by Addison Cain
Chapter 8
Fingering the tight collar of her dress, hooking fabric away from her throat as if that might make it easier to breathe, Wren plodded after the fast-moving Alpha dragging her through the halls. Kieran had her by the wrist, walking with an air of menace so unlike him, snarling at any who passed, that she could hardly keep up.
Twice she had tripped over her feet and the long skirt tangling about her ankles. Twice she had barely managed not to face-plant into the concrete.
Both times Kieran righted her, cast a glare about, and immediately continued the relentless pace.
The journey from the big room to Caspian’s den was not so far, but by the time they reached the catwalk soaring over churning waters below, Wren was winded.
Before them waited the crossing.
She hated this part, walking over the rusted metal bridge, the drop down visible and stomach-churning.
But before she could steel herself to brave the crossing, an arm swept under her. Snagged to the Alpha’s chest, breath knocked from her body, three large, male strides later and they were before the guarded portal.
And then she was back on her feet, her constrictive dress straightened by the same male who’d chosen it.
He’d spent at least ten minutes buttoning up the tiny row of seed pearls that held it closed from her navel to her throat. This was after the ridiculous amount of time he’d taken cleaning and treating the pointless bite mark on her throat.
Pointless since there was no bond between them. There couldn’t be. Kieran was bonded to another.
Yet, utterly self-indulgent, he purred grandly as he brushed back her hair to admire it. He licked at the scabbed wounds, smiled, and in the privacy of the big room, was wholly playful when he nipped.
Wren, already covered in claiming marks from Caspian and Toby, tried to consider it just another scar, but this mark out of all of them disturbed her.
Because it had meaning beyond its pointlessness.
And that meaning was wrong.
Imagining other females seeing it and laughing, knowing that no bond of any sort might give it credibility, she felt like a fraud.
Yet she still came on Kieran’s cock when he took her… again.
She still returned his passion and his caress.
And his kiss.
Culpable for her part in the charade, she’d counted down the minutes until Toby might come and take his turn. For once, she craved the Third’s presence, as if he might fix all of this, crack one of his rude jokes, and set her at ease despite his unhinged mental state.
But Toby never came.
She did. She came over and over between long naps and meals of Alpha nutrient cum.
There had been no real food, only Kieran to sustain her—the Alpha draining his own vigor to bolster hers.
Then… Caspian commanded her presence. She’d heard the summons, taken aback by the irritation snarled from Kieran’s wrist communicator.
“Deliver her, Kieran. NOW!”
That was it. Four words followed by the Second throwing an empty water glass across the room to shatter.
To say Wren was startled was an understatement.
In that moment, gone was any ease between them. In that moment, gone was the Kieran he had pretended to be.
As if he finally realized the sham. As if he felt the lack of connection register, and instead of regret, it was anger clouding green eyes.
“You shouldn’t have hid in the mud. Why didn’t you come back to me?” Sweeping tangled tawny hair from his forehead, he snarled. “I helped your boy!”
Guilt did not belong in her heart, but it snapped at her all the same. Much stronger than the guilt was her own deeply planted resentment. I want my children back. I want a place where they can grow up and not die. They are the only reason I would come to this place.
“I can’t understand you.”
That makes two of us.
“What do you want from me?”
Why did he have to look so wounded, as if she had done something to earn such a sorry expression?
There was no answer she could give, lavender eyes falling to the wayside as her fingertip knocked against her breastbone. It made a hollow sound.
Which was fitting.
Still, she offered a shake of her head, softening it with a hint of tired smile before looking back at the looming male. Caspian is waiting.
And Caspian waited for no man. Not even for his Second.
Nor did he take other male’s leavings. She was to be clean of other scents before he used her. Yet when she entered the bathroom, Kieran refused to allow her access to the shower.
The First, who already sounded angry, would not approve.
Wren signed, knowing Kieran didn’t understand, but hoping the sentiment translated. She told him that she needed to wash.
“No.” Indulgent, sweet, Kieran had been replaced with a snappish Alpha who wore a thickly disapproving glare.
Anticipating the mountain of insults that always partnered that look, Wren sucked in a breath.
But he said nothing.
Nothing at all while he drew her back to the bedroom and dressed her in tense silence—in new clothing that still smelled of the factory it was made in. It was a fragrance Wren had forgotten existed, and one sniff brought childhood memories rushing back. Once upon a time, she’d had a full belly, clean clothing, water, even a place to hide from her father most days.
She’d had a mom who did her best.
A mom Wren had missed in all the years she’d been slowly sinking into the mud.
Who could imagine that something so simple as the smell of new clothes would be so powerful?
In the armoire before her, everything was new, the old dresses shared by the women of the pen gone.
And this new dress… was modest.
It covered her from wrist to chin. It covered the same wound on her throat that it chafed.
A comforting change from endless nudity and the sort of costumes the males had hung from her shoulders before. Yet again, something Caspian would take exception to. His bite marks were covered. His claiming mark on her throat encased in the same fabric that hid Kieran’s mistake.
