Her Broken Alpha

by Isoellen

  Two alphas dragged a fat older one into the cage, most obviously against his will. Naya had never seen an overweight alpha. She couldn't imagine the amount of dissolute living it had taken for him to become so overblown.

  She could smell his fear, this male that had dared resist her mate. It was pungent and foul. He feared for his life.

  They dragged him to the center of the pit and dropped him in a pathetic heap.

  "I concede! I concede!" Berendal was shouting. "They told me you were weak. That your insanity ruled you. I yield. Please!"

  Monster bent over the blubbering male, whose fearful protests increased. He tried to scramble back, but Monster caught him by the neck and lifted him off the floor, bringing Berendal to eye-level.

  The muscles of Monster’s upper body flexed and vibrated with anger. Naya salivated at the powerful, gorgeous display, her basest core instincts triggered by the dominance before her proper, home-trained mind took control to shame her. She liked this. She shouldn’t. It was so crude.

  But she did.

  "Kill him!" the crowd demanded. "End him!"

  Despite the calls of the crowd, Naya could hear Monster's furious growls as he stared down the pathetic man in his grasp.

  "Please!" Berendal begged.

  Monster lifted him higher, then threw him down hard. Lifting his foot, he kicked the other man onto his back and planted his foot in the center of his chest—cracking his ribs, no doubt.

  Next to Berendal, his so-called champion lay unconscious, possibly dead. Berendal blubbered and wheezed. The fight master with the red tie declared Monster the victor.

  The crowd’s chanting faded, replaced by the rhythmic drumming of fists on balconies and feet against the floors.

  Mac entered the cage next, clear-eyed, determined, and full of hate. He offered no excuse or explanation for his betrayal. Behind him, the bare-chested alpha she'd seen him with before followed Mac in. Who was that man? He was simultaneously familiar and not.

  Closer now, Naya noted close similarities between the men she hadn't noticed before. The shape of their eyes, the squareness of their chins—they looked related.

  The announcer outside the cage yelled, "The Mad Monster has challenged Mac, his Second and Secretary, and Louis, First Scribe of the Black Robes!"

  Naya hissed in surprise. Mac and the black robes?

  She glanced toward the announcer. The man was leaning to his left, listening to something a hooded man was saying in his ear. Her belly sank. More betrayers.

  Then she noticed another figure standing nearby, one she recognized instantly.

  Crispin.

  Naya's eyes darted from her former intended to the three men in the cage with her. Mac and the man named Louis were moving, watching Monster closely as they circled him like jackals.

  How could it be right that Monster would face two men?

  No one stepped in or protested. No one cried foul or demanded the odds be evened.

  From the synchronous way the two alphas moved, she could see that Mac and Louis had fought together before. Mac was a bigger male, the classic brawny alpha. Louis was shorter and lean, but every inch of him was fast, smooth muscle fighting for survival.

  Because of his unique stature, she could see how Louis had managed to pass himself off as a beta, but Naya could smell that this Louis was all alpha—and one who had faced challenges before, by the look of him.

  They stalked their prey, one at his front and one at his back, attacking in tandem. While Monster avoided a blow Mac struck at his head, Louis attacked from the rear, striking at Monster’s knees and ankles.

  There was no wasted grandstanding with these two. They were out to kill. No simple defeat would do.

  The audience knew it, pounding out a death march without the usual shouting. Mac struck at Darre again and connected with flesh, but without weapon or feral claws like her mate, they would have to break bones or manage to knock him unconscious to subdue her alpha.

  Monster had the advantage, even outnumbered, thanks to the daggers of his claws and the feral blades of his teeth. He fought like a beast, not a man.

  He took their blows one after the other, but a strike to his right knee brought him down. Mac descended with fury as Louis threw himself on Monster’s back, wrapping an arm around his throat.

  Monster lashed out. With those jagged claws, all he needed to do was exert force against skin and muscle to do damage.

  Naya smelled the blood before she saw it.

