Breeder

by Cara Bristol

  Omra shifted from one hip to the other and hoped he wouldn’t notice the bag no longer bulged. “N-not today,” she lied. “But it was all so fascinating. Thank you for bringing me. I hope I can come again to see what I missed,” she said to lay the groundwork for the following week.

  Maybe she should tell him she’d met a friend and request to see her. Except females didn’t pay social visits. Dak had granted so many exceptions, she couldn’t imagine he would permit many more. He had limits—as she’d experienced. Her legs and buttocks still burned.

  “We’ll see.” He tucked a brown paper-wrapped package under his arm. She wondered what he had bought, what item had caught his interest at the Terran bazaar, but he did not offer an explanation. “We must go.” He led the way outside and set a direct course for their conveyance, which waited at the other end of the Market. As usual he offered no accommodation for her shorter legs and charged ahead.

  Omra heard the commotion before she saw it. She couldn’t decipher the meaning of the shouted taunts through the Market din, but Dak apparently could. He halted, and his body went rigid.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Drakor! Drakor!” The vilest word in the Parseon language reached Dak’s ears as he and Omra neared the Market center. He signaled for the bodyguard to watch over her, shoved the package into her hands, and sprinted toward the shouts.

  A mob encircled the fountain area. Dak assessed the size and composition of the crowd. Perhaps a couple hundred alphas and betas shouted and waved their fists, joined by several lower members of Dak’s advisory cabinet, as well as one high-ranking subcommander. He tightened his lips. The participation of his officials served to sanction the demonstration. Also among the assemblage were members of his personal guard, their weapons holstered. They’d made no move to halt the growing melee, but at least they weren’t participating.

  With his gaze, he sought their attention, and they snapped into a military stance, readied for his orders.

  “Drakor! Drakor!” chanted the mob.

  Dak could not see beyond the wall of people, but instinct identified the object of their animus. He had foreseen tension could erupt into violence, but he’d hoped to avoid it. His officials continued to shout with the crowd, egging them on. Were they trying to incite a riot?

  “Drakor! Drakor!” The slurs increased to a frenzied pitch.

  “Silence!” Dak roared.

  He signaled his guards to follow and pushed through the press of people. As individuals recognized him, they fell back, and a hush supplanted the shouts. “Alpha! It’s Alpha!” A wave of whispers flowed.

  “Explain yourselves!” he demanded. He employed no concern for his safety. He was Alpha, revered and feared.

  At the center of the fracas, he found his hunch confirmed. The demonstrators had surrounded an Enclave familial unit: a male, his female, a breeder child, and an infant son. The man—alpha, beta, Dak couldn’t tell—had one arm around the female, who clutched the wailing baby on her hip. With his other arm, he attempted to protect the sobbing child, who clung to his leg.

  Dak planted himself in front of the familial unit and glared at the protestors. “I have asked a question.”

  Gazes dropped, shifted left and right. A disgruntled murmur rippled through the assemblage. The subcommander stepped out of the crowd. Karak executed a perfect salute, yet something in the gesture smacked of insolence rather than deference.

  “The citizens of Parseon were sweeping the vermin from the village streets, Alpha.”

  “Vermin!” Someone shouted.

  Karak stabbed his finger at the Enclave unit. “Their presence dishonors all of Parseon, debases Protocol.”

  “DRAKOR!” A cry rang out, and a fist-sized rock hurtled through the air on a trajectory toward the breeder child. Dak dove in front of the female and took the blow. People gasped, and he thought he heard Omra scream. Then silence fell. The people watched.

  Shouts rang out. Curses. His guards dragged a struggling alpha to the fountain.

  “They are drakor!” The male spat at Dak’s feet.

  A murmured agreement swept through the crowd.

  “The drakor defile us. And anyone who supports them dishonors us.”

  “String him up,” Dak ordered. “And give him twenty lashes.” He could not allow the insult to go unpunished, or others would follow his lead.

