by Addison Cain
The man dressed like an ancient king, the one lounging as if he owned the world, found the couple’s exchange amusing. “Speak freely, Annette.”
Brenya ventured a question. “What is a Commodore?”
As if at a loss for words, Annette cocked her head, her blonde ringlets bouncing. The question seemed unfathomable to the wide-eyed lady. “My darling…”
Ancil spoke in Annette’s place. “The Commodore of Bernard Dome holds highest authority. He is your leader, your chief, your priest. Your mate, Jacques, was anointed with that title, just as his father before him held it, on and on down the Bernard bloodline since the Dome rescued our ancestors.”
Her priest? The gentle Beta god had no priests. All were a part of him, making all holy… except Brenya wasn’t Beta anymore. That made her godless and alone. Disconnected, she felt desolate. “My orders were always issued from Oversight. Oversight manages the Dome.”
Ancil nodded. “Oversight is controlled by Parliament. Parliament is ruled by our Commodore. In essence, your orders have always come from your mate.”
Brenya’s eyes dragged over the carpet to land on the shined shoes of the man they claimed ruled them all. No wonder no soul had tried to stop him when he’d stolen her from Beta Sector. Jacques owned her—though mate seemed the more elegant term.
The weight of this understanding shrank her shoulders. “Wives consent.”
“Yes,” Annette agreed. “There are petitions, negotiations, ceremonies, everything documented because Alphas and Betas cannot pair-bond. Legal protection for the weaker party must be considered. I envy you. Once you enjoy a true estrous, you and Jacques will become as one harmonious being.”
Jacques had repeatedly alluded to this thing, this great magic that was going to heal every wound he had inflicted. Brenya had a head for mathematics, for science, and had never been interested in religious babble or romantic fairy tales. The balm of a pair-bond seemed unlikely.
She looked at Jacques’s guests, Annette and the dark Ancil. The pair wore rings, he had sired her child, and their contract was public… so lineage could be traced if questioned. These things mattered to Centrists.
Betas rarely ventured into such a union. There was no need to. Children could be produced if one wished, partners could be chosen, and when the baby was weaned and given to Oversight to be educated, the cycle could start again. Offspring grew up well, tests conducted so the child could be placed to assure their happiness and society’s enrichment. The women from Brenya’s barracks were more family to her than the smiling male who spoke with gentle care and exuded total control.
She was uncomfortable with this concept of mate.
She was uncomfortable being stared at by these three strangers. “Why are all the Omegas gone? Why was I never taught about them?”
Annette’s eyes betrayed a tiny sliver of shame. “I could not say.”
Brenya’s face must have grown stormy, for Jacques briskly interrupted her mental analysis. “Share your thoughts, Brenya.”
“You must assume the potential that there are other Omegas living happily in Beta Sector. Probability would be on your side, but Oversight Alphas should leave them alone.” It bubbled from her stomach, a wave of strong negative emotion. Her eyes flashed. Lips tight, she met his stare as if for once she didn’t fear him. “I was happy, but… you are Commodore… all orders come from you.”
He could hear the blame in her voice, and offered a soft look. “Do you think I should be the only Alpha enriched by an Omega? Do you believe those other women should be denied what they truly are?”
Whatever had possessed Brenya dried up. Her anger waned. Again her voice was colorless. “I hope you don’t find any.”
“Drink your tea, mon chou. You are shivering.”
It was an order. Following orders felt natural. The cup went to her lips. She swallowed every scalding drop.
Annette radiated concern, looking at Brenya as if she were some strange thing. “How long is she going to be like this?”
Rolling indolently to brace against the armrest of his chair, Jacques grew beautiful and dangerous. “Sparks of temper are a good sign my Brenya is progressing. Soon enough personality will develop, and you will see the smile you were eager to encourage, Annette. It cannot be easy to relearn what one is.”
They began to discuss the Omega as if she were not there. “She is close to crying.”
