The Breaking

by Imogen Keeper

  Table of Contents

  DEDICATION

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

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  The Breaking

  by Imogen Keeper

  Feola made a terrible mistake. Four months ago, she Bonded with the wrong man. Now there’s only one person she can trust to help break her Bond. The man she rejected.

  Ajax, warrior and healer, has resigned himself to a mateless future. When he receives Feola’s cryptic plea for help, he must decide whether to break the law and sacrifice his career, or save the only woman he’s ever wanted.

  Accused of murder, running for their lives from an intergalactic government and bounty hunters, Feola and Ajax struggle to overcome her tattered past so she can love again. Will she let him into her heart, or will her tattered past tear them apart?

  One thing is certain, Bonds were never meant to be broken.

  Reader Advisory: This story contains graphic sexual language and scenes, including an attempted sexual attack on the heroine.

  THE BREAKING

  Imogen Keeper

  Edited by Monika Holabird

  The Breaking (Tribe Warrior Series, Book #2)

  Copyright © 2016 Imogen Keeper

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental. [Remove this bit if your book is nonfiction. If it’s a memoir, you may like to insert: Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.]

  Cover design by Victoria Cooper

  Dedication

  For my family:

  the big, grouchy man who never stops and takes care of us all;

  the little bug who loves trucks, dinos and woo-woos;

  and the newest one, my itsy bitsy, who really just loves milk.

  I want a memory pensieve. The minutes are already floating away.

  I hope I remember when I’m old and gray,

  but I know I’ll forget.

  PM Carson, for the timeliest of scratches.

  And the ladies of Hearts & Handcuffs,

  Cassandra, Heidi, Laura, Renee & Rosie

  I’d be lost without you.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

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  25

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  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ALSO BY IMOGEN KEEPER

  CHAPTER 1

  PROLOGUE

  I’d never let it break.

  Ajax closed the door carefully and left his patient alone. She was finally asleep. Exhausted. Irreparable.

  The fever, nausea, chills and aches that plagued her body were nothing compared to the onslaught of her emotional pain. It was difficult to believe a person could sustain such aggressive tears. The woman had sobbed so hard and so long he’d considered sedating her just to make it stop.

  He’d never cried like that in his life, not even as a kid during the Plague of Days when half his family died. He’d never seen anyone cry like that, shuddering and soundless, as if her soul were separating from her body, as if her bones were breaking and her skin fragmenting into a thousand tiny pieces.

  That’s what the breaking of a Bond did.

  Bonds were never meant to be broken.

  If he were ever lucky enough to claim a woman and form a Bond, he’d never let it break.

  The thought of Bonding immediately brought an image of vibrant yellow-green eyes to the front of his mind. And as always, his body responded.

  He ran his hands through his hair, his cock jutting in front of his body like a flagpole, bobbing in his pants. He lowered his hand, maybe to tuck it away, maybe just to squeeze the stupid throbbing monster. He’d just laid the flat of his palm along the shaft when he froze.

  There she was, standing in an open doorway directly across the hall, watching him with those eyes, yellow green and opened wide.

  Feola. As if he’d thought her into reality. She’d had him hooked like an addict desperate for an overdue dose since the first second he saw her. He’d never wanted anything in his life like he wanted her.

  He swallowed.

  “Ay-shocks.” Even the way she said his name made him hard. As if she were singing and whispering and moaning all at the same time.

  Her gaze dropped to his groin. The look in her eyes said she knew exactly what it was, and exactly what it was for, and exactly what he wanted to do with it. Her mouth dropped open. Her skin flushed a pretty shade of pink.

  He didn’t think. He did something he’d never done in his entire life—just acted. He crossed the hall, reached out, took the back of her head in his palm, and moved in close. As he slid his other arm around her back, her body bowed.

  She gasped but kept her gaze locked on his. When he lowered his mouth to hers, she whimpered. Her lips were full, and she tasted like summer on his home planet, Argentus. Like sweet fruit and fresh water. Her tongue against his was as soft as velvet.

  “Ay-shocks. I—”

  He kissed her again, silencing whatever she’d been about to say with his tongue, too frantic to stop.

  His cock pulsed happily against her stomach, feeling the press of a warm, female body for the first time in fiftee
n years. He backed her up against a wall, tugging at her skirts, and pushed his hand up her dress, along silken thighs. When his hand found her pussy, so warm and so wet, he nearly came in his pants.

