My Beastly Fertility System Chapter 132: The City Lord's Desire

In the middle of his ranting, a figure stumbled through the door and collapsed at Finlay's feet.

It was Maxim.

Maxim's normally imposing frame was curled into a ball. His left hand clamped over a wound on his right arm, blood seeping through his fingers, soaking the front of his fur tunic.

Finlay's eyes narrowed. His voice was sharp.

"What happened? Why are you this late—and in this state?"

He didn't suggest Maxim get the wound treated first. He only cared about the mission.

Maxim struggled to his feet, dropped to his knees before Finlay, head bowed, drenched in sweat.

"My lord, I staked out the female's house for half the night. I never found an opening to knock her out and bring her back."

Finlay grabbed a piece of fruit from the table and hurled it at Maxim's face. It hit him square on the jaw.

"Useless. You can't even handle one female. What good are you?"

Maxim didn't dare talk back. He stayed on his knees until Finlay's anger ebbed slightly, then forced out the rest through clenched teeth.

"It was Marcus. He was in the way. He seemed to know I was there—he stayed with the female the entire time. I had no opening. In the end, I had no choice but to go in by force. I tried to knock her out and take her. But Marcus... he bit me to protect her."

His voice dropped with every word.

He'd lost too much blood. His lips were white—from fear or blood loss, it was hard to tell. He was running on willpower alone.

Finlay slammed his palm down on the armrest. The granite split with a crack.

He glared through Maxim at some unseen point in the distance, seething.

"That insufferable little mongrel. I only wanted one female, and he has to make this difficult."

He remembered the day he'd summoned Marcus. He'd been perfectly direct—told Marcus he liked the female at his side, implied Marcus should hand her over.

"Sorry, Uncle Finlay. She's the girl I've chosen. I won't give her to anyone. Not even you."

Marcus had refused him. To his face.

Finlay was the lord of Grimstone. The strongest beastfolk in the city. No one told him no. Every female he'd ever wanted had been delivered to him, washed and wrapped.

Ever since that glimpse of Claire in the marketplace, the image of her face had burned itself into his brain. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. He'd lost all interest in his harem.

Thirty-some females in the back wing—every one of them dull, unremarkable, forgettable. None of them could hold a candle to that exquisite red rose.

He'd fantasized about her face in his hands, flushed and yielding. The thought sent heat surging through him—up to the crown of his skull, then down to the very symbol of his masculine pride.

He had never imagined being refused. He was the city lord. He got what he wanted.

Every female before her had been offered willingly—families scrubbing their daughters clean and presenting them with both hands.

And Marcus dared say no?

That refusal had only inflamed him further. He'd sent Maxim immediately.

The plan had been simple: knock the female out, bring her back, and add her to the collection.

And Maxim had failed.

Unforgivable.

Finlay's chest heaved. His body began to swell, inflating like a balloon, his bulging eyes boring down at Maxim.

"You worthless piece of trash. You can't handle one simple task. What use are you? I should chop you up and feed you to the dogs."

Grimstone did have dogs. Finlay kept two, chained at the back gate to guard the females and keep them from sneaking to the front to catch his eye.

Those dogs were enormous. Wild beasts, technically, but their fighting power rivaled any beastfolk's. More than a few beastfolk had met their end between those jaws. Finlay had simply patted their heads and said, "Good dogs, good dogs."

Maxim knew those dogs intimately. The thought of those jaws on his body made his bones ache.

Any death was preferable to being eaten alive by dogs.

Shaking violently, Maxim racked his brain. After an agonizing silence, he managed one desperate sentence.

"My lord, please—I didn't manage to bring the female back, but before I fled, I did as you ordered. I hit her with the poison. By now, it should have taken effect."

At that, Finlay—mid-inflation—finally stopped growing. A manic gleam lit his eyes. He pressed for details.

"Really? You're certain?"

Maxim answered with conviction.

"Absolutely. I am certain the female was poisoned."

"Good!"