by Addison Cain
Every soldier in attendance had stepped into formation, as if banking a parade. All eyes cast toward the front of the room.
A secondary group entered. Alphas by the size of them, but not dressed in the vivid vermilion armor of the thousands waiting in their regimented lines.
Nor were these males trimmed and barbered. Long hair, some sported beards… and skin.
Bare chests, corded arms, some wore little more than strips of tanned leather around their hips.
Whoever the group was, they didn’t look a thing like any Alpha who had ever invaded her settlement. Their wild state, the fact they paraded before armored soldiers with no care for their menace made her nervous.
Even from a distance, she could sense their contempt for all they saw.
Not a word could be made out, but the commandant bowed, as did all those glittering with rank at his back. The new males did not return the gesture.
If the older Alpha was insulted by the lack of respect, he didn’t show it. He gestured for what must have been their leader to join him.
For reasons unknown, she broke out in a cold sweat, knowing that if they crossed the length of the gallery, they would walk past her.
These Alphas, the savagely dressed dark-haired behemoths, needed to stay far, far away.
No soul in the room was looking at her. She had been forgotten. But trapped in glass with nowhere to go, she felt the most exposed of her life.
The reason was those in formation near her. Yes, they were riveted on the scene, but not one of them looked gratified. In fact, the taste of air she had beyond the glass was animosity, bitterness… even a hint of fear.
Who were these men?
Formalities aside, these guests… if they were guests… were not welcome. Nor could they have been expected. They looked like raiders; scoffed and sneered at all they saw, brushing off the formality staged before them as the two groups converged.
Commandant and dark-haired savage leader both turned, walking down the center path that would lead past where she’d been caged. There was no conversation between them. That would require the practically naked male beside the old man to reply to anything that was being said.
It seemed he pointedly ignored the high-ranked escort, staring straight ahead and walking with purpose. Upon their approach, Morgaine found these men to be even stranger. Her initial assessment was right; they wore their hair almost as long as she wore hers. On many, scars were prominently displayed: slashes across bared chests, shiny star-shaped splatters of mended skin.
Though she’d never seen a wound of that sort healed, she had seen many of her neighbors die from blaster fire. She’d seen the way the skin around the wound flashed out like a bursting flower.
Warriors?
Was this some ritual? Is that why so much skin was exposed?
Were these elite soldiers?
Their features didn’t look like the other men. Cheekbones higher, brows harsh.
Foreign.
They looked rough, these men, rougher than their shined, vermilion armored counterparts. In comparison, they looked monstrous.
Sharp pain jarred her, Morgaine instinctively backing away until her welted and bruised back hit the glass. Her hiss went ignored, for the men were still too far down the gallery to hear her and those near seemed to have forgotten she existed.
The commandant was in conversation with a scowling, square-jawed male at the front of the cavalcade. Like the others, this one wore a weapon at his hip. It did not look like the blasters or knives of the Alphas Morgaine knew. In fact, she would not have thought it a weapon at all except that the commandant looked to it multiple times. When he did so, it was with the same disgust he had projected upon her the day before.
Under that disgust was concern.
It made Morgaine more nervous to see a man as hard and mean as he display veiled hesitation.
They were near enough now she could hear them speaking, but only one language Morgaine understood. With a low timbre and a scratchy grumble, the guest gave throaty responses an unseen male at his back translated.
This was a true foreigner.
Settlers told stories about alien peoples, about harsh cruelties that drove her kind to these new worlds. In the tales, the men described were just as coarse as those marching closer.
And closer, and closer.
Close enough now that several in his party had seen her, seen how she pulled her hair over her shoulders as if to hide behind it… how she only looked at them from the corner of her eye.
They stared as if confused by such a sight, grumbling between themselves in their rough language.
Worried she’d offended, that she had earned more than just another beating, Morgaine glanced to their leader and found him stopped dead in his tracks.
He was staring right at her, speaking quickly in a collection of growls and hisses.
Whatever the translation was, she couldn’t hear it over the beating of her heart in her ears.
The ferocity she’d leveled at the Alphas earlier had dried up, just like her mouth. It might as well have been full of sand.
Their eyes met.
The weighted stare of a demon held her in terrified thrall.
Morgaine forgot to breathe, to blink.
The foreign monster put a hand to the commandant’s chest when he tried to step between them and shoved him back. The old man sprawled, and heavy footfalls beat the ground, dark hair flying out behind the snarling Alpha as he charged her cage.
Others flew after him, trailing behind the male running full speed toward her cage. He reached the glass, gathered the dress she’d worn the day before, the one that had been left out to be pawed and sniffed by strangers. He held it to his nose, roared, and brought both fists to pound the clear barricade between them.
As he beat the glass, as cracks formed and the whole cage trembled, Morgaine screamed.
She screamed and screamed, backing away, curling up as if to hide no matter the welts or the pain.
If she could have made herself invisible, if she could have willed her soul away, she would have. Because the devil was roaring for it, and the cracks in the glass were growing.
