by Zoey Ellis
She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing heavily and biting her lip, trying to come to terms with the pain, and she settled her dazed mind so she could ask for a healer, but when she opened them again, the beast was watching her closely, his eyes once again on her neck. Suddenly, he leaned forward toward her… too close.
Elora couldn’t get away. She tensed again unsure of his intentions, but as he lowered his face, aiming for her neck, disbelief embraced her at what he was doing.
“Don’t,” she tried to snap at him.
He ignored her and nestled his nose close to the base of her neck.
Elora wished she had the strength to kick him, push him away from her, but strangely, a large part of her craved what he was about to do.
Slowly, the beast scented her, running his nose up the length of her neck and releasing a rumble of pleasure as he did. A deep involuntary shudder gripped Elora’s body, followed by a beam of desire that stung her nipples and sent a rush to her stomach. For a moment, the dizzying agony of her arm dulled, faded into the distance in favor of the alpha’s proximity and expression of sexual interest. A moan escaped her lips as her slick began to gather between her legs, and she breathed in his complex, heady scent, greedy for more.
So that’s what it felt like. Mama told her an alpha scenting an omega was an intimate and private gesture between a couple who were potentially compatible. It was an alpha’s way of determining the true scent of an omega, but was only something he would do if she was attractive to him. During the war, most alphas didn’t bother. They weren’t looking for compatible omegas—once they managed to get one, the most important thing was getting between her legs, not scenting her neck. It was somewhat old-fashioned—a sign of a respectful courtship, and despite how much she hated this beast, this behavior pleased her.
“Your scent is spectacular,” the beast murmured, his voice beautifully husky.
The tang of her blood in the air pierced the blanketing comfort of his scent, disoriented her. All she could do was gurgle in response.
The dragorai was already undoing her furs.
“No, don’t do that,” Elora said, her voice annoyingly breathy. “Please, I need a healer. Don’t…”
Before she could finish her sentence, her furs were open and the scent of her arousal seeped into the room. She closed her eyes again, horrified and embarrassed, but the pain in her arm focused her mind, forcing her to push aside her mortification. When she opened her eyes again, he was kneeling before her, gazing between her legs as he scrunched up her tunic to expose her further. He leaned forward, brushing his face against her mound.
She spoke as firmly as she could. “You said I wouldn’t be poorly treated.”
The beast stilled, his face twisting in anger as he looked up at her. “You are my property now. I will do with you as I wish.”
She swallowed again. “Please, I need immediate treatment before I am no longer able to use my arm.”
The beast growled. “You cannot escape your punishment.”
The lingering annoyance that had been wavering beneath the surface surged up, taking hold of her. “Is this my punishment?” she asked sharply. “Your nose between my legs? I thought the dragorai prided themselves on their sexual abilities more than that.”
The beast’s nostrils flared and he rose to his feet swiftly, this time hooking his thick arm around her torso and pulling her against him. His eyes burning into hers with a rage that made her blanch.
What possessed her to say such a thing? He would most certainly kill her now and there was nothing she could do to stop him. The pain in her arm was making her lightheaded and she trembled uncontrollably. “Please,” she said again in a measured tone. “I have been traveling all night. I haven’t rested. You had me held in cell for hours and now my arm is shattered and bleeding. I will bleed to death if you don’t get me a healer.”
The fury in the beast’s eyes slowly changed to a muted blaze. “I will have you healed,” he said after a long moment.
Relief swept the tension swept out of Elora’s body, and she sagged on his torso, lowering her head as tears stung her eyes and nose.
But the beast tilted her chin up, drawing her face up to his, a challenge in his deep blue eyes. “Then I won’t only have my mouth on your kon, savoring your taste and eating your slick, I will have all of you.”
3
Elora woke to silence.
For a moment confusion flooded her. She lay on a bed, surrounded by piles of pillows and blankets, looking up at a smooth ceiling. How had she fallen asleep outside of her little nook? Memories rushed back to her and she sat up and lifted her arm. It was thickly bandaged from the shoulder all the way down to her wrist, but when she tensed it, making a fist with her hand, she could feel nothing—no pain at all. Lowering her arm, she looked around her.
From the look of the furniture, the room appeared to be private quarters. Apart from the bed she lay on, a few chests were stacked on one side and a small table with a matching chair sat against the opposite wall. Next to the table was a small, empty shelf. Elora swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, nausea roiling in her stomach. She padded over to the table where her carrysack had been placed and checked to see if all of her belongings were there, not that she had much. Nothing appeared to have been touched, but she wouldn’t be surprised if the steward had gone through it.
She dropped onto the chair and began examining her bandages, trying to remember how she’d gotten here.
