The command tent's entrance flap tore open with enough force to rip the fabric. A catkin lieutenant staggered inside, her spandex combat suit shredded along the ribs where claws had found purchase.
Blood seeped through the tears, mixing with sweat that made her copper-toned fur glisten in the lamplight. Her breasts heaved with ragged breaths, the tight material stretching obscenely across her chest with each gasp.
"Commander Mamoon!" She dropped to one knee, leaving a crimson stain on the woven mat.
"The Eastern Gorge position—we've been routed, ma'am. Those white-furred cunts pushed back Captain Yan's entire third battalion."
Mamoon didn't turn from the tactical map immediately. Her clawed finger traced the gorge's location, and even from behind, her figure commanded attention.
Forty-three seasons of brutal cultivation had sculpted her into something beyond mortal—a body that married lethal grace with raw, overwhelming femininity.
