Page 26 of Desperate Omega

If we make it out.

There is still one Farlander right behind us, so close I can hear his ragged breathing and smell his rotten breath. About ten more of his friends are trailing after.

I feel Syra strike out with her spear again, but this time there is no scream of pain or spray of blood, so I guess she missed.

“Jump!” she shouts.

I do as she commands and spring into the air, launching both our bodies over one of the many gravestones sprouting from the knee-high grass.

The timing is perfect. The second Farlander dove for my legs in an attempt to tackle me, but instead he smashes face-first into the gravestone at full speed. There is a sickening crack as something breaks inside him. Hopefully it was his neck.

I have to admit, me and Syra make a pretty good team.

But we’re not in the clear yet. We’re still outnumbered five to one, and the other Farlanders are closing in fast.

My feet touch down again on the far side of the gravestone. I forgot to factor in the extra weight of Syra’s body, and we land harder than I would have liked. The impact sends a jolt through our conjoined bodies, and this time I actually do come without meaning to. The force of the sudden orgasm buckles my legs briefly. It only lasts for an instant, but it’s enough to make me lose my footing.

We’re going down.

I hold onto Syra’s body with both arms and roll, trying my best to soften the impact. Syra lets out a loud moan, and I feel her walls fluttering around my cock as she comes too.

I complete the roll and come up on my feet, but we’ve lost all of our momentum. The Farlanders are catching up, and several of them are flanking us from both sides.

So much for running. We’re going to have to fight our way out.

CHAPTER 11: SYRA

The Farlanders have us surrounded.

Even if I couldn’t see them, I would know they were Farlanders based purely on their scent—a rancid, goatish odor that is like an obscene perversion of the way the Central Ruins alphas smell. That scent is so strong I can taste it in the back of my throat, and it makes me want to gag, but I do my best to ignore it and focus on the task at hand—keeping the Farlanders at bay.

So far, Markus and I have managed to put an end to two of them, but there are still ten of the bastards left, and they’re circling us like a pack of wild dogs, snarling and snapping. Some of them have even filed their teeth down into pointed fangs.

Markus and I are not completely helpless, however. I still have my spear, and Markus has his obsidian dagger, which he has just drawn from the sheath on his leg—the only piece of clothing on his entire body. It’s still more than what I’ve got on. Aside from the little rawhide band holding my hair back in a ponytail, I am completely naked.

I’m also technically still mating with Markus.

We are still knotted, our bodies locked together at the genitals. It is an adaptation that’s supposed to ensure successful breeding, but right now it’s liable to get us both killed.

Then again, there are some advantages to fighting like this. No matter which way Markus turns, he’s always got a pair of eyes in the back of his head—me.

And I’ve got my spear.

One of the Farlanders lunges toward us, and I jab at him with my weapon. The speartip cuts a deep gash across his forehead. It’s hardly a fatal wound, but it’s enough to make him retreat a few steps.

His companions are not as cautious. The reason is my scent. Even though I have mated with Markus, my body is still in heat, and the Farlanders can smell it. It’s driving them crazy with lust.

I hear a snarl from behind me, and I feel Markus’s arm move in a slashing gesture. Something warm and wet splashes all over my naked back, and the air fills with the copperish smell of blood.

Three down, nine left.

Markus continues to turn, and the Farlanders continue to circle.

Another one charges at me, and I thrust my spear hard under his chin. The blade disappears into his throat, along with a few inches of the shaft. I close my eyes as blood showers my face.

Four down, eight left.

I try to tug my spear back, but it won’t come free. The tip is caught on the bones of the Farlander’s neck. Two of his buddies rush in and grab the shaft. They wrench it from my hands.