  She heard yelling that didn't come from Monster and watched as Mac fell back, his body twisted by the blow her mate had struck—a tear from his spine to his abdominals and a single bloody slash at his neck, pouring blood.

  Louis was still wrapped over Monster's back, trying to choke him and punching at his head. Though a larger man, Monster was no less flexible for his size. He easily reached over his head to pull Louis off.

  Naya had to close her eyes against a wave of nausea when Monster sank his claws into Louis' flesh like a hot knife through butter.

  It was all brute, bloody force. Breed genetics had designed the perfect killing machine. Her killing machine.

  Standing up, Monster took Louis with him, throwing the smaller alpha.

  The smell of blood and terror was overwhelming. Naya pursed her lips and swallowed hard.

  The riotous pounding of the crowd sped up.

  Monster didn't hesitate.

  Wounded, breathless from being knocked into each other, the two men were momentarily stunned. Monster gave them no time to regroup; with tooth and claw, he finished them both.

  When he stood, the blood dripped from his claws and arm. Throwing his shoulders back, he glowered at his audience with gruesome pride.

  The crowd grew quiet, only hushed murmurs of disbelief echoing.

  They were not finished yet. Another challenger remained, this one a stranger.

  Was it Crispin? Would he be so stupid? She searched for him in the crowd. She had forgotten him in the chaos.

  It was a different man who came forward, the same one who'd spoken to the announcer just before the match.

  Through the bond, Naya felt the sharpness of Monster's pain and recognition as blunt as a hammer strike to the gut. His body jerked and doubled forward.

  What was happening?

  Pain. Such pain.

  Naya felt a flash of fear. As awful as the prior battles had been, none had made her mate waver or stumble. But this man, one who could hurt her Monster with his presence alone, was dangerous.

  She rushed forward, fear a rush in her ears, ignoring Monster’s men shouting for her to stop from outside the cage.

  Her mate was a gory, disgusting mess bathed in the refuse of a human butcher shop. But he was her heart and soul, and the stranger had wounded him without raising a finger.

  She darted between them, trying to push Monster back and growling like a possessed wild animal. She couldn't stop herself. Somewhere in the fog, she heard her common sense screaming for her to get back, that she was being foolish. But it didn't matter; the situation had brought out her instincts.

  Curving her fingers into claws she glared a challenge at the cloaked man, baring her teeth in a snarl.

  But Monster’s hand was collaring her neck, his other arm looping around her ribs and pulling her back against the wall of his chest as he backed away from the hooded challenger.

  Instead of attacking, the man before them went to his knees. He pulled off his hood and revealed a scarred and weathered face. He looked up at them briefly, eyes glassy and full of their own kind of pain, before he bowed his head.

  "I yield to Nothonal Darre! I yield to the Second Son of King Rhineholth. I, Rhineholth the First, offer my neck!"

  Behind her, Monster growled a denial. Waves of confused emotions spilled through their bond, drowning her in his uncertainty.

  There were whispers and movement all around them. Bodies bent to look, fighting to see. Naya flicked her eyes around the room and to the balconies, discov
ering her own shock mirrored in the spectators’ faces.

  King Rhineholth, subdued, submitted, waited from the blood-stained floor with a plea on his face. Struck silent at seeing the king here, no other sounds interfered with Darre’s father when he said, "Forgive me. I asked you before and you could not. I ask again. I offer my life, my son. Forgive me?"

  The former King of the 12 Sectors had come to the sector of the damned to face the Mad Monster of the Tower.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Darre

  His sire, down on his knees in the blood of Darre's enemies, was offering his neck—his life. A month ago Darre would have torn into the other man without a second thought, teeth ripping and claws tearing.

  He would have granted no mercy to the rival who had stolen every opportunity for peace and happiness in his life. His father, the betrayer, the liar—the man who had established the monstrous, dictatorial alpha-only government—was kneeling before him.

  His self-righteous, narcissistic father, King Rhineholth the First.