  The guards dragged the man away. Dak raked the mob with his gaze and pointed at the familial unit. “And twenty lashes to anyone who lays hand or stone on any of them.

  “Disperse! Now.”

  The agitators shot baleful glares at the Enclave unit but disbanded, peeling away in groups of twos and threes to reveal a horrified Omra, clutching the brown package to her chest. Across the square, a new group banded to witness the public flogging.

  Dak spun on his heel to deal with the members of the Enclave. With the crisis quelled, anger at the source arose within him. Why couldn’t they have remained in the northern hills? Why did they have to flaunt themselves in public? “You are fortunate I happened upon the fountain.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” said the male.

  “We should not have come,” the female choked out, rocking the baby.

  “Your female is correct.” Dak spoke to the male. “If I hadn’t been here, all of you would have been ki—” He glanced at the breeder child attached to her sire’s leg like a mollusk to a rock. A mop of hair swirled around a delicate face stained by tears. Her tiny shoulders continued to shudder. In her, Dak formed a picture of what Omra must have looked like as a child. He yanked his gaze back to the male. “The outcome would have gone another way.”

  The man lifted his chin. “We grew low on supplies. We had intended to slip into the Market without anyone noticing.”

  His naïveté astounded Dak. “How? By refusing to wear chest insignia? With gestures shouting your ideology? By parading your familial unit about the Market square?” Anger had crept into his voice.

  “We only want to live in peace,” the female said.

  “Your female’s address to me alone violates Protocol,” Dak snapped.

  She had the sense to flinch.

  The man glanced at his chastened breeder. “Our attendance was a wasted effort anyway.” He jutted his chin toward their baskets lying empty in the dust. “No one would sell to us.”

  Dak masked his frustration by stiffening his posture. The tiny female watched him through a veil of her hair. She’d stopped crying. He could see one eye peeking at him. Monto! How had so much changed in a day? He did not have time to strategize, to shore up his defenses for the battle ahead. He could not allow his people—even members of the Enclave—to starve. He gestured to a guard. “Accompany them to obtain the supplies they need. On Alpha’s orders, they will receive what they require at the prevailing market price.

  “Go!” He waved at the family in dismissal. “Retrieve your stores and depart.”

  “Thank you, Commander.” The man saluted and ushered his family from the fountain.

  Dak beckoned to Omra. She ran to his side. Her face had paled.

  “Are…are you all right, Commander?” Her voice quivered.

  He nodded, resisting the urge to rub his chest. “The altercation has ended.”

  But the crisis had begun. His instinctive action had pitted him against the Parseon society he’d sworn to rule and protect. He was Alpha, the strongest of the strong, but still only a man. The Enclave had cracked the dam, and he alone held it together. His power was considerable, but how long could he hold out against the cumulative will of his people? Word would travel to the High Council faster than the speed of a rock aimed at a child. Marlix and Tarbek would tie his actions to his obvious affection for Omra. Breederphile. Enclave sympathizer.

  He regarded Omra, who clutched the package like a shield. As long as she served him, she needed one. Predators always targeted the weakest member of the herd. A child of the Enclave. The breeder of an Alpha. His chest ached, and not just from the rock’
s impact. He’d wavered in his decision, but the unrest had cemented his resolve.

  Sending Omra back to the BCF wasn’t only the wisest choice—it was the only one.

  * * * *

  The bounce of the conveyance delivered jolts of pain through Omra’s punished buttocks, but the discomfort grounded her and prevented her spinning thoughts from causing her head to whirl off her neck. So many questions tumbled in her mind, she didn’t know how to ask them—not that she dared to break Dak’s glowering silence.

  She shut her eyes to block the sight of the rock thudding against his chest. A lesser man would have been felled by the blow, a child killed, but he had not flinched or uttered a sound.

  Though Dak had minimized the incident in the square, she could not ignore the alarm that had catapulted her into a state of exigency. The fabric she’d purchased would be delivered on the morrow, but she wondered if she would have time to sew the shirt for Dak before—

  “Why were they so angry at those people at the fountain?” The question popped out of her mouth.