Men fell upon him, men in vermilion armor and men in leather alike. It took an entire swarm to pull the bellowing beast away, even more to quell the growing rumble between the two groups. She saw him dragged from the room, saw the veins and muscles standing up in his neck, his snapping teeth, and the way his eyes were locked only on her.
What he shouted in his ugly tongue, whether they were curses or threats, Morgaine did not know. She’d pressed her hands over her ears, still screaming even as Sergeant Uriel entered to gather her up.
The mangled scents of the room hit her, the stink of furious musk, a cacophony of men, of sweat, of agitation, of fear… of hunger.
The instant she felt hands on her, she fought, biting and scratching just as she’d threatened the others. But one Alpha was much stronger than one traumatized Omega. The male ignored her thrashing, and rushed her away in the opposite direction.
Chapter 12
It was the nest she dove for the instant Morgaine was set free. The hated scraps of fur were burrowed under, Morgaine instinctively seeking cover no matter the orders any might snap or punishments that might be ordained.
No one tried to pull her out from where she hid, not even Sergeant Uriel barked an order. His hands were full dealing with several Alphas who’d entered the chamber behind them. Their voices could be heard arguing amongst themselves, meaning muffled by the hands she’d pressed over her ears.
They left her alone.
Light weight even came to land over where she trembled, as if blankets had been draped to cover where a foot or leg were exposed by inadequate furs.
In all her time in this horrible new place, with all the fear and uncertainty she’d endured over her instruction, never in her life had she been more terrified than in those heart-stopping moments watching the cracks grow in the glass.
&nbs
p; She imagined she could still hear him, hear him shouting and the pounding of his fists as he roared and went mad.
“Corporal Esin! Do not approach the nest or touch her!” Sergeant Uriel boomed so all might hear. “That goes for all of you. The Omega is off limits.”
An unfamiliar voice spoke up. “Sir, she was supposed to be mine tonight.”
Real anger came from the sergeant. “Did I stutter?”
“You cannot leave her unattended in this state. I have a legal right to calm her.”
She didn’t know who Uriel spoke to, but Morgaine heard the command clearly. “Remove him from the room.”
The sounds of a struggle were short-lived. When the door closed, it grew quiet enough she heard the footsteps approaching where she’d burrowed.
“Morgaine, you are completely safe in here. The Omari cannot reach you. Come out of there so that I may see that you are unhurt.”
Nothing was going to move her, no amount of Alpha purrs, no threats. They would have to pull her kicking and screaming from the covers.
“Under these circumstances it would be appropriate to offer sedation. Medic, hand over the dram.”
In a flurry, the covering over her leg was whipped back. Before she could kick, a prick nicked her skin, and the scream prepared in her throat died on a sigh.
Pleasurable feeling washed over her, a mirror of that same warm safety she’d woken from that first morning. Drugs battled against her adrenaline, and between them, a drifting middle ground was found.
“She may not be able to sit up on her own with such a high dose.” The medic spoke, but it was Uriel she found carefully lifting away the layers she hid under.
When she saw the bleeding set of gashes across his cheek, Morgaine knew she had put them there. Just as she’d bit his hand to the point skin had broken. Even now blood stained her lips and flavored her tongue.
Half drunk, Morgaine took in the entirety of him and muttered, “You hit me with a stick. I’d rather be a lowly, feral Omega than an Alpha dog any day.”
Sergeant Uriel didn’t blink. He reached down, pulling her up to lean against the cushions despite her welts. “Her inhibition response is muted by the dram. Any slurs made now are off the record and forgiven.”
In that case, she was going to lay it all out. “And you”—sluggish eyes traveled to where Esin stood by—“you were going to whore me out for profit to the panting vermin outside my glass cage. I didn’t think it was possible to hate someone as much as I hate you. I was wrong. I haaaate you.”
He seemed genuinely forlorn to hear her slander and equally shocked by her obvious knowledge of what might be. “You misunderstand, renegade. I do not possess the rank to claim a mate yet. But with hard work, I could initiate a pair-bond in less than two years. What is a lifetime of joy to a few moments of disappointment? Do you think I rejoice in knowing other men will relish your time, that you will delight in their bodies during the hours I’m required by law to share you? I do not. It’s the only way we can be together as we are meant to be.”
It was not like her to use gross language, but, slurring, Morgaine swore, “I’d rather fuck every last disgusting Alpha on this ship than have you so much as look at me.”
Three snaps of calloused fingers came before her blurring vision. “That’s enough, Morgaine. Focus here.” Uriel kneeled so they were at eye level. “Are you hurt?”
Nodding, tears began to fall. “Everything you do here hurts.”
Despite knowing better, Morgaine crumpled, begging over and over for her mother.
“There will be no getting through to her in this state. Hand me another dose. She will be examined after she falls asleep.”
This time the prick came to her shoulder, and shortly after, she lay limp as a fresh corpse.
***
A metallic taste sat heavy on her tongue, arms and legs weighted by the remnants of waning sedatives. She had yet to move or open her eyes, prone on her belly, soft coverings on her back. There were voices in the room—no longer by the door as they had been before, but near the area where the room’s table always lay laden with food.
