by Cara Bristol
He grabbed her head in his hands and crushed her lips under his mouth, plundered with his tongue. Wetness dampened her face, and she realized with a shock the tears didn’t only originate from her. Alpha was crying.
She kissed him, tasting brine and remorse, and sharp, raw regard.
He released her head to clasp her hips, bidding her to ride him. He’d never taken her in such a salacious way, and she raised and lowered herself on his manhood, awkwardly at first, but then with increasing agility and speed. She relished the face-to-face contact, for she could observe his expression, see his desire reveal itself in savage grimaces, in a gaze so hot it overshadowed the fire blazing across her buttocks. He located the nub at the superior of her sex, manipulated it between his skillful fingers, and she forgot to watch, found herself incapable of keeping her eyes open. Her head rolled back, and he took swift advantage by kissing her neck, nipping and sucking.
Heat and pressure combined and exploded everywhere at once. Orgasm racked her body; his rapture followed within seconds. With a guttural cry, almost a howl, he spilled into her.
Clasping her against his chest, Dak flopped onto his back, taking her with him. He heaved as if he’d run a long distance, but his hands moved gently as he stroked her hair, her back, her burning bottom. “Monto,” he said. “The pleasure was so intense, I feared it might kill me.”
She sprang up with alarm. “Coupling can cause death?” She scanned his face for signs of waning vigor.
Dak chuckled and cupped his hand over her ear and caressed her cheek with his thumb. “No. I apologize. I was teasing you. I meant the pleasure was very intense.”
Omra bit the inside of her cheek and eyed him.
“It is the truth. Nothing will happen, I promise.”
She exhaled in relief. However, he wasn’t entirely correct. Something had happened.
“Well, not always nothing.” She sought his gaze.
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been having…signs…for a while now, and I wanted to be sure before I said anything, but, um…I believe you have impregnated me.”
His larynx moved spasmodically. “You’re going to have a baby?”
She nodded.
He squeezed his eyes shut. His nostrils flared.
Anxiety tumbled in her stomach. She couldn’t tell if her news pleased or displeased him. “I believed that’s what you wanted. Why you purchased me,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes. His gaze warmed her to the bone. Swiftly but gently, he rolled her onto her back. His hand shook as he smoothed it over her flat abdomen. “You’re not showing.”
“But I’ve been queasy, I’m tired all the time, and my breasts hurt.”
He cupped a mound. “They are fuller too. I thought it was my imagination.” He pressed his face to her abdomen and kissed it. His eyes met hers. “What do you want?”
She knit her brows in confusion. “Want?”
“Male or female?”
Behind her eyes, pressure built. She blinked. “Male.”
“Not a little female who looks like you?” He curved his lips, and she did not understand why he smiled when her heart was breaking.
A tear escaped and slid down her cheek. “No.” Her bottom lip wobbled. “Because I would lose her. When she was still a child, she would be sent—”
“Never. Never.” He scooted up her body and kissed her tears. “I may fail you in many ways, Omra, but I will never send our child away. I promise.”
Her chest swelled, and the happiness was too much to contain, so she found herself laughing and crying at the same time. “Then I w-want whatever we get.”
“Me too,” Dak said.
“But you need a son.”
“I will get one. There will be other babies.” He leered.
Omra giggled.
He shrugged. “And this one might be male.”
“I have read there used to be tests that revealed the gender before it was born,” she said.
He nodded. “But they were outlawed centuries ago. Parseons preferred male children, so they aborted females. So many were terminated, it created a precarious population imbalance. The High Council developed the BCF to facilitate the acquisition of breeders.” He looked at her. “Do you care to learn the gender? I can obtain a test in the underground market.”
“There’s a market underneath the ground?” She widened her eyes. “Like in a tunnel?”
He grinned and shook his head. “That is the term for an illegal market. In Terran languages, it’s called a black market.”
Did she want to know the gender of their baby? She remembered when Dak had given her the book—the anticipation as she’d opened the wrapper. Having a child could be like that.
