Page 1 of Filthy Royal

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SCARLETT

“You getting those panties filthy wet for me, wild thing?” Damien’s whispered rasp sent gooseflesh rippling across Scarlett’s skin. “I want that lucky little toy to prime that pussy. To make you a slick, creamy mess between those gorgeous thighs. The kind I can’t wait to lick clean.”

His words were as potent as the flat clear rod vibrating between her clit and the puckered rosebud of her bottom, its pulses pure ecstasy—and pure torment.

Damien’s gift to her, held in place by gentle suctions that only intensified her pleasure, was a top-of-the-line sex toy from his home planet, and her new favorite transgression.

Scarlett stifled a moan.

The Consortium had positioned her display case high on the raised stage at one end of the oval-shaped stadium, a golden stool beneath her and a glittering gold curtain at her back. While the curtain hid the sterile wall and functional doorway behind it, the other three clear walls fit with the message her handlers wished to convey: she was the ultimate prize, a trophy just out of reach, there to motivate the fighters and fuel their aggression while discouraging them from approaching.

And usually, no one dared.

Except for Damien.

He stood in the concealed doorway, hidden from the others by the curtain. Her perfect, filthy secret. Her risk and her rebellion. Her everything.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He slipped a single finger through the curtain and trailed it down the nape of her neck.

She shivered with need, fingers curling around the edge of her stool.

Reckless. So damned reckless.

If caught, there would be hells to pay. But, Goddess help her, she lived for his touch.

Buzz.The toy’s pulses intensified.

Another flutter of the curtain. Another low rasp. “Press those pretty thighs together and try not to squirm, sweet Scarlett.”

A purr escaped. Most called herthe prize. Or simply referred to her as Consortium property. Each time Damien said her name, a lost part of her found its way home.

“That’s right, beautiful. So good. Soon, I’m going to reward you.”

She wanted that reward. Needed more of his filthy praise.

The urge to shift from her position was almost overwhelming.

But that would be an absolute disaster, and not only for her.

Scarlett’s gaze flicked to her primary handler, Consortium personnel Egan Avitus, holding court on the training arena floor—his back to her, his silver hair as shiny as the coins he so loved. As pit boss, showman, tournament organizer, and director of prizes and fighters, his power was extensive. Over her, it was absolute.

Her brother, Luc, stood beside Egan. His recent promotion to high trainer had earned him a coveted spot up close to the action, but it also placed him in proximity to monsters such as Egan. Spines ramrod straight, they surveyed the rows of eager warriors from across the galaxy sparring on the floor mats.

The training facility was as well-built and extravagant as all Consortium ventures, a soaring, open space with three visible levels that narrowed toward the top. The lowest, widest ring was filled with training mats, equipment, and observation areas. The second ring was a raised fighting platform only slightly above the ground level, split into sections to accommodate at least fifty fighting matches at once. The third ring, her current level, was the smallest, filled with viewing platforms and private seating rooms for special clients.

At the moment, most of the action was taking place on the ground level, where the fighters had gathered, all stretching or sparring while waiting for the next round of matches to begin. There were Alphas with horns, wings, plates, spikes, tusks, and tails; their skin, scales, and exoskeletons in colors as varied as the stars in the Anarcheim Galaxy. The one commonality: all were huge, fierce, and determined to win the tournament.

A slew of equally diverse-looking security, trainers, investors, lower-level Consortium members, and omega groupies crowded behind the fighters, huddling as close to the action as possible, their excitement palpable.

Several Brotherhood Alphas, the final major group in the facility, sat in the exclusive cordoned-off luxury suite on the ground floor. Their membership in the galaxy’s most powerful, ruthless crime organization ensured them a prime viewing spot. Most were here to cheer on the fighters they’d sponsored or get an early peek at who to bet on in the tournament’s final rounds.

Thank the Goddess, all Alphas who entered the training arena were required to wear scent mufflers. Otherwise, they’d all know what a mess Damien was making of her panties.

“Fighters, to the second level.” Egan Avitus’s voice rang out, making her sit up straighter. “You might have survived to round four of this tournament, but if you want to make it to the main event, don’t shame yourself by being eliminated here.”

Fear whispered through her. “Damien—”

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