Kieran led Wren from the room, and almost immediately, they happened upon Rosie in the halls.
The blue-eyed beauty took one look at the garment and her composure slipped. “Kieran, I need—”
The Second brushed her aside, never breaking step. “Not now, Rosie.”
Following, the blonde Omega tried to grab at his arm. “Please, Kieran. I’m begging you. If I was ever anything to you, speak for me. Don’t let him give me to whoever brought her back.”
Snarling, an animal bark forcing the woman off, Kieran didn’t break pace.
Wren did, that was the first time she tripped, looking back at a crushed woman who stank of real distress.
When their eyes met, it shook her.
The whole last hour shook her.
And now the door to Caspian’s den was swinging open.
Chapter 9
Seated in the chair Wren had come to recognize as Caspian’s favorite, the First Alpha slowly turned his head their direction. Kieran was not spared so much as a glance—not when all of Caspian’s attention was devouring her alive.
The dress…
Without so much as a hint of alteration to his expression, she could tell he hated it. But it also intrigued him for what it might stand for.
Of the three of them, this male most preferred to see his marks upon her pale skin, so he might touch, remember, and enjoy. Dressed as she was, it would require effort for him to reach what he believed he owned.
Though he most likely would rip the garment off, that in itself might amuse him. From the glow in his eyes, Wren was certain that very thought crossed his mind.
He would enjoy it.
Until he saw what was hidden underneath. And Caspian would see them, both the bite mark and the bruising on her rear.
“There is food for you on t
he table, pretty mouse.”
Food that smelled of heaven.
Wren would have fallen upon the offerings, eaten with abandon, but Kieran still had a hold of her wrist, stopping her excited momentum forward with grip of iron. Stiff, the Second growled lowly, and seemed to fight his impulse to yank her back to his side.
Caspian saw it all, yet still his face remained impassive. Still he kept to his great chair.
Eyeing the abundant spread, enough mouthwatering dishes waiting to feed an army, Wren yanked lightly on her arm.
Muscle in his jaw ticking, it clearly took Kieran a great deal of effort to lift his fingers one at a time from her wrist. And off she went to the table, impatient to be free of the Second, eager to have an excuse not to look upon the First, but mostly famished.
Pastries and meat—steaming meat seasoned with herbs. Root vegetables, salads, sauces, all the decadence the typical green sludge was not. Though, had Caspian offered her barrels of sludge, she would have sucked it down to fill the hole in her belly.
The unseen rise of his brow colored Caspian’s question. “Did you not feed her?”
A deadpan, was offered in reply. “I fed her often.”
Even with warm food in her mouth, a chill crept up Wren’s spine at Kieran’s tone.
Swallowing the food stuffed in her cheeks, she reached for a folded napkin, wiped her hands, and turned around.
“Keep eating, mouse.” Even moderate, there was something under Caspian’s order. “And don’t forget your dessert under the silver dome.”
Both males were watching her in very different manners, Wren’s eyes darting from one to the other. Caspian was calculating, lounging in his chair. Kieran was ominous, staring at her as he was wont to do.
Still hungry, Wren hesitated. That was when she looked past her own discomfiture to notice the room. It was more than the table laden with fine cuisine. It was the stale nature of the place.
It was the bed adorned with the finest nest she’d ever built—still intact. A nest she had enjoyed for less than an hour before she’d been paraded in front of Caspian’s men and made to watch Toby beat her boy bloody.
No one had touched it. No other female scent wafted under the delicious aromas emanating from the table.
Caspian had not despoiled her nest or this room the entire time she’d been gone.
Their eyes met, the male neither addressing what must have been a question on her face, nor challenging her appraisal.
He wanted her to look at him.
Free of his coat, cheek freshly shaven, commanding, male, and powerful. Seated, so they were of equal height.
Familiar.
“Eat.” How Caspian managed to drench one gently spoken word with so much arduous command, she’d never know.
Wren wanted to eat his food, not solely because she hungered, but because instinct commanded she take the male’s offering.
A beautiful offering of more than sustenance. An offering she had taken for granted, stuffing it into her mouth with her fingers like she had.
It had not been appreciated or fully recognized.
So she did it now, savoring a moment so rare.
A single place setting waited.
Fork, knife, spoon, silver-rimmed bone china plate.
There was even creamy linen. Had the table boasted flowers and candlelight, it would have been straight out of an old painting.
Fingertips brushing the crisp fabric, Wren hummed, mind full of the wonderful dress she could make out of this panel. It wouldn’t last five minutes in the squalor of the Warrens, but for those brief, pristine moments, it would have been grand.
Better than her dress made from fancy, old curtains.
Lifting the waiting plate in careful fingers, the smoothness of china, the fact there wasn’t a single crack or chip was marvelous. So clean she could see herself in it, it was turned so the light might play off the sheen.
Plenty of times during salvage she’d come across old, cracked remnants of some long dead person’s fine dishes.
Some with painted flowers or intricate designs.