“I think I would like to be surprised.”
“I would like to be surprised too,” he agreed.
Chapter Sixteen
“You have arisen early this morning.” Omra stifled a yawn and set Dak’s morning meal beside him, then took her place.
“You are not eating?” Dak eyed her empty place.
“Later I will have some dried panna.”
He grimaced. “That does not sound appetizing.”
“It alleviates the queasiness.”
“Ah. I understand.” He smiled, thinking of the child she carried, then sobered when his upcoming meeting intruded. “An assembly of the High Council has been called, and I must travel to the capitol.” he said as if the meeting was routine.
“Loraq is far,” she said. The High Council edifice was located in the capital city.
“Central Parseon.” He nodded. “Too far via conveyance—it would take weeks to arrive, so I will take the tram.”
“When will you get home?”
“This evening—although possibly not until the morrow.” Whether he returned as Commander or just an alpha was the question. The lone agenda item was his Enclave Protection Order. Anything could happen when the five Alphas, the most aggressive males of Parseon, gathered in one chamber. Civility afforded by Protocol often eroded to reveal the heart of the race: bellicose, opportunistic. Machiavellian, the Terrans would label them, although the term only scratched the surface of the truth.
Dak studied Omra. Her cheeks glowed with a blush, and her eyes sparkled. If anything happened to her or their child… “Stay in the domicile while I am away,” he said. “Do not venture outside, not even to the stables. Do not open the door. Trust no one.”
She parted her lips. “What is wrong?”
“Promise me.” He covered her hand.
“What are you not telling me?”
His gaze bored into hers. “Promise.” He squeezed her hand for emphasis.
“Dak, you’re hurting me!”
His knuckles had blanched over her hand. “I am sorry.” He released her, and she flexed her fingers. “I cannot predict what will occur, so we must exercise caution.” He realized he had failed in his intent to avoid scaring her.
“I will stay inside.” Apprehension flickered on her face. “What is the matter? What are you worried about?”
He stroked her jaw with a gentle finger. “You do not need to concern yourself with matters of state. You’ll be safe.”
Her jaw dropped. “Dak!”
“It will be fine. Trust me,” he said soothingly. His stone abode was a veritable fortress, and Kumar would keep watch over it. Other men would patrol the perimeter. As long as she remained inside, no harm would come to her. After her ordeal in the Market, he trusted she’d learned a lesson in obedience.
Omra opened her mouth to argue, then sighed in resignation. “You will be away overnight?”
“It is possible.” He nodded.
She glanced at his shirt. “I have something for you.”
“What?” He arched his eyebrows.
“Wait here,” she commanded and ran from the dining hall. Bemused, he shook his head. Not since the early days of his enlistment in the Parseon Military Service had anyone given him an o
rder. He didn’t know what surprised him more—that she’d dared to issue it or that he’d obeyed. She returned moments later with a bundle, concealed in the Terran paper used for her book. “For you.” She placed it in his hands.
“What is it?”
“It’s a gift. Open it and find out.” Another alpha would have chastised her for her audacity to dictate to him, but all he thought of was how adorable she looked with her hands planted on her hips, exasperation on her face.
As Alpha, he’d received political gifts, all tied by invisible strings. No one had ever given him anything free of expectation. The squiggly sensation was back in his chest.
As carefully as Omra had done, he unwrapped the present to reveal a swath of fabric. He lifted it out of the paper and shook out a uniform shirt, the material the same shade of gray as his others but as weightless as gossamer. As he examined it, he noted a reflective sheen.
He cleared his throat, but the lump remained. “It’s very nice,” he said. He pushed back from the table and removed his old shirt and donned Omra’s. So light it seemed to float on his skin. “How do I look?”
“Commanding.” She grinned and brushed his shoulder, smoothing the fabric down his covered arm. “I purchased the material at the Terran bazaar. The fabric is supposed to be as strong as it is light.”
“You sewed it?”
