The Eve and Adomas Project: A New Genesis

By Catherine A. Lampshire

Aerial artist Eve has always felt like a freak. What else can a girl believe about herself when born to a family who operates the sideshows in a traveling circus? So excuse her when she thinks the Tall Grey alien looming over her is her cousin Vinney. Mistakes happen.

Adomas is the seventh son of the Khimairan Alpha and has never conformed to his place within the hierarchy of his sire's House. Courage and honor have always compelled him. Always will he do his duty. Even when he and his pack are marked as tribute to be sacrificed to The Beings Without Name.

What do these two misfits from different worlds have in common?

Both seek a way to break the tethers that hold them back. Both desire love and family, things they've rarely experienced and never hoped to have. Eve will never return to the life she left behind. Adomas' world is dying. Though they are leaders of their pack of friends, neither know what their future may hold.

But when destiny brings them together they must defeat the evil that lurks in the stars and threatens to extinguish their lives. Only through courage, honor, and duty; in all things united, can they survive and forge a new life in a new world. A new genesis.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781735212791

Book preview

978-1-73521-279-1

Chapter 1

Present Day

Evangeline Agee (Eve)

If I had known our weekend off would have ended like this I would have stayed in bed. This couldn’t be what destiny had in mind. Strange how things have a way of working themselves out. Back then, I vowed when we got out of this, I was going to give Grace an ear full. Afterall, it had been her idea to venture out of the city to spend some time surrounded by nature before winter set in. So we agreed to go camping.

Come on, chica, cajoled my best friend, Luciana. "You know you’re gonna like it. We can let our hair down, get wild, sleep with the fresh air around us. No city pollution, no noise, no cramped bunks like we have in the travel bus," she wheedled.

Damn, I could feel myself caving.

There will be lots and lots of chocolate, she singsonged.

Bitch, I muttered playfully. My resolve was quickly fading.

And wine. Don’t forget the wine, Monique added, picking up two bottles of French wine she’d been hoarding, wiggling them in my face before as she went back to stuffing another clothing essential into her near bursting duffel bag.

They had me at chocolate.

Dammit. Throwing up my arms, I surrendered. I’m in.

Luciana let out one of her tongue rolling Latina yells, shimming her hips in victory before dashing out to tell the others.

Gone were my plans to simply sleep and remain motionless for an extended period of time. At times, it felt as if I’d been traveling non-stop all of my life. Sometimes a girl just wanted a bit of solid ground under her feet.

Another plug for camping. Dammit.

Luciana along with Monique, Grace, Lillian, Nancy, and Fatma rounded out the core cluster of my pack of friends. Often our group would increase or decrease in number as we toured as part of the Circo delle Stelle, Circus of the Stars, but the core never altered in its devotion and loyalty to one another. As aerial artists, we learned it was critical to have someone you trusted having your back. I trusted these women with my life and would give my own in exchange for theirs if necessary. We became known as the Sisterhood of the Traveling Tights.

Monique came up with the silly name when a borrowed pair of tights found their way back to their original owner after making the rounds. It stuck. I loved that stupid name. The same way I loved my pack of kindred sisters. They were the first ones to ever really love me—warts and all.

I can’t wait, squealed Lillian, causing the few dozing individuals in our cramped rental van to startle awake.

The weekend promised to be the best viewing time for the Draconid meteor shower. The emergence of the dragon’s head, from the Draco constellation was heralded by the spectacular event we had come to watch. The dragon awoke each year spewing forth hundreds of meteors in a single hour. We wanted to see it roar.

The meteor shower was awesome in its natural beauty. The flashes of light are more beautiful to behold than July 4th fireworks. Like anything bright and shiny, it became a cloak of deception for our pack of eager viewers. It was one of those flashing brilliant points of light in the night sky that turned my life upside down.

Pass the wine, I requested, half rising from my warm spot by the blazing fire.

Eve, want another s’more? I’m making them, Nacy offered.

