant light. “It will be a show of our house’s power, a demonstration of my own prowess as a hunter. And,” he adds, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr, “I have added a special prize to the sport.”
He leans in and whispers something to her, and I see her flinch, a small, almost imperceptible tremor that she immediately controls. Zarren laughs and turns back to his father. “I have declared that whoever lands the killing blow on the beast will be rewarded with the singular honor of spending the first night with my bride in my stead. A true prize for a true champion, wouldn’t you agree, Father?”
The words strike me with the force of a physical blow. A low, guttural growl, a sound of pure, murderous rage, rips from my throat before I can stop it. The magical chains flare, their greenwards tightening around my wrists, biting deep into my flesh as my muscles coil with a violence I can barely contain.
They are not just going to kill me. They are going to turn my death into a game. And they are using her, my mate, as the trophy.
I look across the ballroom, my gaze locking with Annelise’s. I see the horror in her eyes, the stark, undisguised terror. But beneath it, I see something else. I see the last of her fear being burned away, replaced by the cold, hard, utterly beautiful light of a rebellion that is no longer a choice, but a certainty.
The hunt has been declared. And the true prey has just been revealed.
24
ANNELISE
Islip through the menagerie’s shadows, my body trembling with a need so fierce it threatens to consume me. The cold iron bars of Tarek’s cage glint in the torchlight, a cruel reminder of our captivity, but my heart hammers with defiance. His dark eyes meet mine, blazing with a hunger that mirrors my own, igniting a fire in this filthy prison.
“This isn’t how it should be, Annelise,” Tarek rasps, his voice low and strained, his manticore strength barely leashed behind the chains.
“You don’t get to decide,” I snap, fumbling in my skirts for the stolen key, my fingers shaking with reckless desire. The lock clicks, and I slip inside his cage, the air electric with our shared rebellion.
“You think so, plaything?” Tarek says, stepping forward, his thick, heavy cock free now, pulsing with want. I shudder as my pussy grows slick with anticipation.
“You’re a mad beast,” I whisper.
Suddenly, his lips crash into mine—a hard, rough kiss that tastes of freedom and fury. His tongue claims mine in a clash of teeth and heat, my body pressing against his.
“Be my master, Tarek—make me your whore,” I purr, my eyes blazing with command, my voice dripping with need.
His growl is primal, his eyes darkening as he breaks free of one chain, his massive hands pulling me close. “On your knees, my dirty queen,” he snarls.
I kneel, opening my mouth wide to receive him. “Fuck my face until my eyes water, master,” I say, determined to prove I’m worthy of his cock in any way my king bids. His massive member slips into my mouth, filling my throat. Tears stream down my face as I gag and moan, owned by my king.
“Take it, whore—take my cock in your mouth,” he groans, thrusting harder. I weaken under his sheer power, but I take it—hard and deep, a beautiful, unrelenting act.
He withdraws, leaving my mouth empty, meaningless without him. He pulls me up, spinning me toward him for a kiss, but a kiss isn’t enough. I demand more.
“Put me over your knee—spank me red, king,” I beg.
“It’s only what a filthy manticore cock-sucker deserves,” he says.