She nodded. “I measured your other shirts.”
Dak rose to his feet and embraced her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and to her lips. “Thank you. I will treasure it, and this moment, for as long as I live.”
* * * *
“Conduct unbecoming a Parseon warrior.”
Qalin of Province One announced the criminal charge and struck the percussive disk suspended on a frame.
“Disrespecting and undermining Protocol.” Gong.
“Inciting civil unrest.” Gong.
“Exceeding authority as Alpha Commander.” GONG.
The tone reverberated stronger and longer as if Qalin had applied additional emphasis to the charge and the strike.
Seated at the round table with the other four Alphas of Parseon, Dak maintained a neutral expression. After a lengthy hearing in which he’d been pressured to rescind his protection order, the High Council, led by Qalin, had charged him with crimes against the state.
Dak held few doubts about the outcome. The conclusion had been forgone before the indictment, before the hearing, before he’d entered the High Council Chamber—before he’d left his domicile and traveled halfway across the planet. Foes outnumbered friends on the High Council. Only Ilian of Province Two would be likely to side with him.
“The crimes committed by Commander Dak have been noted and entered into official record,” Qalin said. “We must now enter a vote of determination: Shall Alpha Dak of Province Five be stripped of his command and rank?” Qalin glanced at each Alpha. A certainty pervaded Dak that his opponents relished this moment, considered themselves magnanimous by not sentencing him to prison. Tarbek had argued vociferously for having him charged with treason, for which Dak would have been executed. But failing to achieve unanimous consensus on that count, Tarbek had insisted upon the charge of exceeding his authority. In conciliation, Council President Qalin had allowed it.
It was almost a relief to be freed of the burden of command. Though it would take a while for the notoriety to fade, he hoped one day he could live in the freedom of anonymity. He and Omra. And their children.
Dak regretted leaving her alone at the domicile, but he’d had little choice. Though logic still insisted releasing her would have been the wisest action, his regard for her would not permit it. He shuddered to estimate how close he’d come to losing her—once by his own decision, a second time at the hands of Sival. The former BCF director remained at large, but Dak would locate him and exact fair retribution. Without the auspices of command, he did not have the same resources, but he would protect Omra or die trying. No harm would ever come to her while he was alive.
“Commander Dak will record his vote first.” Qalin’s mocking tone indicated he considered Dak’s demotion forgone as well. “Then we shall follow in numerical order of our provinces.”
The Alphas turned their heads in Dak’s direction. “Nay,” he deadpanned.
“As Alpha of Province One, I vote, ‘yea,’” Qalin said. “Commander Ilian?”
“Nay,” said Dak’s lone supporter, the Alpha of Province Two.
“Commander Tarbek?” Qalin polled.
Across the wide table, Tarbek focused on Dak. A slight twitch at the corner of the Alpha’s mouth revealed triumph. “Yea.” His voice resonated like the gong.
Two votes against revoking his command; two in favor. One remained. Marlix’s. A fait accompli, as the Terrans would say.
“Commander Marlix?” Qalin called.
A silence descended on the room, a quiet so complete, Dak heard Marlix’s indrawn breath. “With deepest regret… Nay.”
* * * *
“Congratulations, Commander.” Ilian clapped Dak’s right shoulder.
Dak responded in kind. “Thank you for your support.”
Ilian moved away, and Marlix approached. Dak rested his right hand on his dagger sheath. He never dared enter the High Council chamber unarmed. The difference between Marlix and Dak’s bitterest enemy was that Marlix acted under no pretense. The Alpha flicked his glance to Dak’s right hand before settling on his face. “Do not misunderstand my vote. I believe you are guilty of dishonoring Parseon and violating Protocol,” he said.
“So why cast your ballot as you did?” Dak asked.
“Because Tarbek is foolish, and his charge would have set a dangerous precedent. If the High Council had checked your supremacy, who knows whose it may have curtailed tomorrow? I must protect what is mine, but you will pay for your errors. I shall outlaw all settlements such as the Enclave and expect other Commanders will do the same. Tarbek was correct when he said the drakor shall flee to your province. You shall be overrun.