Sure, thanks. I think I can handle another. I giggled. The weekend had turned into a calorie consuming bacchanalian feast. The only thing missing was sex.

You know what would make this even more perfect? sighed Monique.

What? Luciana inquired as she poured more wine into red cups.

Cock, Monique replied, licking caramel off her thumb with juicy sucking sounds.

Hitting a flat palm in her forehead, Lillian groaned mocklingly. I knew there was something we forgot to pack. Eliciting a wave of laughter from the group.

Nope. No, no, no, Trevor shook his head with drunken vigor.

I agree with Trevor, Nancy piped in.

Trevor rewarded her with a sloppy grin and an absent pat on her shoulder.

Trevor was an adopted member of our Sisterhood. Protective of Nancy, oddly so, he had become a regular when we went off exploring and adventure seeking. Nancy was loyal to him like any sweet puppy. What their backstory was, none knew. We didn’t pry. Such was life. What mattered was we liked him.

In many ways, Trevor was more feminine than the rest of us. Trevor was the one to introduce me to a proper skin care routine. Something necessary when constantly plastering your face with thick stage waterproof and sweatproof makeup. On the quirky side of living, his knowledge of fellatio was one he was always eager to demonstrate. Okay, I practiced with a banana or a cucumber.

Not enough room in the van, Lillian argued. Besides, who would we have invited?

I’m sure we could have found some willing males, Renee remarked, receiving a chorus of eews.

Renee narrowed her eyes in that mean-bitch look she easily slipped into like a pair of old comfy shoes, both natural and wearing. It isn’t as if we needed one for everyone, she said wickedly, pursing her lips and casting a meaningful look my way.

Shut it, Luciana snapped at Renee, pinching her fingers together to emphasize her command.

I could feel my cheeks turning red. This topic has always been a tender point between my friends and myself. Though many of my friends were no longer virgins—I was. I had chosen to wait. It wasn’t that I was opposed to having sex. In fact, I rather liked the idea of having sex. Sex was a contortionist’s dream. Just think of all the positions...

It’s cool, I assured Luciana with a shrug.

I don’t mind if I’m a bit old fashioned on that score. Truly I didn’t.

What I wanted was to do it with the one. Sure, I had kissed a few boys. Some of the kisses had even led to heavy petting but never had I given up the other in the name of curiosity or pressure from a persistent prick. I had not found Mr. Right. Until I had, I was willing to wait.

Cookies anyone? They’re home made, Grace called out, breaking the awkwardness of the moment. I breathed a sigh of relief. Luciana gave me a quick peck on the cheek for support.

She’s just jealous, she whispered. Pay her no mind, just because she threw her virginity away and now sees sex as a tool is no reason you should be hurt by her cruelty.

Yeah, strange how some build themselves up by tearing down others. Hmmm. Go figure.

Renee was a strange one. Eager to join, always hovering on the perimeter. When invited in, it thrilled her, but invariably she ruined things. Renee couldn’t seem to help herself. A reason she never was a core of the Sisterhood but a satellite sister.

Monique, though your suggestion has merit to a few, this weekend was reserved for the Sisterhood. Tonight, we shall sing, drink, dance, and make merry while we watch stars shoot across the heavens. This is a night of fellady-ship and fun, I pronounced. Cheering, whistling, and clapping followed my brief but pointed speech.

We had brought boxed wine, chocolate chip cookies, the makings of s’mores and any other decadent food we always denied ourselves to maintain our show weight. What harm could result in one night of fun?

Turns out—plenty.

We danced, got a bit drunk which brought on a bit of singing before we were compelled to lay down to watch the astral show.

The Sisterhood did not come alone this time. Four others from our traveling troupe tagged along. While all giggled over some wine infused nonsense, it was me who first spotted the odd light. It did not flash across the heavens like the others.

Uhmm. Guys? What’s that? I asked, pointing toward a point of light seemingly oddly out of place.

Could it be a plane? Grace asked, narrowing her eyes at the point before belching then giggling from too much wine.