  Her clit was rock hard under his thumb, and she kept repeating his name, crooning it out, breathless in his arms. It sounded like a prayer. Ay-shocks, Ay-shocks, Ay-shocks.

  He’d never felt so powerful and so humble in his life. Like he was as big as the entire universe and as tiny as a quark, all at once. Nothing mattered. Everything mattered.

  He stroked his thumb over the slippery button of her clit, sliding his finger deeper inside her tight, wet passage, hooking it in, knowing instinctively what she needed.

  Her hands roved through his hair. He closed his free hand over a perfect little tit and the turgid rise of her nipple.

  The walls of her pussy fluttered around his finger, soft as the wings of a butterfly, and his heart swelled. Holy gods, there was nothing sweeter than holding a woman while she came. He swallowed her moans, but they echoed down the halls, ricocheting and rising in a crescendo of their own.

  His cock throbbed again, demanding attention, but he ignored it, slid his finger from her body and righted her clothes, tracing kisses along her cheekbone up to her temple. Her breasts heaved against his chest. Her wide eyes locked on him.

  “Feola,” he murmured against her lips. “I….” He paused, right on the cusp of declaring… what? His undying devotion? That wasn’t fair. First, he needed to clear the proper channels, make sure his superiors wouldn’t forbid a union with one of the few, precious remaining women.

  He needed to make sure she was thinking clearly, that the aphrodisiacs in his saliva didn’t cloud her thinking, to give her time to process before he asked for a Bond. She wouldn’t be able to think with his tongue in her throat. She needed space. “I’m sorry.”

  She froze.

  “I didn’t mean to do that. I shouldn’t have. I—I just lost control.”

  Her cheeks flooded with heat, and she backed away.

  As soon as he got clearance, he would talk to her. And pray to every whispering power in the universe that she’d say yes.

  1

  I need another chance.

  Just one.

  Tell me I’m not too late.

  Four months later

  Feola had a comm of her own, a thin transparent disk the size of her palm. It even buzzed sometimes, too. Just never for the reasons her friend’s did.

  Samila’s comm buzzed as they walked through the lacy purple reeds in The Fields of Romeo-Two. Like the rest of the women on the base, Samila was Bonded and nauseatingly blissful in her union. Samila’s mate called to check in, to say he loved her, to hear her voice. The smile on Samila’s face was unmistakable. It was the same smile Feola had seen on the faces of the women from her home planet, Triannon, after they’d been mated. It was the smile she’d dreamed of wearing herself one day.

  The smile said: I love—and in turn—I am loved.

  Feola had worn that smile for a sum total of seven days.

  Seven days of serum-induced, mind-blowing, unnatural joy. She’d lived for her mate during those days. For his smiles and kisses. For the intoxication of his serum, and her own unnatural addiction to it.

  Then it had all changed.

  It was not a smile she would ever wear again. She knew that now. Had accepted it long ago. She’d never have that smile.

  When her own comm buzzed, she felt only fear, and lately a newfound rage that simmered below the skin and terrified her with its intensity.

  Utto’s presence pulsed in her chest, where their Bond united them permanently. His emotions, as always, seethed and rippled, oily and viscous across her sternum, like a parasite that had taken up permanent residence in the marrow of her bones.

  He was the only person who ever called her comm because he was the only person with her number, and her comm couldn’t contact anyone else. He’d made sure of that.

  He checked in too, but it didn’t make her feel safe or comforted. He called to make sure she hadn’t contacted anyone else in his absence, hadn’t seen anyone else, hadn’t even thought of anyone else.

  He wanted her alone, weak, and pathetic. Desperate for him.

  Sometimes he told her he loved her, but when he did, she knew it was a lie. He didn’t love her. He hated her. The line might be a fine one, but she knew the difference now. She’d learned the difference between love and hate the hard way.

  She and Samila met at The Fields occasionally to walk for a stolen hour together while their mates trained. It was the only guaranteed time that Utto wouldn’t show up at random. During his training exercises, she would sneak across the hall to Samila and her mate’s chamber. Her friendship with Samila was just one of the many secrets that she kept from Utto.

  If he found out, he would forbid it.

  He would do worse than forbid it.

  “Let’s sit by the water awhile,” Samila said with a sly smile. “I’m a little sore from last night.”

  Feola nodded, tuning out the senseless chatter. Samila was nice, but she was oblivious, thoughtless, and complacent in her happiness as she sauntered down the grated path through a patch of solar light that filtered down through the crystalline domed ceiling of The Fields.

