Stolen (Alpha's Claim 4)

The blonde smiled, her skin pale as she motioned for an attendant to gather and prepare the gift. “It is so good to see you, Brenya. You’re the first to visit since I was placed in confinement…” Annette winked. “You must have powerful friends to get past that door.”

But it had been many days since the baby had come. “What of Ancil?”

Voice cracking, Annette whispered. “I’ve been told he’s indisposed. He has yet to see his son.”

The concept of parenthood was foreign to Brenya. Those chosen for the breeding bank did not keep the child after early weaning, if at all. She was not even sure if males were aware offspring existed. Uncertain what to say, she sat on the edge of the bed and peeked into the nearby bassinet.

The baby inside was awake and wiggling in his wrappings. He looked like a cherub version of his angel mother.

Gently touching a foot, Brenya marveled. “He’s so small.”

A tired chuckle preceded, “Matthieu didn’t feel so small on the way out.”

Now that Brenya knew was abnormal. All Beta women asked to participate in procreation were told delivery was conducted painlessly while they slept. Several of the women in her Corps had undergone the procedure.

Hesitation led to awkward silence before Annette said, “It was on Ancil’s order. In the last minute, he demanded a natural birth for his heir.”

An heir he had yet to visit…

The medical room was full of light, decorated so as to give the impression of a boudoir. It was nothing like the med station in Beta sector. When the attendant returned and set the crystal vase of flowers beside the bed, it was hard to see anything but beauty. Yet it would seem it had been Annette’s prison.

She didn’t know if it was the right thing to say, but Brenya felt she had to offer something. “He promised me you would be safe… after I did what Ancil ordered. Jacques promised me.”

Considering the way the attendant was watching their every word, Brenya was certain both Alphas would hear a report of all that was said—though, now she suspected Jacques was most likely watching by other means. “If he lied, I would never do it willingly again.”

“Dear, Brenya.” A pale hand fell to her much darker one, Annette forcing a soft smile as if she held a great horrible secret. “You were beautiful that day you know, in the white dress with your hair curled. It’s a pity Jacques was denied what we had planned. I think he would have preferred you coming to the door as you were, all innocence and smiles. You had a wonderful surprise prepared for him.”

After the way he’d torn his clothes in his rush to cross the room and slam inside her, Brenya doubted it. “It only hurt a little.”

Letting out a deep breath, Annette lay back and stared at the ceiling. “I suppose I could say the same. He didn’t even leave a bruise.”

“I don’t like your husband.” It had come unbidden and with venom that tasted bitter on Brenya’s tongue.

Almost dreamy, Annette answered, “I am not the greatest fan of him at the moment either. But I do love him, Brenya. I love him so much it hurts. I know he must love me too.”

It was genuine, even Brenya’s shy smile. “Who could resist loving you?”Chapter 15When Jacques appeared before her, he was already dressed. The style of clothes was as strange as any she’d seen, but that was not the reason she stared at the broad shoulders filling his white jacket.

His long hair was free of the plait, waving and golden around his unfairly handsome face. These were not qualities she would have noticed weeks ago. Just as weeks ago, she would not have looked in the mirror and paid attention to her own features.

How many times in life had she considered the color of her hair?

Never. She had never cared that it was light brown, or that her eyes were light brown, or that her skin was light brown. Appearance did not matter; accomplishments did.

Yet seeing him so beautiful, she felt like a glob of mud beside a statue of gold.

Annette was decidedly attractive. Even Ancil with his feline features and mean looks had the grace of a prime Alpha. None held a candle to Jacques. No matter the Commodore’s selfishness or abuses of power, he was breathtaking and he knew it.

And she? She was not.

Without Annette and her box of paints to make her pretty, there was only so much that could be done. It was up to Jacques, who took great delight in zipping her into a white gown—a dress with fitted lace sleeves, in similar style to his strangely cut jacket, and a skirt so long she would have to be careful not to trip. He even combed her hair back and tapped some color onto her lips with his finger.