Nope, that isn’t any plane, Trevor said, propping up on his elbows as he too studied the growing light. He quickly looked around the camp, his eyes narrowing at something off at a distance. Nancy. Once he’d spotted her, he visibly relaxed.

What. The. Fuck. Is. It? Monique gasped. Fear combined with a wine infused head made her a bit unstable. She collapsed when she tried pushing to her feet.

Santa Maria, Luciana mumbled as she crossed herself.

Gasps and muffled shrieks sounded as we watched in degrees of fascination and horror as the falling star turned into the shape of the Swiss macaroon I was nibbling on at the time. But this was no floating, flavor-filled, tasty sandwich cookie. At one point, in tipsy silliness, I held up one of those tasty goodies just to compare.

The object had oscillating lights where the creamy goodness should have been. At one point it seemed to hover as it scanned the land with a bright beam of light. Slowly our group quieted. Muted fear began creeping into the body of the pack. The crackling from our campfire made the only audible noise as the air filled with a growing eeriness causing the fine hairs on my arms and neck to stand upright. Even the autumnal night insects stilled.

Beth was the first to jump to her feet. I’m getting out of here, Beth screamed as she ran toward the van.

A bitch towards others, at heart she was self-centered, though none of us judged her for running when she did. Didn’t know where she thought she was going. It wasn’t like she had the keys to the van. That’s Beth, not one for details or really thinking things through. Made her dangerous on the high wire and silks if left to anything extemporaneous.

Right behind you, Trevor shrieked. His sprints had him easily catching then passing Beth in his need to escape.

Beth raced past Nancy. Nancy was not the brightest bulb of the Sisterhood. Maybe that was why we instinctively seemed to protect her, including Trevor. Nancy wasn’t running away from danger. Nope. She was on her way back to camp. She’d been off purging what she recently consumed for pleasure. It was that habit of hers that made me frown. I’d long suspected it had little to do with weight and more to do with issues of control. Many in my world used purging, forced vomiting, as a way to relieve the guilt they felt at enjoying the small indulgences or pleasures in life like a mini bag of chocolate covered peanuts or cheese doodles.

Her re-appearance had Tervor halting in mid-stride. Puzzlement was clearly visible as he stood there unsure of what to do. Did he run and hide or return to stay beside Nancy? His actions would have been comical if it wasn’t for the growing uncertainty and terror. Slowly, cautiously, he made his way back to camp. That was Trevor for ya.

Where are the turtle clusters? Nancy called out. I know they’re here somewhere, she muttered. Has anyone seen that plastic container with the red lid? I think they were in… she went on making the rounds in search of the lost goodies.

While Nancy was oddly oblivious to all that was unfolding, searching for more sinful goodies to consume now that her stomach was empty of her last feasting, the rest of us stood, sat, or huddled together silent as church mice. We were either too scared to move or overwhelmed by what we were witnessing.

Suddenly, all were engulfed in the strange, blinding, strobing light. It moved over us, passing us by before hesitating, abruptly returning to capture us in a cage of changing color lights. Even Beth had not been spared.

As one, we began to levitate, rising higher and higher off the ground. Screams from my friends and companions surrounded me. Unaware, my own voice mingled in the chorus of terror. A flash of a more brilliant blinding light was the last I remembered before waking to equally blinding lights.

Chapter 2

One Earth Year Ago

Planet Khimaira I

Adomas

What is it, Father? I asked, alarmed by the stricken look on the rugged warrior’s face of my sire.

I arched a brow at the fleeing back of the Anointed Master. It appeared as if Tikaani’s ghost was chasing the old man from my father’s Hall. Anointed Master’s long blue robes fluttered behind him in his haste. Even my brothers just entering turned back to take in the spectacle as they passed by the holy man. We would have laughed if not for the discordant feel of the Hall normally filled with laughter and teasing banter.

