by Nora Ash
Taken
Alpha book one
Nora Ash
Contents
Copyright
Get in Touch
Summary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
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Copyright
Copyright © 2016 by Nora Ash
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any and all likeness to trademarks, corporations or persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental.
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Summary
I never thought being saved from pain, degradation and death could come at such a twisted price.
He is nightmares made flesh, the living embodiment of everything I fear. Yet in my darkest hour, he is the one who comes for me.
If he demands my submission in return, how can I deny him?
* * *
Taken is the first book in Nora Ash’s dirty, suspense-filled Omegaverse serial. Want your alphas dominating and your romance scorching? This is the story for you.
Chapter One
It usually takes a lot to shake me while I’m on the clock, but these political gatherings are tough to get through for most single women. I am no exception.
I grit my teeth and pretend like my system isn’t being bombarded with alpha pheromones. As I glance to the side I can tell I’m not the only one in the throng of reporters who is on edge from all the airborn aggression—a couple of the other female journalists are fidgeting, and a burly man holding a video camera on his shoulders is flexing his free hand. Probably an alpha himself, judging by the size of him. But he’s been through this before, as have we all, and we’re all pretending like we’re not noticing the testosterone rolling off the mayoral candidates in thick waves.
I clench my pen tighter and squirm in my chair from discomfort at the latent aggression as I take in the five candidates. Every single one is so obviously alpha, which I think is just another sound reason to avoid any and all politicians. When your job is not to cover them for the most volatile election in recent memory, of course.
“I’d like to offer you all my warmest welcome to this our third debate.” The current Lord Mayor smiles from his podium up front, in what I’m sure his PR team meant to be a jovial manner. Lord Mayor Bremen is a man is his sixties, with dark gray hair and sharp eyes, and he has ruled Mattenburg with an iron fist for eight years. If there is one thing he’s not, it’s jovial.
“With only two weeks to election day, we have a busy schedule ahead of us, so let us get started with the evening’s topic of CO2 emissions and recreational planning.”
I start to write notes on my trusty notepad, not bothering to look up while Bremen continue his introduction to the third subject the candidates have to discuss in a public forum before the elections.
“To get us started, I am certain Mister Peter Leod will enlighten us on the Liberals’ viewpoints.”
I look up, my pen pausing in time to see the Lord Mayor step backward and allow for one of the other candidates to take the floor. It is well known that he and Leod have been butting heads since before the election campaigns started, and as far as I know, Bremen has never allowed him to open a debate.
If Leod is as surprised by the gesture as I am—as the rest of the room appears to be—then he doesn’t show it. He is a very tall man, who hides his alpha physique as best he can underneath an immaculately pressed, white shirt and a blue suit. No doubt in order to appeal to the liberal citizens his party represents—the ones who don’t care for archaic roles and biologically dictated power structures. I probably would have voted for him myself, if it wasn’t because I’ve been exposed to the lies and corruption within our city council for a few years now, thanks to my job. There are no Santa Claus, no Tooth Fairy and definitely no trustworthy politician in this city.
“Thank you, Lord Mayor.” Leod lets his eyes sweep over the cameras and gathered reporters, the air of confidence that has made him rise from a relative nobody to a serious contender within the span of two years vibrating from him like a near-tangible entity.
I frown and stare at his defined features in the hopes of seeing even a glimmer of surprise or annoyance, but there is nothing but cool, calm self-assuredness. Maybe I’m just grasping at air, hoping to see something—anything—that will make a three-hour debate on CO2 even slightly interesting.
I’ve barely had the thought when his sweeping gaze catches mine.
A jolt shoots through my body, almost like someone’s sent an electric current through me. I blink, startled, and immediately proceed to drop my pen. I hurriedly close my knees and catch it in my skirt before it can clatter to the floor.
What the hell was that?
I clutch my pen tighter as I suppress the odd tingling sensation in my tailbone left behind by whatever the hell that electric jolt was.
But when I look back up, he is still looking right at me, his cool, gray eyes seemingly boring into mine.
I am vaguely aware that my mouth hangs open and that tendrils of sensation are running down my arms until my fingertips buzz, but mainly, I’m just quietly freaking out. Why the hell is he staring at me? He looks… angry. His nostrils flare and a small frown makes its appearance on his forehead.
This makes no sense. I am certain he doesn’t know me personally, and I’ve never written anything remotely exciting enough for a man like Leod to take notice.
It seems to dawn on him that he was meant to be talking right now, because he jerks his gaze away, smoothing the small frown as he resumes his speech.
I breathe a shaky sigh of relief at the loss of his attention, but I can’t stop my hands from trembling. I don’t understand what just happened—I don’t understand why he was staring at me, and I certainly don’t understand why my body is… is doing whatever the hell it is it’s doing. The buzzing in my tailbone seems to intensify for every shuddered breath.