  Watching him subjugate himself, his eyes closed in resignation, Darre remembered far more about this relationship than he wanted.

  He’d spent a childhood with his father, a childhood both good and bad. He remembered that Rhineholth's betrayal in respect to his dear Alennie had not been the first, but merely the last Darre had allowed.

  The memory of his mother's admonishment drifted back to him.

  "If I have forgiven him, you must forgive him."

  "No,” he had told her. “It's in your nature to forgive, and it's in mine to hate. I will hate him until the day he dies at my hand."

  Now was his opportunity. He had tried before—after Alennie's death, he had challenged his father, and Rhineholth had ignored him. In Sector 2, no challenge went ignored. Here an alpha always forgave a man who yielded, bared his neck, and submitted to the stronger alpha.

  It was the only rule of the pit.

  "Get out. Go back where you came from," Darre said, his tongue thick.

  "Nothonal—"

  "Don't say that name. Leave. Now."

  "Your mother wishes to see you."

  "I am an outlaw. I cannot, will not, see her. Didn't you hear me? Are you deaf, old man?"

  "We need to talk."

  Darre growled. He'd had enough. Leaving his father on his knees, he pulled Naya closer to his chest.

  From the crowd, someone called his mate's name. Darre was more than ready for another battle, but men surrounded him and he couldn't see who had dared. Alreck approached, and he saw Nixon and his own men were still watching for further treachery.

  The pit was no place for discussion. He hadn't known why Mac turned on him until he’d seen the man named Louis at his side. Then the missing piece had fallen into place.

  Louis had been Mac's brother. They'd been plotting against him together, the two of them. Who knew for how long?

  Seta was missing. Something in Darre knew the man must be dead. Had Mac killed him? Or was it some other enemy yet to announce himself?

  Too many questions. Too many enemies around him. He wanted to get Naya back to the tower and away from this place of death.

  Nixon and two others watched his back as he left the cage while Alreck and two more of his men took positions at his front. The pit fight was close to home—not part of his complex, but near enough. They'd take the tunnels there.

  He'd carried Naya into the pit and he'd carry her back. The sounds of rats and vermin moving through the dark passages on their way here had unnerved her.

  It made him laugh now. She'd face down an alpha without any fear, but screamed like a child at a beetle she could have crushed under her shoe.

  Sticky with blood, Darre felt as though he'd only sustained minor injuries. Louis had tried to go for what had once been his weak side. Old injuries had made his left leg and hip vulnerable, prone to giving out, something very few had recognized. A blow to his knee, his ankle, or even his hip could have taken him down.

  Mac had known.

  But Naya had healed those injuries. Her breeder's blessing, some kind of impossible magic, had healed his body and restored him to the time before those wounds existed. He still had scars, but they no longer pulled and strained. They were meaningless marks of events from his past.

  Even during the fight, he had felt her inside him sustaining his strength. Supporting him.

  Darre needed to wash, needed to bury himself inside her. He needed to shut out the memory of his father on his knees and his Second's sightless eyes above his torn-out throat.

  He held Naya high in his arms.

  "Monster. Your father? What are you going to do?" she asked.

  He nuzzled against her as they followed Alreck out. He had to tip his head and lean all sorts of directions as they walked to avoid obstacles here. The low ceiling threaded with low-hanging old plumbing, wiring, and crisscrossing building supports challenged his height.

  Darre kept Naya close, tucked under his arm and away from the moist, dirty wet walls and their decoration of dangerous black mold spores.

  If Darre sorted things with his father, he might be able to get back some of the things he had lost. But the predator living in his head didn't give a fuck about convenience. Instead of offering him the battle he wanted, his father and the Administration had closed him out of their fabricated world and ignored him.

  But now he had a mate.

  Ducking low under a pipe, he caught a whiff of something that didn't belong—cinnamon perfume. Imitation omega pheromones.

  What the fuck? Who was in the tunnel?