The Anointed Master has brought word, my sire announced, drawing our attention back to the one who summoned us. Communication has been received from The Beings Without Name. That had me swiveling back to look at the Master. The old man seemed to have increased the speed of his gait.

Father motioned us to take a seat among blood brothers who had already arrived. I obeyed. I may be an obedient son, rarely had I been an obedient younger brother. This time, I was reluctant as my sire kept pacing the Hall as if the burdens of the world rested solely on his shoulders.

In truth, the safety and the continued prosperity of my species and planet, Khimaira I, rested on my sire’s massive shoulders. A weight he bore with pride and honor. Increasingly, diminishing water supplies and low harvest yields were issues of late. Khimairan population was taking a toll on our homeworld’s resources.

Watching Father settle disputes without fist or sword but with wit and wisdom was like watching a dance master displaying his skills and art. Khimaria’s Alpha was polished and elegant even though he could be hard-nosed and uncompromising at the best of times. When not training with my pack, I often found myself observing my sire. There was much to be learned by observing. My father was a master of diplomacy, brokering peace and trade deals as surely and thoroughly as he wooed my mam and the rest of his pride of females.

Alpha Ze’ev was a formidable ruler. None could argue the point though many had tried to unseat him over the years. It was unsettling, to say the least, to see him troubled.

The time of the Tribute is upon us, I ventured, hoping my words would break through his armor of contemplation. That had to be the reason for the Anointed Master’s brief appearance and hastier retreat.

My elder brothers turned their scowls upon me for daring to speak out of turn. As the seventh son, I had learned early my place within the hierarchy of my father’s House. As seventh out of fifteen sons, I resisted that tether of tradition and often found ways to break free of that fetter. Though it earned my father’s respect, it had not endeared me to many within his House.

My words worked. Slowly he nodded. Father surveyed his sons giving each a scrutinizing glare that had each of us squirming in our seats before he spoke. Though most of us were grown and transformed into warriors, Father was one none could best—yet.

The Anointed Master goes now to announce the start of this decade’s Tribute. We will honor the Great Promise as we have done since the Creation Time, Father spoke with authority.

Though traditionally this was a joyous time for all Khimairans, my sire seemed less than enthusiastic.

As all are aware, we have been anticipating this decade’s Tribute. The month has been marked and preparations have been in the works for an entire year. Communication has been expected, the eldest of my brothers reminded all.

Yes, yes, yes, my sire said with some exasperation. Ah, this was not what concerned my sire.

A male such as my lord and father would not concern himself with organizing parties and competitions. Those duties would be relegated to other officials and sons as they always had been. There must be more to this Tribute. That more undoubtedly would explain his dark mood.

There shall be entertainment and great feasting, another elder brother added, not to be undone or pushed aside. His face flushed when my sire and others gave him low growls.

The fifth eldest was not as bright as he was arrogant. At least we knew what he was most interested in. Already he had amassed a sizable pride of females. So many in fact, my sire had forbidden him further acquisitions. That had not stopped Number Five from spending his seed in servants and slaves he purchased and kept off-planet.

In some ways being the seventh son had its advantages. Early on I learned what to and not to do. Learning by their mistakes honed my skills of observation. My elder brothers were always being compared to one another. That had not resulted in us bonding, only heightening tension and mistrust between some of us.

Hate even raised its ugly head replacing brotherly love and affection. By the time I was whelped, it no longer mattered how I measured up to those older than myself, unless I outperformed or truly fucked up. Until, I could fend them off with fist and feats of daring or stealth, in both accounts, I received cuts and bruises along with a few broken bones for my efforts, if they were so lucky.

My only consolation was that it took five to hold me down, sometimes more. Since my ascension at age twenty-one, none of my brothers dared to take me on one-on-one. As all my sire’s sons, I trained early to be a warrior. A warrior I became—early.

As we sat waiting for our sire to reveal the reason for his summoning, a few of my brothers tried their hand at intimidating me through low toned growls. Instead of laughing, I gave some of my brothers my best alpha stare. It had the effect of causing them to turn away. I grinned. A private game of which I never tired.