“You misread the signs.” Jacques sounded genuinely forlorn. “Brenya is hungry, but cannot eat. She is thirsty, but cannot drink. Her metamorphosis has been uncomfortable.”
Brenya looked to the pregnant Beta woman, saw her offered smile, and muttered a hoarse, “I want to go home.”
For just a moment Annette’s smile wavered, then it grew stronger, her voice purposeful, “My darling, you are home. This is your home.” Her energetic eyes darted over the room, finding great beauty in every carefully selected item. “And what a grand home it is.”
“I want to return to Palo Corps… to my sisters.”
Jacques answered for her. “No. They are Beta, you are Omega. The error in your placement has been corrected.”
She was never going to be returned to her cot at the barracks—there was no place for her there, her skills were no longer needed—this he had told her every time she’d questioned.
“I know you don’t feel well right now, Brenya, but you need to eat something.” Annette braced her hands against her chair’s frame, struggling to raise her bulk from the seat. The man at her back, Brenya could see by the way her husband tensed that he wished to help her, but he would not dare step deeper into the room.
Ancil was being tolerated only so long as he remained by the door. Not that it stopped him from watching the Omega, or raising his nose to scent the air every so often.
Padding across that opulent carpet, Annette took a seat on the divan at Brenya’s side. Kindly, she offered her a plate of sweets, well-meaning in her caution. “You must shore up your strength to assure a speedy recovery.”
Jacques had claimed he would not force his cock back into her body until she was healed. That knowledge was the reason her stomach refused food. But she could not tell Annette such a thing.
Sex was not discussed openly in the Beta Sectors. Such lewd behavior was not encouraged. The girls Brenya knew did not talk of mates and pair-bonds. Those raised and educated together had been warned of imprudent breeding. She’d been an exemplary student. The few times she had consented to fornication, measures had been taken to prevent conception.
Brenya had no attraction for sex, found little interest in the actual act, and only performed the minimum she was expected to. All her interest laid in the pride of labor. Her life had been uncomplicated and even fulfilling.
She had been perfectly content.
Now, she missed the regimented structure of her days, did not understand these Centrists, or why life was so foreign here when all lived under the same Dome. Even their accent, it wasn’t hers.
Her speech was vulgar, unmusical in comparison. Amongst these people, it made her self-conscious to see how they cringed at the way she pronounced words.
They didn’t dress the same as she did, but were colorful, each person’s attire different. In Beta Sector there was specific pride in sameness; there was equality. Centrists, Brenya was learning, found such an idea laughable. And as their voices were honeyed, their food was rich. Every item on the plate Annette offered exuded aromas she’d never known. It looked like it all tasted awful.
Annette patted her hand again. “Eat, before silly Jacques orders you to do it.”
The pastry in hand, Brenya stared down at a piece of art. An actual plate made of bone china like the ones on display in the Dome’s Museum. Its scalloped, golden edges and hand painted symmetry had come from another era. That plate had belonged to someone before the virus cleansed the world and was a treasure of such value, resting it on her lap made her nervous.
What if she dropped it?
“You l
ook pale.”
That impending voice, it made her jump. She had not heard him come closer. She’d been too distracted to see. Head flying up, their eyes met. Her lower lip trembled to find Jacques kneeling at her feet. His hand engulfed her shaking knee.
Brenya wanted to scoot back, to put distance between herself and the massive Alpha, but couldn’t. Just like the first time, she couldn’t move when under the power of his gaze.
Caught by the frankness of his expression, perplexed and hypnotized, she sat voiceless.
Jacques could tell the effect his nearness inspired, she knew he could.
Brenya was a mouse and he was the hawk, ready to tear her limb from limb.
He leaned closer, her terrorizer, and before she might claw and fight her way free, richness moved from him into her. That low rumble, the perfect steady vibration, came from his mass to saturate her every nerve. The Alpha’s purr switched her off, altered her physically, until her breath slowed and her shoulders sank from her ears.