The beast told her he would get her healed and then…. Heat rushed up her neck at the memory of his final words to her, uttered with a heavily lascivious tone that made it seem like both a threat and a promise. It was clear he intended to use her sexually. And that should have relieved her—after all, it was the same thing she’d entered her old lair intending to do for his brother. She’d never had to sell her virginity like other omegas, who didn’t have the protection of a faction like she had, but giving herself up sexually for the protection of the dragorai, even as a virgin, didn’t seem like a big sacrifice. And yet… the idea of it in this lair with this dragorai-alpha, made her uncomfortable. The beast took pleasure in hurting people in the most horrid and painful ways he could. She didn’t want to have anything to do with him—her whole plan had been to avoid him completely and live a quiet life among the servants, but that was impossible now that he had scented her and enjoyed it. He wouldn’t leave her alone until he’d had his fill. It was also likely he was infuriated by some of the things she said, so he may very well wish to hurt her again simply for the fact she insulted him.
“Don’t pick at that.”
Elora’s fingers froze on her bandages, her head snapping toward the doorway.
The same female steward stood at the door, a tray in her hands and a disapproving look on her face. “You will interfere with the healing,” she said gesturing to Elora’s arm as she bustled into the room. “Does it hurt?”
Elora rose off her chair and backed away to the wall, keeping her eyes on the woman. It was easier to see her features now; rich brown eyes, cinnamon hair that fell to her shoulders, and skin the color of dark sand that held no blemish or wrinkle. Her looks had a quality that was similar to Dayatha and the other stewards. It was difficult to tell their ages—they looked youthful but clearly were not young.
The steward’s brows raised in surprise, and she placed down the tray on the table, which held a steaming bowl of stew and a hunk of bread. She snorted. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. There’s plenty else for you to be afraid of.”
“You’re the one who tricked me into going into that cell,” Elora shot at her.
“I didn’t trick you. That is our normal procedure. But it won’t happen again.” She gestured around them. “You have your own private quarters now.”
“My own quarters?” Elora looked around. “I’m on my own in this room?”
The steward nodded. “Yes.”
“But…” Elora glanced around again. “Where will everyon
e else be?”
“In their own rooms,” the steward replied, puzzled.
“So you all sleep in your own rooms?”
The steward stared at her for a moment in confusion, then lifted her head in understanding. “Ah. It’s likely you shared sleeping quarters in Lord Nyro’s lair because there were so many of you,” she said. “But it is preferable here for servants and stewards to have our own rooms—there’s enough space for it.”
Elora almost blurted out that she didn’t want to have her own room, but she held her tongue.
“Come and let me check on your arm,” the steward said as she headed back to the door to pick up a small basket filled with bottles and jars.
Elora hesitated, but the steward gestured to the bed and they both sat down.
The steward pressed her fingers around Elora’s wrist, watching her closely for a reaction, before she started undoing the bandages.
Elora was quiet for a moment, wary as she watched her. She couldn’t trust this steward, but she also couldn’t tell if the steward had something against her or was just following orders. “Are you the one who healed me?” she asked eventually.
“Yes.”
“Did you also go through my belongings?” Elora asked, gesturing with her head to her carrysack.
The woman glanced up at her. “I wanted to make sure that you weren’t carrying anything dangerous. As is my right,” she added pointedly, clearly as a reminder to Elora that she was a steward not simply another servant.
“Are you the head steward?” Elora asked.
The woman frowned at her. “Head steward? We don’t have that here. Is that something you had in your last lair?”
Elora nodded. “There wasn’t much of a hierarchy among the stewards, but because each of them had different responsibilities there was only one who spoke to Master rather than all of them taking up his time.”
The female shook her head slowly, pondering the idea. “That makes sense. We don’t have that here, probably because we’re not big enough. One of us will speak to our lord, it usually doesn’t matter which of us. All the stewards are equal and we make decisions together.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Elora said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “The other steward implied you would be finding quarters for me. And you put me in a cell instead.”
The female steward fingers slowed as she unwrapped Elora’s bandages. “He was making a suggestion, that’s all.” She held Elora’s gaze. “You may feel that I mistreated you by putting you in there, but our lord made it clear that he felt you were a criminal, and I cannot disobey him by treating you as anything but, regardless of any assumption Walrick made.”
“And now?” Elora asked.
“Now, our lord has asked that you are healed and fed and anything else you might need to settle in.”
“Then what of the meal?” Elora gestured to the table. “Isn’t that a meal for prisoners?”
The steward blinked in surprise. “No. That is the meal we are all having today.” She peered at Elora. “Did you have elaborate meals in the other lair?”
Elora thought back to all the delicious meals that were offered and sighed. “It’s not that different,” she lied. “But we ate together.”
The steward pursed her lips as she nodded. “We used to as well, in the beginning,” she said. “But there is always so much to do that it became impractical to carve time out just for that.”
Elora said nothing. Having meals together was something she’d always experienced, even with her faction. She couldn’t understand how the community in this lair could choose to eat alone. Even when she was with her faction, it was common for them to eat together. “So there’s no common mealtime?”
“No. You need to fit your mealtimes around your duties and when the kitchen staff is serving food.”
“What are my duties?”
“I don’t know,” she said somewhat stiffly. “Our lord has not been specific about what your role will be.”
The bandages came off her arm and Elora peered down where the wounds had been, but apart from some significant raw redness, her skin had no scar at all. The steward picked up a jar from the basket.