The eldest gave me a low-level growl in addition to baring his teeth. A reminder to mind my behavior and my place. I was no longer a cub or pup, but at the age of twenty-four. Only towards the eldest born and my sire would I act the lesser more submissive. Plaint submissiveness had never been my nature. Which was why I often found my place in the middle a bit too confining.

What do The Beings request? I asked, ignoring the pointed looks from those incensed I once again opened my maw.

It is not a request, my father bit out. They demand. He punctuated his words by slamming his fist on the table. Ah, so this is the source of his discontent.

The Hall was silent as all stilled and focused on my sire. In the past, The Beings had requested large cargoes of minerals, plants, seeds, birds and beasts, all manner of things from our planet’s streams, fields, forests, and industries. Rumors persisted that it was destined for Their terraforming projects, The Beings’ attempt of atoning for their arrogance when less wise.

Khimairan brandy was a specialty distilled on our homeworld. It was in high demand in worlds and galaxies throughout the vast fabric of the Universal Sea. The vermillion liquor favored by the gods brought us many things by way of trade. Maybe this was what The Beings desired.

My gut clenched when my father paused in his pacing directly behind me. Sons, my sire said in a weary laden voice, drawing the rapt attention of all. The clenching in the pit of my belly intensified. Father huffed out a breath. The Beings demand seven Khimairan sons.

Can they demand such? one brother asked.

They are The Beings. Gods! They can demand what they will. We have no choice but to comply. Even if the demand didn’t come from The Beings, we are obligated to fulfill the order in accordance with the…

Great Promise, I murmured.

Exactly. It is a signed and sealed contract, binding for all time that none can put asunder, my father acknowledged.

Why do They want sons?

Irrelevant, my sire said, with a shake of his head. This was code for he didn’t know, or he would reveal it when the time was right. Whatever. I knew to hold my tongue.

Then give them sons of peasants and servants and be done with it. Our population has too many as it is. Seven of the lesser sort will not be missed, Number Two advised with a snort and a dramatic sweep of his hand. Agreeing grunts sounded from around the table.

That is not who The Beings want, my sire said with bitter resignation. "They desire not just any son."

"They have specified which specific sons are to be given up as Tribute?" Number One asked a bit bewildered.

My brother must be worried. As eldest, he was the next in line to be Alpha when our sire departed his mortal husk to join our ancient fathers in their mystic Hall.

Father handed me an ornately carved and jeweled chalice. With his own hand, he filled it with our cherished brandy. Instinctively, I knew what would come. I prayed that I did not dishonor my father by displaying my growing sense of dread with trembling hands and fingers. My life here on Khimaira I, among my father’s House, was coming to an end.

My brothers by then were beginning to understand the import of my father’s bizarre behavior. Father never served others from his hands unless he was feeding one of his females. It was an act of reverence reserved for special ones on special occasions.

Resigned yet stunned by the news about to be announced, I took more interest in the looks on my brother’s faces. Some I expected. Others caught me by surprise. This too I steeled myself to conceal.

I caught the flash of sympathetic concern from my eldest brother. Did I detect sorrow? He would not openly express his true thoughts let alone his feelings at such a gathering. He would be the one I would miss the most along with the third and fourth brothers, twins. They had been my rocks. If not for them, I may have met with an early death. Death brought about not by an outsider or an assassin from a rival House, but from the hand of one loathed to call me brother. Such can be the life within our culture where position and hierarchy dominated protocol and future prospects.

The gleam of satisfaction replaced the hate I normally encountered from the second born son. He shared looks with Fifth and Sixth brother. They I would not miss. The feeling was mutual. Maybe they think I go to my death. It was a few of my younger brothers that I worried about the most. I would speak with my elder brothers with whom I had made bonds to ensure that the younger ones were well protected.

My attention was redirected to my sire.