His inquiries never struck her as meek. Each question demanded to be answered. “What has upset you?”
Dry lips parted and Brenya, as always, spoke the truth. “I’m afraid I’ll break the plate.”
The mournful reply amused the looming male. His eyes softened, his mouth curving up at one corner. “There are hundreds more. It is no matter.”
Brow drawing tight, she shook her head. Hundreds? She’d only ever seen twenty or so in the museum. Why would there be hundreds… so many that treasures could be treated as disposable?
Long fingers slipped up to gently pull the dish from Brenya’s grasp, drawing her attention back down to the beautiful china. Jacques’s purr grew deeper, the man raising a corner of pastry as if to feed her.
They had an audience, the guests taken with the scene that made the Omega acutely uncomfortable.
Annette relaxed, her hand resting on her pregnant belly, her smile wistful.
“Open your mouth, Brenya.” Jacques, green eyes alight, waited for his mate to part her lips. “You must eat.”
She obeyed, and something sweet hit her tongue. She chewed as she was expected to. She swallowed. Suddenly, she didn’t want to see Annette’s soft golden curls, she didn’t want to feel the intensity of the Alpha by the door, and she did not want to suffer the weight of Jacques’s stare.
Skin prickling, Brenya tried again to make things right, to explain why she should not be there. “Please… I didn’t mean to drink from the fountain. I was just so thirsty. Let me go home.”
“Mon chou,” Jacques wove an arm around her back while tapping another morsel against her lips, “this discomfort and confusion will pass. Once we are fully bonded, you will wonder why you were ever afraid.”
Seeking solace, her fingers sought the scar on her cheek, a reminder that she had fallen and smelled jasmine, that she’d served a greater purpose. “There are no other grunts who can deconstruct and repair ventilation as quickly as I can. I have a duty… a purpose. I must serve the Dome.”
He took her fingers from her face, brushing a kiss over the scar. “I am Commodore. By serving me, you serve the Dome.”
“It shouldn’t be this way, Jacques.” Annette looked at her childhood friend as if he’d done something very wrong. “Females should be happy to have been found by their mates—but she is terrified. If you bonded to her in this state, you would be forcing her—breaking our most sacred tenets.”
Before the absolute look of fury on Jacques face might translate into a scathing reply, Brenya sensed it. Ancil, the massive Alpha across the room, was afraid.
“Annette is passionate and often forgets to think before she speaks.” Ancil’s hand was out, fingers crooked to call his pregnant wife nearer his body. “I will handle her punishment for this infraction personally.”
So much anger twisted under the skin of the Commodore. He hunched as if the Omega had been threatened, his shoulders physically blocking her view of all others in the room.
For whatever reason, Annette was in grave trouble for what she had said.
Brenya could not allow that.
“Jacques.” It was the first she’d spoken his name.
Head swung around, his fury no longer rolling over his guests. Blazing eyes locked on Brenya’s, he cocked a brow, silently demanding she continue.
She thought of the only thing she might say to redirect his thinking. “You are Commodore, leader of Bernard Dome. All commands come from you. I have been reassigned to Central Sector to serve as Omega. I have been ordered to recover my health. I will eat as required, but I do not care for sweets.”
The way his expression softened through her ramblings, the way he cupped his hands to the side of her face, Brenya felt he was very much appeased.
“The workings of your mind intrigue me. As Commodore, I order you to tell me freely what you like and don’t like.”
“I like Beta Sector rations.”
Smirking, Jacques took her lips in a soft peck. “They are not healthy for an Omega. Sorry, mon chou, but you cannot have them.”
She had been taught that their food was carefully chosen for maximum nutritional value. “Why?”
Another kiss, this time at the tip of her nose. “We’ll discuss that later. For now, I will think of something you might like to eat. Do you trust me?”
She needed his attention to stay on her, not on how Annette cautiously crept nearer her husband. “I did not like the broth you brought me, and I have not liked a single thing on this plate. So, no, I don’t think you are suited to choose food I will enjoy. Everything here tastes terrible.”