“How many of his men do you think their Heidron has killed trying to break out?”
The Alphas were laughing, one offering up, “At least he does our work for us. Omari scum coming here with no warning… fresh treaty or no, we do not bow to their whims.”
It didn’t matter what the men at her table boasted or claimed. She herself had seen the commandant bow to the foreigners.
“It is no laughing matter.” Uriel cut off the revelry. “I advise you each to count the friends, brothers, and children you lost in the war. Hold on to that number and keep your silence before I make you silent. To imagine there will be no far-stretching repercussion from what took place in the gallery displays our arrogant blindness the Omari exploited in the first place. We surrendered to them. Remember that.”
Petulant, Esin disagreed. “Had our colonies not been threatened, sir, the outcome would have gone the other way. They do not value Beta life as we do, just as they are known to rape and mutilate their Omegas. They’re animals. He cannot be allowed to have her. She’ll die.”
“You are not pair-bonded to the girl, and unless she enters estrous in the next hour, you have no means to seal a claim. Their warships have already begun to appear around our fleet. The Heidron is going to demand she be handed over once his rut subsides, or he will take her by force. Our commandant will have no choice. He will not risk rekindling a bloody war for one feral Omega.”
So, they were going to hand her over to that raving creature from the pit. Considering their lies thus far of promised safety and love, Morgaine felt no surprise at such news.
Whatever she had done to offend that rabid male, she knew he’d kill her, and then at least it would be over. Considering how fiercely he’d battered the glass, her death would most likely be quick.
It was for the best.
The pleasure chambers would have shredded away her honor. Being mated to Esin would have been a lifetime of misery.
Groaning, she fought the covers and sat up. Rubbing away the crust from her eyes, she heard the males push back their chairs and stand.
Before one of them might give her a command or ask any pointed questions, she mumbled, “My bladder is full.”
Uriel ordered the men away, but he did not leave her to her own devices. In fact, he watched her like a hawk, which made relieving herself difficult. When the act was finished, he ordered her to bathe, ordered her to dress herself, and ordered her to eat.
She went through the motions, still numb, and unsure if it was a lingering effect of the drug or if her spirit had simply flown away.
As if reading her thoughts, Sergeant Uriel sighed. “I imagine it won’t be much longer now.”
He was correct.
The commandant himself entered, a small army waiting in the hall when that shining wall opened up wide. “Come, Omega, you are to go to the Omari Heidron now. May he be merciful.”
Lips stained berry red from the flesh of the fruit she’d forced down, Morgaine stood. Damp hair curling past her waist, life stolen away, she marched where she was bidden.
Though the remnants of sedation still tickled her veins, fear found a way to bloom with each step.
The thing they were giving her to, she remembered the wild look in his eyes. That Alpha was the stuff of nightmares: scarred, barbaric, and brimming with menace.
His people were powerful enough to have subjugated the Alpha soldiers and entered their ship.
Esin claimed they raped and mutilated Omegas.
She was going to die horribly.
And so continued her slow march, one where not even Uriel touched her to drag her onward. Heart thudding behind her ribs, her cadence wavered, and she was unsure if she could walk farther… but it was already too late.
Morgaine’s eyes never left the ground, but she knew those foreign Alphas were just ahead. She could smell their sweat, the soft aroma of leath
er, hear their grumbled murmurs.
Gruff, the commandant broke the lingering silence. “You are aware that this Omega is flawed? Your men briefed you on her shortcomings?”
Translation began at once, flowing, familiar speech turning guttural.
The beast replied, his voice a rasp of grit and dirt.
Moments later, the translator shared the menacing male’s words. Words that were only for her. “I have brought you a gift, gentle girl. Will you not look at me so I might give it to you?”
Her lip was shaking, so she sucked it into her mouth and bit down. Nails sharp against her palms, the pain familiar, Morgaine made herself obey. Inch by inch her chin went up, eyes following until she saw what was held out before her.
It was a mangy fur still in the shape of whatever brown animal it had been torn from, large enough to dwarf her if unraveled fully, and ugly as sin.
“I…”
The brute came toward her, Uriel pressing his hands to her spine to prevent her immediate retreat. With a swish, the skin was draped over her shoulders, covering her near nudity and offering warmth.
He spoke again, translation offered immediately. “I didn’t have anything finer prepared, but I could not have you cold and uncovered to be gawked at by these cowards.”
It was an odd gesture considering the Alphas she knew. They had never once cared if she was cold in their swath of fabric, and they certainly didn’t want her body covered from sight. Calling them cowards, though, seemed like an unwise choice.
The monstrous male began purring loudly, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. There he kneaded tense muscle, putting his nose to her hair for a deep sniff.
Under the influence of that noise, of his nearness, her knees almost gave out. Instead they knocked together, and she drew in a shuddering breath.
She’d yet to look up to his face, eyes trained on a long scar across his chest, mouth dry, and fingers clutching at the draping fur as if it might shield her, Morgaine endured.
The careful fingers at her shoulders closed tighter, pulling her toward that naked, scarred chest as the male spoke to those who brought her. “This female is ripe.”