Placing a hand on my shoulder, he lifted his glass, a silent order for all to do as well. A battle raged within me. Of all the fights I have been in, what I then engaged in was by far the most brutal. It was all I could do to summon the courage to keep from running from the Hall and telling everyone, including The Beings to fuck themselves. This was no battle in which a sword and strong arm would allow me to prevail. It was a feat hard for me to resign myself to. Surrender was something I loathed. But honor and a voice deep within kept me rooted. Perhaps this was my legacy to my species, my destiny.

Tikaani asks each of them what they are capable of. Greatly does he reward his faithful. Those strong of heart and stronger of soul. Often, he finds ways to test our metal by selecting our greatest weakness as his tool, a wise trainer had once instructed.

Character is what is built in a worthy warrior. Father often told his sons. Honor is what’s left when strength fades in one’s arm. Honor can never be taken unless given away. Keep your honor in all things. Father was reminding himself of that very principle.

We honor the accord drawn up between The Beings Without Name, ancient architects of the universe and our ancient sire, Tikaani. To Them we give praise and obedience to the Great Promise. For this Tribute, seven sons from noble Khimairan Houses have been demanded. We will comply. Father heaved a mighty breath.

Adomas will lead the pack of seven. It will be his pack, seven of seventh sons, one from each of the Seven Noble Houses, that will be given up as tribute. So, it has been demanded. So mote it be.

***

There, it was said. It was done as quickly as that. Once the words were out, there was no taking them back. My sire’s word was law. I would obey for it was not in me to bring shame to my sire’s House or my species. I and my pack brothers would be given one year to live as we pleased. Nothing would be denied us.

We would be treated better than kings, almost gods. We were the tribute. My pack brothers would be informed at a later feast. What would happen to us once we’d been delivered over to the Beings?

What will be our fate? Later on, I voiced my fear to my eldest brother.

The demand for seven sons is a new request. The first of its kind. None knows the purpose of the demand for sons. That was not deemed relevant, he replied.

Tribute was an intrical part of our culture. Its origins and importance taught to us as pups. A Khimairan catechism.

The tribute system was established eons ago. First starting with our great ancestor Tikaani when our species was still wild and uncivilized. Beings stronger and wiser than ourselves had visited our world bestowing on us the foundation upon which our civilization was formed, our tutor instructed my pack when we were pups.

Who is Tikaani? he asked. Immediately, eager hands flew high in a bid to speak.

If it pleases you, sir, Tikaani was the one who first greeted the Beings and embraced their teachings, came the eager reply. Correct, praised the tutor.

All were enthralled with the stories, though we’ve heard them hundreds of times. They regaled us with feats of bravery, of battles against insurmountable odds. Always courageous, noble, and true, great Tikaani emerged victorious. While at play, often we pretended to be Tikannai or one of his mighty warriors defeating a vast array of mighty devious foe in order to dominate our homeworld and declare it ours to rule.

Through his courage and from his seed we formed into the Seven Noble Houses that flourish to this day. We shed our savage barbarism but not our savage spirit. Khimairians have always been and will always be a warrior race. We emerged from the sea, the forest, the mountains, the grassy plain, and the sky and converged as a single creature that encased all the strengths of our distant blood. That was my favorite part when a young pup.

My pack and I would compare our many gifts we’d received from those sacred ancestors. Wings, gills, tails, claws, fangs, and fur, were some of those characteristics that combined into one creature, the Khimaira.

How did we honor this transformation? Our tutor queried.

In thanks for this gift, we created a temple in Their honor. we chorused.

A small select coven of The Anointed continue serving as conveyors for The Beings. They are our holy ones. In this way our traditions continue, and peace is maintained. This ensures that the Khimairan civilization is allowed to flourish provided that we adhere to the Great Promise.

And so, the tradition began and continued to flourish.

The Great Promise was an agreement between the primitive Khimaira Alpha Tikaani and the Prime Being. In exchange for the knowledge and gifts bestowed upon us by The Beings we agreed to give up to The Beings the tribute of their choosing.