  The woman placed her comm negligently on the steel bench overlooking the irrigation canal that had been dug into the artificial terra of The Fields that comprised the base’s hydroponic farms.

  The crops spread before them in tidy rows of yellows, blues, and pinks. She sat beside Samila, so close the comm rested only a few inches away from her pinky finger.

  With the wide smile that always calmed Utto when the tempers took him, she pointed at the tiny fluttering birds around a flowering cerulean bush. “What are those?”

  Samila was one of the rare Argenti females. She knew more about the world of the Tribe than anyone Feola had ever met. As Samila prattled away about the birds that fertilized the crops and the canal that watered them, Feola slid the comm into the pocket of her prim lacy white dress.

  Samila didn’t notice.

  Oblivious. Stupidly happy.

  They sat for a while. Feola nodded and smiled at the right moments. All the while, the comm rested against her thigh, a smooth, light weight that would either save her life or end it.

  Samila finally noticed it was missing and tried in vain to locate it. They spent precious time retracing their steps. Feola furrowed her brow, made sympathetic noises, and looked under the bench and behind the bushes, careful not to get any dirt on her dress. If Utto saw stains, he would know she’d left their chamber.

  “I can’t think where it could be,” she lied. She’d become good at lying. A necessary skill. She ignored the vision of her mother’s face in her mind’s eye, sad and disapproving. Mamma had always said lying was bad. It didn’t matter. Mamma had died a very long time ago.

  Anyway, Mamma had never met Utto. It was impossible to know Utto and not become a liar.

  Samila laughed gaily. “Jamar is going to tease me—ruthlessly—when I tell him. That’s the second comm I’ve lost.”

  “He won’t be angry, though?” Feola couldn’t help but ask and, when Samila frowned, instantly regretted it.

  “Angry? Over a missing comm? Of course not.” Samila looked for a moment as though she might ask about Utto.

  They rarely discussed him, so she laughed to distract Samila. It sounded loud and shrill in her ears, but it did the trick.

  She’d need to hurry across the base to Utto’s chambers to have any chance of using the comm before he returned.

  It wasn’t the first thing she’d stolen. Or the first thing she’d put in her stash of supplies. Mamma wouldn’t have approved of theft either.

  She refused to accept the surge of guilt. Resisted the anxiety. If she permitted the excitement to affect her heart or her breathing, he’d feel it through their Bond.

  She never quite knew how much he could actually feel of her emotions, o
r how clear they were to him, but she did know he could feel her terror. Her sorrow. And he liked it.

  A tiny flare of hope sparked, trilling along her spine. She squeezed her palms and stamped it down. He’d feel that, too. And then he’d know.

  She needed the comm far more than Samila did, with her safe and loving Jamar and her thighs sore from a night of tender lovemaking.

  When she entered, the chamber was empty. Clean and cool. Sterile, just the way Utto liked it. She moved to the sink, pressed the code she’d stolen from the base’s healing bay to contact a man she’d known several months ago, the only person she trusted to help her now, the only person she knew couldn’t be connected to Utto or his family in any way.

  There was a short series of ticks and a moment of silence. Then a man’s deep voice. “Hello.”

  Ajax. His beautiful, rumbling voice swirled in her ears, bringing back so many memories. Her nipples hardened instantly. That voice, his beautiful bright eyes. They’d be crinkled at the edges now with concern.

  She swallowed thickly, eyes closing, calling up his face, the hard jaw, the gentle smile, his pale, soft hair, the velvety touch of his tongue to her lips. The seductive flavor of his kiss. Utto would feel her arousal—but he’d never know the reason.

  Self-loathing tore through her, and her eyes burned.

  For a moment, her throat refused to function, wouldn’t shape the sounds she needed to communicate. She dug her fingernails into her palms. “Ajax? I didn’t know who else to call.”

  A hot tear escaped to roll down her cheek. Even across the distance of star systems, the frail radio connection of their comms made her feel safer. The only connection to the last person in the universe who might still be able to help.

  “I need your help.”

  Over the line, he sucked in a breath.

  As her body remembered that day so long ago, her stomach coiled, heat pooling between her thighs. He’d backed her up against a wall and plunged his tongue into her mouth as if he wanted to swallow her heart and fuse their souls.

  If only he had. She’d have let him. She’d never wanted anything more than she’d wanted him at that moment. He’d been so big. And so hard. So desperate for her. He’d touched her body in a place no one ever had, and he’d made her feel the first burst of strident, unadulterated, breathless pleasure in her life.