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Animal Instincts

By Brenna Lyons



Description

Mattayas is the eldest son of the alpha pair, the buck destined to lead his Wul pack when his father dies. Anha is a proud young Lyx fem, a strong hunter and fighter for her nest. Their mating instincts drive this unlikely pair together, sending Mattayas into a murderous rage that leaves them with horrific choices to make. Can their instincts overcome the problems inherent in such a match?


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Excerpt

Anha arched her back, thwarting Thoman’s move to bite her neck even as she drove her bottom toward the pillar of his cock. Some fems let toms mark them indiscriminately; Anha was not such a fem. Though it was unlikely that she’d find a true mate, Anha wanted to go to him unmarked if she did.

Thoman hissed lightly in his displeasure. “Little tease.”

On some level, he was correct. Still... “All unmated toms want is the pussy.” She purposely used the human term for it as both a pun and a further tease. “It is pride that makes you seek more.”

As if I am not seeking more? She pushed away that thought. It was for another time and place.

Thoman drew in Anha’s scent noisily, stroking her hood with two rough fingers. Her pupils widened, sharpening the contrast of the lush forest around them in the half-light of the moon. She rasped the tip of her tongue over her lengthened fangs, her mouth watering in need of an end to this maddening heat.

Thoman played his cock at her entrance, growling out his thoughts aloud. Her heat had her slick and ready...more than ready to be stuffed full of randy tom cock.

Anha nodded, her breathing hitching as he pinched at her hood. She drew in the scents of her heated core and his pungent musk, soil, growth and decay...and Wul.

The shock of the final in their vicinity sent her into motion, knocking Thoman’s hand away and scrambling from beneath him. His hand grasped at her hip, then released her. He turned and stood, placing himself between Anha and the enemy, as any tom was expected to.

Anha came to her feet, her enhanced vision picking out three of the curs. She let her vocal chords shift slightly to rumble the information to Thoman, uncertain that his lesser abilities could provide it for him. His nod was curt, and she let her throat revert to a human shape again, lest she tire herself unnecessarily when the need to fight might arise.

The Wul were clothed, and they stood between the two Lyx and their clothing. As Anha watched, one of them lifted her jeans from the ground, scenting them. The threat wasn’t spoken, and yet she shivered in understanding.

“What do you want, Wul?” Thoman’s voice was coarse, a sure sign that his fangs were extended.

Anha swallowed hard. Unless one was exceptionally old or strong, that was the most either Lyx or Wul could do without a powerful moon. She could do more, but she’d only prove it if she had to.

The one holding her jeans settled a look of warning on them. “I want, little cats, to know what two Lyx are doing on Wul land. Surely, you scented our mark.”

They hadn’t, which probably meant the Wul had laid the marks after they’d passed. It was an old trick that the Wul used to justify ambush. Since the precious old growth was in dispute, one never knew who would scent and claim it next, but it was good luck to conceive broods in the sacred wood.

Thoman scanned over the line of Wul, apparently deciding that it was not his night to fight them. “Then we will take our leave...with apologies to your alpha for this trespass.”

Anha held her breath, looking for some sign of acceptance from them. It would be an embarrassment to walk back to the nest in the nude, but it would be a welcome exchange for death.

“I think not,” their leader stated, scenting her jeans again, leering at her.

She shook her head in disbelief. They’d rutted on Lyx fems before, but never one in heat as Anha was. Her heart pounded in terror, and her mouth went dry. The copper taste of blood rose up strong in preparation to fight or run.

There were tales, old stories of half-breed abominations. Were they true? Would she catch a half-Wul brood instead of one from the deposit Thoman had made the night before?

The Wul started to circle. Thoman tensed, hissing and growling, his fine, black hair standing on end. The lead Wul closed on him, growling deep in his throat, and Anha shivered in response, her gaze darting between the alpha of this small group and his betas.

Whatever the sound the Wul made meant to a male, Thoman seemed to lose his composure. He pounced on the larger male, his mouth opening to bare his fangs.

The Wul dropped her jeans and dealt a staggering punch to Thoman’s head. His pack brothers held their places, shifting back and forth as if preparing to stop her if she attempted escape.

Thoman came at him again, and the Wul administered another blow; this one took the tom to his back. Before Thoman could react, the alpha was on him, sinking his fangs into the tom’s exposed throat.

Anha leapt toward them, though she knew there was little she could do. The other two Wul were suddenly upon her, not engaging Anha but keeping her from the fight.

She showed her claws...literally. Anha shuddered in pleasure as sleek fur appeared on her fisted hands, bones shifted, and her claws extended.

One Wul pulled back; the other bared his fangs and took a step toward her. Anha lashed out, gouging tracks in the closer beta’s face to drive him back.

He recovered quickly and howled out his intent to hunt, to kill. She braced herself for a fight. Though the howl meant the older toms and fems would be on their way to defend the territory, they still had time to kill her...or commit other offenses against her.

A growl brought the closer two to a halt. The abrupt change startled Anha so much that she didn’t note the third moving until he had her by the wrists, pinning her to the nearest tree. He extended her arms above her head, his legs between hers, forcing hers out.

He surveyed what he could see of her body, finally meeting her eyes. The deep brown was disconcerting, so different than the green-gold or ice blue of a Lyx. For a moment, they stared at each other, neither moving.

“Bind her wrists.” The slightest edge of his fangs peeked past his lips.