“Sometimes one must sacrifice a limb to save the body. Though I regret Parseon citizens must suffer, I anticipate the day when your command crumbles into anarchy and you are left with the rubble of what once was a prosperous region,” Marlix said.
The Alpha strode away to join Qalin and Ilian. Dak slipped his hand from his dagger sheath. He was about to depart the chamber when Tarbek approached. Dak sought his scabbard.
“You wound me with your lack of trust, brother.” Tarbek clapped Dak on the right shoulder with his left hand, building a Bridge of Amity—neutralizing Dak’s defenses. Protocol demanded reciprocity, forcing Dak to release his grip on his dagger and place his right hand on Tarbek’s left shoulder. If he needed to defend himself, he would have to stretch for his dagger with his weaker hand—or drop the hold to use his right. Either option burned precious seconds. As the initiator of the Bridge of Amity, Tarbek retained quick access to his weapons sheathed on his right side.
Dak eyed his twin, his elder by mere minutes. “I trust my instincts.”
His brother’s teeth flashed white in a disarming grin that fell short of his eyes. “I congratulate you on your success.”
“I live to fight another day.” Dak’s gaze didn’t waver. He watched.
Tarbek nodded. “A noble pursuit.” A glint of intent flickered.
Dak dropped hold and lunged for his dagger.
The knife, already in Tarbek’s hand, arced toward Dak’s chest.
Chapter Seventeen
Omra’s footsteps echoed in the hollowness. Though she and Dak had spent lengthy hours apart, they had never been separated overnight, and the knowledge he might not return until the next morn, or the eve, increased her longing. How tart but sweet her yearning was. Never had she imagined she and her Alpha would develop regard for one another. She could not have envisioned the life she enjoyed with Dak, would have accused someone of making merriment had they suggested it.
She ran her fingers over the burled wood of the dining table,
recalling the evening Dak hosted Marlix and Tarbek, and how she’d feared he would share her. Instead, events had led to the banishment of Corren. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Did Dak’s former beta hate her as much as Sival did? She had inspired the Commander’s regard but bitter enmity in others. But she would choose the hostility of dozens for the regard of one man. Her Alpha.
Responsibilities of command would lay first claim to him. That she understood and accepted. Often Dak’s duties demanded his presence from sunrise to sundown, so only the possibility of an overnight absence differed now. But with everything that had happened—her adventure in the Market, the revelation of his feelings, her pregnancy—an unusual restlessness compelled her to pace. From the dining hall she wandered into the food preparation room and eyed the ovens. It was too soon to bake sweetcakes, so she padded to the library. She kept the double doors opened wide, a symbol of change. Once the library’s edifying tomes had been denied to her; now she could peruse them at her leisure—even owned one. She had devoured the Terran history book.
If what she’d read was true—and the photographs seemed to support it—the Terrans were a strange breed. Their customs and lifestyles half horrified, half enthralled her. Did they have no standards of behavior? How did they prevent anarchy in an environment of such abandon? She had pored over the words and pictures, particularly intrigued and a little envious of the freedom females took for granted. The independence and confidence of the Terran vendoress made sense now. She hoped everything Tara had told her was true.
She sat down with the book again to pass the time.
Ensconced in the library, one of the few rooms lacking windows overlooking the compound, she did not realize a visitor had come to call until the buzzer rang. Dak? Hope swelled, but logic dashed it. He’d been gone only a few hours, and he would not signal from outside but would let himself in. Still, she smoothed her hair and her sheath and sprinted to the grand foyer. She skidded to a stop at the sight of Veya standing under the portico.
Why would Veya call upon her in Dak’s absence?
Once she would have flung open the door and offered him the hospitality of Alpha’s domicile, but Dak had extracted her promise to remain inside, not to trust anyone, and she had her questions about him too. Friend or foe? She wasn’t sure.