  The beasts clopped on the hard-packed road, snorting and tingeing the air with the odor of sulfur. She smoothed her hands over the brown-wrapped package. Her sweating palms had dampened the paper. For the longest time, he said nothing, and she figured he was not going to answer her, but then he sighed.

  “They belong to a heterodox Enclave.”

  Omra jerked. Anika intended to join an Enclave. Surely it couldn’t be the same. “Are…are there many Enclaves such as that one?”

  He shook his head. “Fortunately not. There is only the one.” He glanced at her. “You have heard of it?”

  She nodded. Bile rose in her throat. Circumstances combined with the conveyance’s rocking caused her stomach to churn with queasiness. She wet her lips. “A friend—a breeder I knew at the BCF—was headed to an Enclave.”

  “That is unfortunate.”

  His words solidified her uneasiness. She wet her dry lips. “W-why?”

  “Living and working alongside a male who is neither alpha nor beta? Her life will be very hard without Protocol to protect her.”

  He only voiced the concerns that had arisen in her mind when she’d learned of Anika’s situation, but a tiny seed of heresy that had lain buried chose that moment to germinate. “Perhaps Protocol is the problem,” she said.

  Dak yanked hard on the reins. The conveyance jerked to a stop. He turned his entire body to stare at her. If she could have snatched the words from the air and hidden them in her shift, she would have. But even as she cringed at her audacity, an odd relief allowed her to meet Dak’s glowering scrutiny. She had needed to say those words.

  “Explain.” His lips barely moved as he spoke.

  Fear scuttled through her like a line of crawling insects. Explain, he’d demanded of the mob, and she’d seen how that had worked out. He’d sentenced an alpha to the lash. And the memory of the swiftness and force with which he’d beaten Corren, his beta, was as vivid as the welts on her thighs. She had witnessed violence and aggression in him, but kindness too, and if he erred, it was often on the side of leniency. Though he had applied the sudon to her backside on a couple of occasions, it had never been without cause or calculated restraint. He’d never unleashed on her like Sival and Corren had done. And he had protected the members of the Enclave at his peril.

  So maybe he wouldn’t chastise her for her heretical views. Or maybe he would. But she had no option but to answer his questions because she was female, and he was an alpha. And wasn’t that the issue? Omra took a deep breath. “Protocol permitted the director to use me at will, to limit my food, to send me to a scalding bath. And once purchased, a breeder exists at the mercy of her alpha.” And his beta. A dormant anger boiled like the water in which she’d been ordered to bathe.

  Protocol robbed a mother of her offspring and females of their voice. She could have argued further but feared pushing her luck.

  Dak flicked the reins at the beasts. The conveyance began to roll. “I was ignorant of the abuses at the BCF, but I have taken responsibility to rectify the practices. The director has been removed from his position, and the conditions in the center improved. Breeders are housed in a more clement manner,” he argued, sounding almost defensive. “You would not find it as uncomfortable now.”

  A tic twitched in his temple. “With regard to your treatment in my household, do you believe have I punished you unfairly?” His voice sounded tight.

  Was that hurt she heard? Omra scanned his face. His expression revealed nothing; even the twitch was gone. She took a breath and clenched her buttocks, rasped and scored by the sudon. Her outburst could have caused great controversy for the Commander. He had been benevolent in his treatment of her overall. But not every breeder was as fortunate as she was to have been purchased by such an indulgent alpha. What if she’d been acquired by someone like Marlix? She shuddered. That was the issue.

  “No,” she answered him. “Your discipline has been fair. You pay me more attention than is my due. And my living conditions are quite luxurious. But are all breeders so similarly cared for? Does Protocol protect females acquired by alphas who mistreat them?”

  “Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But fealty to Parseon requires its citizens to sacrifice for the greater good. Protocol ensures stability, civility.” Dak clutched the reins so tightly, his knuckles blanched.

