Ravaged Captive (Wren's Song 4)

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 chips 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.

These were not reasonable men. Caspian had only ever lied to her, stolen her child, had him beaten, used her body, marked her without permission.

And that very male was rising out of his chair, unfolding slowly to his full, massive height.