“How did you heal me?” Elora asked, touching the rawness of her tender skin. “Potions?”
“Yes. And incantations. It took a few hours. The wounds were extremely deep. I had to put you to sleep for the rest of the day and night to help with the healing.”
Elora nodded. So it was the next day.
The woman gently smoothed a creamy substance into her arm where the wounds had been, rubbing it up and down the length of her arm until her skin had absorbed it. She asked her to clench her fist, touch each finger into the palm of her hand, and rotate her arm. “It is healing well,” she said finally. “You will need this treatment twice a day for the next few days, but there shouldn’t be any long-lasting pain or problems. There is a washroom farther down the corridor, try not to get it wet.” The steward put the jar back in her basket and stood up. “If it starts to hurt, let me know.”
“How do I find you? I don’t even know your name.”
“I am Marahl. I’ll visit regularly.” She gestured to the meal on the table. “Eat up while it’s hot.”
“So what should I do after that?” Elora asked, offering a small smile. “Do you need help with anything?”
The steward shook her head. “Currently you’re not part of the staff,” she said. “Everyone has a role that they are responsible for. Our lord will eventually decide what role you will have. If he decides that you will stay at all,” she added.
Elora exhaled heavily. “So I am supposed to wait around until he decides what he’s going to do with me?”
Marahl’s gaze turned hard. “You are lucky he didn’t kill you instantly upon your arrival. That is what most dragorai would have done.”
“Have many people crossed his territory before?”
Marahl picked up her basket and headed to the door. “Of course. People are always thinking that the warnings about the Forbidden Mountains can be ignored or risked for their own purposes, especially because of the war. Many try to cross to escape to the other side of the Twin Realms, and even though it would take weeks to cross, our lord’s territory has the most accessible route. So it is always being trespassed upon. He will not allow it.”
“So what does he do to them?”
Marahl shot her a look. “He and his dan askha hunt them. None of them survive.”
Elora’s brows shot up. “None?”
“None.” She shrugged at Elora. “You were lucky that you were not detected until it was too late.”
Elora fiddled with the edge of the blanket on the bed. Was she the only one he didn’t catch? “Is that why he is so angry?” she asked aloud.
Marahl’s eyes widened and then she laughed abruptly. “Have you not heard anything about Lord Zendyor while out in the Twin Realms?”
Elora nodded. “I have, but the steward at my old lair told me I shouldn’t believe all the rumors I hear.”
The steward inclined her head. “That is wise advice when it comes to living among the dragorai. But some rumors are worth listening to.”
“Which ones?”
Marahl shook her head. “I will never gossip about the dragorai. But as part of your induction to the lair, I will say… Lord Zendyor’s anger is easily aroused. You would be wise to ensure not to increase or heighten that while you are here, at least if you wish to live a pain-free and somewhat comfortable life here.”
Elora groaned inwardly. It wasn’t bad enough she’d have to deal with him, but to not anger him too? That seemed impossible. Her state of existence was enough to infuriate him. “Do I have to stay in here?” She couldn’t imagine being forced to stay in this room all day.
“No,” Marahl said. “But it’s best you don’t put too much stress on yourself while your arm is healing. Besides, I don’t want you interrupting anyone else from their duties.”
“D
o you have a library?” Elora asked. “Or somewhere I can go and be out of the way?”
Marahl lifted brow and gestured to the room around them. “Yes. Right here.” With that, she left the room.
Exhaling a long breath, Elora closed her eyes and assessed her situation, trying to think of the positives. Mama had always said “Nothing in this land, no matter how devastating, can ruin you unless you choose it to.” And Elora believed that. It was a belief that kept their faction successful for years, and what helped to keep her family joyful, even though terrible things happened—things she wanted to block out and forget about forever. But her parents always proved that a smile or a laugh was crucial for them all in times of tragedy. And as Papa said to her once, “When it seems you have no choice, you can still choose your mood.”
So Elora cataloged the things that weren’t so bad about her situation. Firstly, her arm was healed and she wasn’t going to die from blood loss or infection. She also had her own room which, while that wasn’t something she was used to or even wanted, it was a sign that she had a secure place in this lair now. Lastly, she was still alive. And regardless of how much she hated and feared the beast, she still had a chance to fit in. She simply wanted a safe place to have something similar to her own faction—a community of people she could care for. And at the thought of that, she smiled.
She sat down to eat and was surprised how delicious the simple meal was. It may not have been as elaborate as the meals in the last lair, but the flavors of the stew were spectacular, nothing like she’d ever tasted, and the bread was soft and warm, with a flaky crust.
After she ate, she opened the chests and found one empty, but the other had some plain tunics, robes, undergarments, slippers, bathing cloths, and extra blankets. Elora smiled, glad for the extra clothes, in the other lair clothes had not been a priority. She placed her own belongings into the empty chest and gathered a few bathing items before heading to the washroom Marahl mentioned. After she made use of it and changed into a new tunic, she stepped back out into the corridor, peering both ways.
