Ravaged Captive (Wren's Song 4)

Tossing her bleached hair, the Omega turned to walk out, screeching again when the guard at the door shoved her right back in. Landing on her ass, humiliated when the Alpha guard barked, “Stay in the pen!” she went wild.

Forearm clawed, a few beads of blood matting the dark hair, said Alpha gave her the only warning that might shut up the whimpers and whines. “And if I hear you sass Rosie again, I’ll throw you to the slaves for the night’s entertainment.”

Chapter 6

Under the warm cascade of clean water, Kieran scrubbed her skin as if he were on a mission to scour off any trace of what had happened in the big room. Every inch of her was washed, rinsed, washed again, until Wren’s flesh was pink from too much friction.

He cleaned her ears as if she were a child, wiped her nostrils free of mud despite her attempts to bat his hand away.

Perfectly capable of cleaning her own body, she tolerated only so much.

But her complaints were weak, unspoken, and considering she could hardly stay standing without his support, pointless.

Soap, shampoo, special cleansers designed specifically for an Omega—every bit of foamy lathering chemicals was used up, even after the water no longer ran brown with dirt.

Yet it would seem that whatever he was determined to get off of her, was more than skin deep.

And Wren, she couldn’t meet the male’s eyes after what he’d done, how she’d swallowed, and still craved more. Had even dared to fight him under that spray when the urge took him again—when he’d pushed her to her knees and thrust his cock between her lips until she swallowed his full length. Then he filled her belly with sustenance.

Three times so far, he’d invaded her throat.

Three times he’d given her his Alpha nutrient substance.

At each of the interludes, it seemed something had completely come over the male. He practically shook with the need to force his ejaculate down her gullet.

And she was no better, once fed something akin to a drug. A single taste, and Wren went from fighting the Alpha to keep his erection from her lips, to fighting him to keep his cock buried so far down her throat she couldn’t breathe.

When he’d filled her, when her face was turning purple, he’d pinch her jaw and pull out, leaving her bent and sputtering, and too weak to drag him back for more.

And then the manic scrubbing began all over again.

Between her toes. Behind her ears. Eyelids. Navel. Labia.

Every trace of Caspian’s scent was rinsed from inside her.

Wren had never seen Kieran in such a manic state—utterly focused, grim, determined. Where was the flippant snark, the disapproving looks, the teasing?

This male was someone utterly different.

And to be perfectly honest, he frightened her.

The silence, the roughness of his handling when she failed to turn just so. He moved her as if she were a thing, an item. He ignored how her knees knocked and made her lean into him each time she slipped.

It wasn’t until exhaustion won out and she slumped to the floor, refusing to stand no matter how he snarled at her and tried to drag her upward, that he finally stopped.

Whatever he was planning to do, whatever the purpose for the insane washing, she just wanted him to do it and have it over.

The water cut off.

Arms scooped her off the slippery tile, and while she hung like a limp noodle, Kieran took her from the bathroom.

Leaving a trail of water droplets where they passed, the male surveyed the room, and let out a lengthy, irritated snarl. He kicked a nearby pile of old dishes, sending ceramic to smash into the wall, rotting food scattering for the rats no doubt hidden in the piles of garbage scattered/ heaped in the room.

Skin tight from too much scrubbing, Wren ignored most of his grumbled complaints, her attention instead on the soiled nest waiting on the bed. One brush of that soggy fabric would make her feel far filthier than the mud she’d sported over every inch upon her arrival.

Cringing, knowing it was inevitable, she let out a loud breath.

Kieran hiked her up higher in his arms, the swing of his head when he stopped surveying his disaster so abrupt her eyes went wide when they met his.

How he glared.

The man was fucking pissed. Snorting bull, steam rising from his ears, incensed.

Again, this was not Kieran. Not the man who secretly desired to be purred to and have his hair stroked. Not the walking open wound his mother left on his soul. This glaring male was Alpha only.

Lacked personality.

It had to be the aftereffects of whatever drugs he’d inundated himself with over the last few days.

Even with the shower, he looked more animal than man.

Wren signed best as she could one handed. “You need to sleep it off.”