  And then a sound, awful and rending—a high-pitched screech that cut through his head like a blade.

  He couldn't speak; he could barely move. Darre took two stumbling steps forward, worried for his mate who was still in his arms.

  He knew that sound. It was an alpha deterrent device. It always worked on him like nothing else, as if the more primal the male, the stronger the effect. His body crumpled, all his strength leaking out of him like water from a broken dam.

  He took Naya with him when he fell, twisting to the side so he didn't land on top of her.

  Another noise joined the agonizing music of the neutralizing device. Gunfire battered at his ear drums.

  Guns were rare and expensive, and Administration-controlled, from their making to their distribution. Who the fuck had a gun? Who would shoot wildly and hit nothing? Who had an alpha deterrent?

  The gun took out three of the wall lanterns, darkening the tunnel. There were people moving, but he couldn't see and couldn’t think. His men were all around him, all affected on some level by the device. Who could stand the pain and rise in defense? He didn't know.

  He heard fists on flesh, a strangled cry, and then the coppery scent of blood thickened the air.

  He was completely fuckin' helpless. He couldn't do anything to protect himself or his mate. They might die here like this.

  The monster inside him seethed. Darre rolled just enough to shelter his mate from the gunfire, but she was moving, trying to escape his arms.

  He felt her in their bond, burning bright like a brush fire. But instead of the fear he expected, his mate was enraged.

  Her voice rose against the pressure of that catastrophic noise. "Mine. Mine! You can't have him!"

  "Get the alpha! Get the fucking alpha!" a shrill, fearful voice shouted in the near-darkness.

  Darre used all his strength to move himself back against the wall as gunfire erupted again. But the shooter was either blind or stupid, and all but one bullet missed their mark.

  He felt the punch of it in his shoulder, an irritant on top of the boiling pain of the neutralizer.

  This time when Naya tried to get out from under his hold, she succeeded. His claws caught in her clothing, but she tore them loose as she stumbled to her feet.

  "That little bitch, shooting at my mate,” she growled as she darted away.

  He couldn't move, couldn't see what was fucking happening. The aw
ful sounds he heard twisted him up with worry.

  He heard a feral scream he recognized as Naya’s. That sound reverberated through his chest, angry and wild. Then there was silence.

  The alpha deterrent device had been shut off. A handful of heartbeats passed, and his men began moving around him as his strength returned, slower than the others.

  One of Darre's men was fighting with another alpha who had ear guards dangling from his neck. There was a smaller male bleeding on the ground nearby next to Alreck’s body, the latter of whom was either dead or unconscious.

  Darre stepped over the bodies to get to Naya, guessing she was one of the two females on the floor locked in a battle for supremacy. A small shape with a curvy ass punched furiously at the larger one in an unending torrent of blows—that was his mate. Lost to her rage, she had become an untamed animal, all dignity and restraint forgotten.

  Defending him. Saving them all.

  If she hadn't shut off that device...

  How had she done it?

  "Get the gun, find the emitter, and fuckin' destroy it,” he shouted. Never had he been so glad for the sound of his own voice. “Then someone scout ahead to make sure this is all of them."

  He'd come with six men. Four were still standing.

  He picked Naya up by the waist, pulling her away from the beta female who had gotten her arms free and had been striking Naya about the head. Darre stopped the fight with a debilitating growl and a foot on the woman's throat.

  He recognized her as the shy pregnant woman who’d said she was Corre's unwanted beta daughter, mother of Louis' child. He had let her into his tower. Into his home.

  She'd repaid him by using an alpha deterrent against him and trying to slaughter them all.

  Now she was crying, gasping for breath under his foot. Looking back, Darre saw that her cohort alpha had been subdued.

  "Kill him. I'll get answers from the female."

  The order was immediately acted on, the betrayer’s life cut short by a blade in the neck from one of Darre's loyal men.

  Nixon appeared at his side and jerked the woman to her feet, making quick work of binding her wrists with his belt.