  She pressed on. “For alphas. And perhaps betas. Females?” Her voice rose with skepticism. “We have not been a part of the greater good.” She hadn’t been served by any good at the BCF, and neither had the females who’d been used in the Market. She heard their cries of pain again in her mind. She was ashamed now that she’d walked on by without so much as a wince. Once, that had been her, begging on her hands and knees. Anika’s bold announcement had shocked her at first, but now she wasn’t sure her friend was wrong. Tara the Terran did not seem to need Protocol. She appeared more than capable of protecting herself. Everyone claimed Protocol served Parseon, but did it really?

  “I have been tolerant of your opinion, but that is enough.” Dak snapped the reins to hurry the beasts. Omra sat in sullen silence, wondering if he realized his curtailment of the discussion had served her point.

  * * * *

  Dak closed his hands around Omra’s waist to assist her in disembarking the conveyance. This close, her warmth radiated around him, her sweet smell filled his nostrils. His chest ached all over, and not just where the rock had hit. Logic fought a fierce battle with emotion. Reason would win, but not without causalities on both sides.

  He released her with a sense of loss and handed off the conveyance to a waiting groomsman so the beasts could be unhitched and stabled. He strode toward his domicile. The patter of Omra’s feet indicated she followed.

  No one considered the impact of Protocol on females, any more than they would ponder if conveyance beasts were agreeable to being yoked and driven. As creatures of a lower order, both served Parseon and their superiors. Would one install a fire-snorting beast of burden as an Alpha member of the High Council? Preposterous. The inferior genetic composition of Parseon females had resulted in weaker physiques and subpar mental abilities. What else could a female do but breed and serve her master? Protocol merely codified what nature had already determined.

  Just as some beasts were abused by their owners, so were some breeders. An unfortunate occurrence, but one did not alter an entire system because of a few rotten pomes.

  It was not a violation to use a female. Or to share one. They existed for that purpose.

  But even the hypothetical ideation of another male using Omra ignited a rage like lightning striking a dry field. To imagine her unhappy, in pain, twisted his gut. He had reformed the Breeder Containment Centers, and Omra’s life there would be quite different than it had been before. And her stay shorter. Without the director’s interference, even though she was no longer pure, she would be purchased quickly. Impregnated by another. Used for a beta’s pleasure. He clenched his jaw an
d his fists. He must not ruminate about it, or he would have to strike something.

  But he couldn’t stop. What if she was ill-treated by her next alpha? He disagreed with her views on Protocol, but she was correct in her assertion some alphas abused their breeders. Like Marlix. Dak pitied the females who had served him, and there had been several. Tarbek too would have been a cruel breeder owner, although he’d never shown an inclination toward wanting one. Fortunately.

  Just because alphas scorned kindness as a trait of the weak and inferior did not mean Omra’s new owner would harm her. Simple pragmatism encouraged temperance to protect one’s investment.

  Perhaps her new alpha would recognize her worth and handle her with care. Perhaps Omra would not be unhappy. Perhaps she would find pleasure with him.

  Perhaps Dak would hunt him down and beat him to death.

  A red haze obscured his field of sight, forcing him to take long, deep breaths to calm himself. He needed to not speculate on what might happen to Omra in the future. Better yet, he should erase from memory the sweet taste of her, how her wet heat accepted his member, her breathy moans, the clench of her body as she reached the pinnacle of ecstasy.

  Her pleasure in coupling had been a surprising revelation that ran contrary to scientific knowledge. What if Omra wasn’t the only one? What if other females could experience pleasure? If that were so, what other facts might be in error?

  Slight of body, Omra as a warrior was laughable. She could no more fight a battle than she could pull a conveyance. There was no question her body was inferior to a male’s—although she did possess an amazing grace and fluidity. He loved to watch her move. She was…beautiful. And mentally? She expressed a curiosity, a quick and keen understanding, an ability to learn and communicate, which defied mental deficiency. She was sharper than many betas and even alphas.