The man chuckled, his eyes, those bizarre, verdant eyes danced. “I had a feeling you would be funny. Would you like to make a bet?”
“Betting is illegal, condemned by Oversight with penalties ranging from fines to imprisonment.”
He outright laughed, taken completely with her nonsense and blunt rejoinders. “Then we shall call it a game. The winner gets a prize.”
Brenya nodded, her cheeks slightly compressed by his hands. “Okay.”
“It has been over a week since you arrived, and your doctor ordered that I can no longer feed you what your body truly craves.” His fingertips swiped over her lips, alluding to the fluids he’d fed the Omega in bed—of how she had loved the taste. “My body’s offering would only encourage your system to cling to the last traces of estrous, and I hate to see you suffer. But, I will find something for you to enjoy.”
She felt her cheeks go red, and it took a great deal of willpower to not glance at Annette and Ancil to see if they understood what he’d said.
Fingers carded through her hair, around her ears, under her chin. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. What I shared with you was a healthy offering from an Alpha for his mate. You have been designed to need and enjoy it.”
This was not comfortable conversation for Brenya. “What is the game?”
There was something deep inside him, some drive to dominate always. Jacques growled in a way that made her stomach feel funny. “This is the game. I’m playing with you right now, and I am winning.”
She was out of her depth.
A small contemplative noise came from her throat, Brenya pouting as she considered. “I am taking Annette’s punishment?”
A large portion of Jacques delight vanished. His voice was much louder, so all might hear. “Only Annette can take her punishment.”
This was Brenya’s chance. She put her fingers on the Alpha’s face in mirror of his touch on her. Shock came to his features, as did distrust. “If the game is to say things that make the other person uncomfortable, I can play.” She patted his cheek, just as he had done to her, and whispered, “You dragged me down a ventilation duct, slammed me against a wall, put your hands around my throat. You… hurt me. Ancil watched. Annette saw the aftermath when I was brought here—you’d summoned her to witness. It has upset her because she is capable of compassion. You swore to me you would make amends. Punishing her for desiring to defend a
single, confused Omega is in contradiction to your oath.”
“You,” Jacques’s hands delved into blonde hair. He took her nape, leaning over his prize so it was clear who was in charge, “own me.”
Clarity, Brenya had not felt mentally sharp since she’d fallen from the Dome, but in that moment she had it. The tension where he subtly pulled her hair, the scent of him… for just one instant, she liked it.
He had seen the change in her, for again, his eyes began to burn. “Mon chou, do you forgive me?”
Sobering from the lapse, Brenya asked. “Did I win the game?”
His mouth ever so slowly descended to hers, the way his lips played languorous. When it was done, when she’d held still without cringing, he sighed. “I’ll always let you win.”
TO BE CONTINUED IN STOLEN: ALPHA’S CONTROL BOOK 1
Sneek Peak
Shepherd and Claire wait ahead…
Thank you for reading Absolute Power: Alpha’s Control Prelude! Shepherd and Claire’s story is far from over. Turn the page for a sneak peek of their reunion, and don’t forget to 1-click Stolen: Alpha’s Control Book One for the complete tale!
He stole her off the streets in broad daylight—the first Omega discovered in Bernard Dome in generations. He took her with violence while none intervened. He broke her, swearing he’d put her back together.
Brenya Perin was ordered to submit.
Bernard Dome is the jewel of Europe, a bastion of art and culture, pleasure and decadence. But life in the city depends on the occupation chosen for you at birth. There is no subversion, no question of who rules. There is no freedom.
Peace has a price, a price the Commodore of Bernard Dome is willing to pay… so long as the Omega remains his.
Shepherd’s influence is on the rise. His machinations are subtle, his hands full tending to his recovering mate. Her safety is his priority, and something he’s willing to risk war to assure. Bernard Dome has what he wants, and they will all be dammed if they deny him.