But this simple bone china with light detail and a high polish—this was prettier by far. Though it would have been frivolous and held no true value in the Warrens, she would have snatched it from whatever lair she’d haunted and kept it in her box of treasures.
Her boys would not have been allowed to touch it.
Before she realized what she’d done, the plate was cradled to her breast, realization that her box of treasures was buried so deep under the mud that it would never be salvaged, spoiling her joy.
An impatient male noise at her back, and Wren lost the far off look in her eyes, cheeks stained with an embarrassed flush.
Setting down the dish, a sheepish twist to her mouth, she signed to Caspian. It’s very pretty.
“Spell out what you just said.”
She did, brows drawing together to find that he was actually paying attention to her hands.
It took a moment, before Caspian strung the gestures into meaning, but he did. He’d learned her alphabet. “Pretty.”
And she was all shock, nodding, fairly certain the expression on her face was laughably stunned.
Chapter 10
Pasta in enough cream sauce to drown a rat. When Wren had taken the time to pay attention to the offerings, that was what her shaking hand reached for.
Noodles drenched in heaven.
It had been years, years, since she’d eaten anything nearly this frivolously decadent. Real cheese, real cream, from real cows. Nothing powdered, and by the texture, she imagined the linguini was handmade and fresh.
The kind of dish served upstairs to smiling patrons of restaurants. Something that required silverware, both spoon and fork.
At first, it was awkward spinning the noodles in the bowl of the spoon, and she knew she looked absolutely ridiculous to the two males who refused to give her the privacy to stuff her face properly. Both stared, both occasionally offering a grunted and pointless noise when she moaned over the perfect bite.
Alec would lose his mind for this, would slop the tureen of pasta up to his mouth and drink it dry. Her other ward, Mikael, would be head over feet for the whole fish dressed with actual lemons.
Considering there was more than enough for ten men waiting on the table, it was a shame she couldn’t share it with them. Deep down, a part of Wren wanted to be bitter; the tired woman who missed her boys itching to rebel against the very Alphas measuring her every bite. The wiser part of Wren told her to remember that Alec was up top and Mikael was still getting treatment. And that was the best she could do in this moment.
There would be other moments she would steal for them later.
Someday, if she survived this, she might actually be able to prepare a meal this delicious for her boys.
The thought made her smile around a dripping bit of linguini.
The males noticed, each reacting with a noise that broke the spell the food had created.
Feeling a dollop of cream sauce at the corner of her lips, Wren chewed the noodles, looking from Caspian to Kieran and back again.
She wanted to eat more, to truly gorge until it hurt, but Caspian had not done this for her pleasure. He’d done it for his. A groggy female too full to fuck him would lead her to trouble, so Wren pushed the plate away with a sigh, wiped her mouth, and rose from her chair.
“Dessert, little mouse.” Caspian’s eyes went to the waiting silver dome, urging the Omega to reach out and grasp the lid.
Having never been much of a fan of sweets, Wren obeyed, disinterested and full enough. Except the dome was stuck, an odd weight behind the curved metal. Tugging, bearing more of her weight against it, it gave, the clatter, the overflow of what was inside more jarring than the heft of the lid.
The silver dome lid hit the floor when her hands failed, when her heart stopped. The clang and resounding bell-like vibration made an ugly sound, the opposite of a purr. One that blended with the tink of credit chip
s spilling over.
She’d backed to the wall, shoulders to her ears at the crumbling display, and felt as if she wouldn’t be able to draw breath.
Never in her life had she seen so many credit chips, some in denominations she didn’t imagine existed.
Carrying even a handful of this in the Warrens would see her throat slit ear to ear.
Her friendliest neighbors would murder her for even one.
Knowing it was ridiculous to feel such terror for inanimate objects, unable to control her panting or to look away from the tumbling pile, Wren began to slowly inch away.
Shoulder blades scraping along the wall, she edged closer and closer to the door.
Still the chips slid over one another, their momentum slowing, which only made the slink and clicks all the more precise.
As she stared at that crumbling pile, Kieran growled, “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s frightened.” And Caspian no doubt felt it through their link, surprised enough that it shaded his response. “You came back to demand payment, mouse. There it is. Take it. It’s yours.”
Pockets full of coins, he’d said. Enough water for a year. That pile of cash was beyond money for bribes. That pile of cash would be a target on her back if anyone knew she had it. She couldn’t even carry it all. And she had no idea what it was actually worth outside of her personal hellhole.
Too much, she was certain.
“Payment?” Kieran spat, snide and every ounce the arrogant male she had first met. “You claimed you came for your boys. You lied to me, female.”
Kieran’s unexpected anger was so far off her radar, that Wren ignored him completely, even while skirting her body behind his—as if he might stand as sentinel against an inanimate pile of credit chips.
Aware she was acting like a lunatic, but unable to stop herself, she wrung her hands.
Warm, yet brokering no argument, Caspian declared, “It’s yours. Consider our bargain fulfilled. You stay here, your boys get that. No sulking, no sad faces. I own you fully.”
It all sounded so reasonable, which stirred up her adrenaline all the more.