This event is held every hundred years. It is marked by a month-long celebration. Quarrels between Houses are set aside. Commerce comes to a halt. Games and contests are held so warriors can display their strength and agility. In this way we honor The Beings for the creation of the Khimairan race that emerged through their power and the seed of the Tikaani.

***

Present Day

Adomas

My pack brothers and I participated in these exciting events. As a unit, we excelled in most of the challenges regarding skill, strength, and agility. This had made our pack legendary. Few will challenge us. Our legs and arms are strong as are our lungs and our wings. As long as my strength of body and mind remain unvanquished, I serve as Alpha of my pack.

My pack brothers: Bvaso, Hurar, Mahigan, Nashoba, Vjuk, and Xatkuly are not my blood brothers though our bond is deeper than what I have with most of the cubs and pups that have sprouted from my sire’s seed.

As young cubs we were placed together so our bond would be strong and unite our Houses. Though each of us came from a different House of the Noble Seven, we lived together, slept, ate, and shat together. We trained and bled as one. Together, we shared in all things: glory and defeat, song and sorrow, battle and merriment, females and fucking—except for Hurar who prefers tail over pussy.

As I rested following my turn with spear throwing, Bvaso trotted over to join me in the shade. He, like the rest of us, only wore the traditional competition and training attire, a leather loincloth and leather boots. Blades and weapons of our choosing hung from our waist or were strapped to hip, ankle, back or arm.

Your aim was off, brother, I chided.

By only a little, Bvaso defended his less than perfect throw. He scooped up the flagon and drank thirstily of the honeyed brewed liquid contained within. Tossing his head from side to side flinging his sweat about like a shaggy cur, he collapsed on the ground in feigned annoyance and exhaustion.

A little can mean your life or that of a brother, I admonished.

Bvaso growled over my lack of praise. In truth, he had hit the center of the target but it was not dead on. Even so, he knew the point I made.

Xatkuly joined us. Seeing the disgruntled look on Bvaso’s mug, he inquired what it was we were discussing. He laughed, punching Bvaso on his shoulder. This led to an intense bout of play-wrestling until we heard the female purr of a Khimairan she-cat.

Kamala, I exhaled out the repugnant name.

Kamala did not disappoint. She showed her claws in every way one would expect a pussy-bitch in heat would.

Fair Tribute, pups, Kamala purred, striking a well-practiced, seductive pose.

Her pussy musk filled the air attracting the attention of my other brothers. Once I had found her scent alluring. Now I only found it vomit inducing.

We all had tried that cunt. It had left us unsatisfied. Kamala had become obsessively clinging and cloying. It was her need for climbing and back-handed deceit that disturbed me the most. None were eager to try it again. Particularly me. The looks some of my brothers tossed the pussy tail suggested some may venture that way again. I shook my head and gave them a look of disgust.

Begone, Kamala, I growled. We are in no need to share a well ridden pleasure pussy.

Kamala batted her eyes and gave her fabled creamy grin. What’s wrong, Adomas? she simpered. Afraid to touch the kitty? she teased, unphased by my words. I wondered if she thought I was teasing. Hardly. Proof again that she truly did not understand me or her sins.

I snorted my response along with my brothers who were watching the exchange. At one time we had been lovers. When younger and more green and tender, I favored Kamala. Her seductive poses and round hips had been entrancing. I was eager to lose myself in the depths of her eyes and her kitty-cunt.

At one time I thought to make her my mate upon reaching the age of ascension. I even dreamed of imprinting and marking her as tradition bade when the power of keangal overcame a male propelling them into a sacred state of primal raging rut after revealing his eternal bonded mate. Imprinting was a rare and sacred event. Most Khimaira longed to be so graced.

It had been this way for my sire and my mam. I wanted the same for myself, but that was when I was younger and filled with foolish dreams too often given to youth. Now I chafed at not knowing what lay in store as Tribute from my species. Was I and my pack a sacrifice? What would be our fate?

Juvenile dreams were shredded and shed after