My bewildered thoughts come to an abrupt halt when my abdomen suddenly contracts in cramps. I manage to bite down on my yelp of surprise and pain, stifling it to a grunt.
The woman next to me gives me a puzzled look, but no one else seems to have noticed.
Sweat starts to trickle down my forehead, and my hands now shake worse than ever. Oh God, what is this? I frantically go through everything I’ve eaten all day to gage if it’s a really poorly timed food poisoning, but I’m interrupted by another cramp low in my belly. I bite my tongue hard to avoid crying out, clutching my pen and now crumbled-up notepad as hard as I can until it’s over.
I have to get out of here, before I barf on someone. Once it’s finally over I scramble to my feet, doing my best not to make so much noise I draw any attention, and I manage to get to the passage that runs between the seated reporters before I have the next attack.
Only this time, it feels different. Instead of pain, an intense heat blooms in my abdomen. It’s so strong I have to lean over and brace my hands against my knees while I gasp. And then, it’s like something snaps. Inside of me.
I cry out as fluids rush from deep in my very core, and for a moment I think I am hemorrhaging. But the liquid that floods my panties and soaks through my skirt to make a puddle on the floor beneath me isn’t red. It’s clear.
I stare at it in unc
omprehending shock for two full seconds, gasping for breath. What the hell?
A deep growl makes me look up, confused and embarrassed beyond belief. Everyone’s staring at me, and apart from the unwavering growl, you can hear a pin drop.
I catch Leod’s eyes as I desperately try to get a grasp on the situation, and freeze to the spot. His eyes are no longer cool gray but deep black, and his nostrils are flared. But he’s not the one growling. Movement from closer by catches my attention in time to see the big alpha cameraman toss his equipment to the ground so it breaks into a thousand pieces.
I gape at him, briefly wondering what on earth he’s doing, until I catch sight of his face. His nostrils are as flared as Leod’s, and his eyes pure black. And he’s coming for me.
The second he lunges, all hell breaks loose.
I scream, loud and shrilly as the giant of a man throws himself at me like a crazy person, but he’s intercepted by another alpha. The newcomer grabs him by the shoulders and tosses him to the side, before he turns toward me. The same black look of insanity is in his eyes. The cameraman returns and swings a punch at his head, regaining his attention.
What the hell has gotten into them? I stumble backward, try to get away from them, but trip over someone’s chair, lose my balance and fall on my ass with a squeal. Another hot, wet cramp deep in my abdomen makes me groan on impact and clutch my stomach.
“Get up!” someone hisses above me, and two small but surprisingly strong hands grab me underneath the armpits and pull me up. What I see when I’m once again vertical makes my jaw hit my chest.
The press conference has turned into a brawl. Fists are flying everywhere in the heaving throng of reporters and politicians, punctuated by loud growls and roars, and above it all is the unmistakable scent of alpha in rut. Of multiple alphas in rut.
“Dear God!” I whisper, clutching my bag like a safety blanket against my body. I’ve never seen anything like this. We are supposed to be civilized, supposed to have control over our baser instincts. But this… this is like being trapped in a cage with a pack of savage animals. “What the hell happened?!”
“You happened!” the voice from before hisses behind me. I spin around to blink at the person and find a redheaded woman with a ‘Staff’ badge on her blazer’s lapel. “Come with me, now.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I protest, though I follow her as she grabs my arm and starts leading me through the fray of women and beta males trying to skirt the fighting alphas. Several have cameras pointed toward the middle of the brawl. She seems to know where she’s going, and all I want right now is to get out of there so I can find somewhere to lay down until my cramps are over.
She shoots a pointed look over her shoulder at my crotch, where a wet patch is clearly visible. “You Presented. In the middle of twenty-plus alphas. What did you expect was gonna happen? Now let me get you the hell out of here, before any of those idiots get a hold of you and permanently wreck their careers.”
I falter, shock numbing my muscles for a second, but the redhead continues to drag me along, taking us through an emergency exit door and pulling me into a deserted hallway. She pushes a key into the lock and twist it, securing the door.
“W-what do you mean, Presented?” I say, the note of hysteria audible even to my own ears. “I would never…! I’ve never…!”
She draws in a deep breath and finally turns to look at me. “Look, just calm down. I’ll get someone to take you home. You got a man waiting for you?”
“What? No. I live alone.” I gape at her. “Why would you—”
The redhead lifts one shoulder at me in an almost apologetic gesture before she pulls out her walkie talkie. “I hope you’ve stocked up on batteries, then. Scott? I need a car to meet me at level 2. Make sure the driver is female, understood?” The last part she speaks into the walkie. “Some reporter chick freakin’ Presented in the middle of Leod’s speech. Damn press conference nearly turned into a live gang-bang.”
