Page 3 of The Zagorath (Shadowed Dreams #3)

Chapter

Three

T he sweet scent wafting from the dwelling was making his madness climb.

With all the rage that had been awakened with him, the hunger that climbed from the deepest recesses of his being was new.

He knew this scent. He had perceived it in his sleep.

It made his loins ache with the need to spill his seed then and it afflicted him even stronger now.

Dahtao, the Zagorath—the destroyer, roared his frustration.

The air trembled and the winged fahgor burst from the trees where they lingered.

His eyes narrowed on them as they rose to the sky and departed the immediate vicinity to land in the trees in the near distance.

He bared his teeth in warning at them, growling as he watched them depart to a place of relative safety.

They continued to watch, however, their hunger as sharp as his as they waited for an opportunity to descend once again.

Normally he did not disdain them their feast. The things that dwelled within the deepest recesses and shadows of the forest always rose with him, eager to feed from the descending death and destruction.

Dahtao didn’t want them anything near what was his.

His gaze shifted back to the human dwelling; its thick walls built with felled trees nearly muted the fragrance of what was his.

Growling under his breath, he circled it, his claws dragging along the beams that supported the roof that extended over the flat open space at its fore.

His nostrils flared, dragging in the faint trail of the scent.

Hiding. It was hiding from him. His frustration rose as he came to a stop alongside the dwelling.

The flats of his hands slammed against the wall and his claws scored deep into the wood.

The screams from inside scent crimson through his mind and he slammed his hands repeatedly, clawing at the wood.

He vented his frustration for several minutes before finally withdrawing with a hiss of annoyance.

His hands lowered to his side as he turned his head away with the pretense of not observing it, though he peered at it from the corner of his eye.

The humans had that which was his. They were keeping it from him.

Even the fahgor were not so foolish. They would never contest his will, but the humans had stolen it.

Somehow, they had come to know of it, discovered it, and had taken it from him.

He shook his head, allowing it to swing from side to side to vent his frustration and confusion as he slowly withdrew from among the trees and crouched within their shadows.

He stared and his long tongue swept along the impressive length of his fangs and sharp teeth.

The madness within him rose furiously, demanding that he fall into the abyss of his rage and destroy everything—to pry the dwelling apart bit by bit even as his own body became damaged in order to root out the humans like termites from a mound.

Dahtao’s flesh trembled, and his cock ached.

It had ached since he had risen. He didn’t recall ever being aware of such urgency before.

Blood and death did not have such impact on him.

He was a fallen ancient lord of forests, their protector and the vehicle of their wrath.

Although he had been fashioned by the gods to possess a cock, it had never risen with the desire to mate in the way of beasts—except recently within the sleep.

In his dream he had felt it engorge with life and need.

That need was a dim memory with the heavy mist that filled his mind, but his cock twitched within his swollen sheath and his sac felt uncomfortably sensitive where it was nestled between his thighs.

A snarl vibrated his chest as it rolled through him, his eyes slitting earnestly.

His three tails whipped the air around him and he watched the dwelling.

A familiar urgency rose within him, clawing at his mind, feeding his hunger and driving his instinct, but this time he ignored the demand from the woods.

He would not throw himself on the dwelling, crippling himself little by little with his desire to crack it, and every single human dwelling he encountered, open and feast upon the warm meat of those inside.

There was time enough for that… later. First, he would get what was his.

The branches of the trees swayed with a hissing rustle of leaves, furious with him, but he ignored it… and he waited.