Chapter Two
“…multiple politicians were involved in the brawl that caused yesterday’s press conference at the town hall to shut down, but experts say that none were as harmed by the incident as Peter Leod. As the face of the Liberal movement, his complete lack of restraint won’t sit well with voters.”
I cringe and bite back a humiliated whimper when my TV displays a clip of Leod jumping off the podium and into the fray of fighting men, his nostrils flared and his pupils blown—the poster image of an out of control alpha. Another clip, from a different angle, shows him facing off with Lord Mayor Bremen. Both men’s expensive suits are ripped, displaying bulging muscles through the gashes.
“The incident happened when an unnamed female reporter Presented in the middle of the press conference. What triggered this biological response in the woman is unknown, but one thing’s certain—we can expect to see some major damage control from all parties in the upcoming weeks before the election.”
I turn off the TV when it cuts to Bremen, looking his stone cold psychopath self, attempting to “do damage control” by emphasizing his party’s old stance on women in the work force. It’s bad enough the most humiliating experience of my life has been broadcast on TV and distributed across the world via the wonders of YouTube—having the right wing use me as a launchpad for their outdated views is just adding salt to the wound.
A small twinge in my abdomen makes me grit my teeth in frustration. It’s been twenty-four hours and still my body reminds me that is hasn’t been taken care of like it needs.
Presenting. It’s always been nothing more than an embarrassing topic in my high school biology lessons—something so deeply intimate an alien I, along with most other women I know, have never thought about it again after leaving high school behind. Why would I? I’ve always found nothing but disgust in how alphas use their biology to oppress others, and the knowledge that every single one of them is a domineering prick doesn’t make the idea of being intimate with one any more appealing.
Not to mention their knots.
I shudder at the thought. I’ve never seen one myself, thankfully, but I’ve heard stories. Always whispered in hushed giggles among drunken girlfriends, never something anyone would dream of mentioning in polite company while sober. The thick, swelling gland on an alpha’s genitals that locks his lover to him, whether she wants it or not, is always the bud of many crude jokes once the alcohol starts flowing, but also the horrific topic of more than a few rape survivor stories.
Unexpectedly, a shiver of desire travels up through my spine as the image of an alpha grabbing me by the hips and forcing me down over his huge knot, spreading me open far beyond what I’ve ever been before so he can claim me in the basest of ways flutters for my mind’s eye.
“Fuck!” I curse in a futile attempt at giving air to the overwhelming sense of betrayal that follows that debauched urge. Isn’t it bad enough I’ve spent most of last night fighting tooth and nail against my body’s desperate need? That I freakin’ Presented in front of all the city’s reporters and politicians? Why is my biology still trying to undo the thin layer of civilization that separates us from devolving into wild beasts?
The next twinge from down low is interrupted by the sharp sound of my phone going off.
I suppress a groan and reach for it, cringing at the sight of the name on the display. My boss. My boss, who I haven’t had the courage nor the inclination to get in touch with after I completely blew last night’s deadline.
Praying silently that a miracle’s struck and he’s in a good mood I answer it.
“Yes?”
“You’re suspended.”
The immediate slap from the gruff voice on the other end makes me choke out a strangled cough. “But… no! Why?”
The second the question’s past my lips I want to slap myself, but it’s too late to take it back.
“I’ve been fending off irate calls from every fucking politician in this city, demanding your immediate termination if we ever want a single int
erview from any of them ever again.” Despite the prickly tone, he sounds more exasperated than angry. Thank heaven for small favors, I guess.
“I…” I want to argue, but even as tears of frustration over the injustice of it all wells up in my eyes, I know it’s useless. No editor in his right mind would risk his access to the town’s politicians over a lowly reporter.
“Is it at least with pay?” I ask, doing my best to keep my voice calm.
He scoffs into the receiver. “Not a chance, doll. Keep a low profile and I might let you have your job back once things have cooled down after the election.”
“Dammit Roy, this isn’t fair,” I hiss, losing my cool at the prospect of an entire month without any way of making ends meet. “It’s not like I chose for it to happen! I… it’s not my fault a group of over-wrought alphas can’t keep it in their pants!”
This time, there’s an amused tone to his snort. “Always the idealist, huh? I’m afraid from their point of view, it’s very much your fault they all lost their damn minds and nearly gang-banged a woman for open screen in the middle of prime-time, and you know how it goes. My hands are tied. Just count your blessings that none of them know your actual name, or things would look a lot worse for you. I’ll be in touch after the election with an update on your continued employment.”
“Roy—” My protest is cut off by the call ending. I stare mutely at my phone, doing my best not to let the tears blinding me fall.
Fucking alphas! How will I eat? How will I pay my rent? It’s not like I have a stack of cash in the bank to fall back on, not with how prices on everything from food to electricity has sky-rocketed these past few years. I pay nearly all my wages in rent as it is.
