How did those pretty butterflies from Greth tolerate it? Maybe it had been different for Omegas in their Dome. If so, those poor women were set to be disappointed.
Maybe they liked the attention.
Brenya would rather not have strangers staring at her, their eyes looking at her chest and gawking at the hidden slit between her legs.
If one of them growled, she’d vomit.
The guard was right; she did not belong there. There was no single place in Bernard Dome she fit.
Marching in the opposite direction of the gate, Brenya found her guards decisively handled those who would follow… though one male required restraint. Beginning to understand why Jacques had ordered so many to watch her, she kept moving, walking aimlessly as fast as she could as if she might leave everything behind.
She had no idea where she was going, hardly cared so long as she was in the sun and free of Jacques’ pretty things and soft bed. Someone else would be in that nest soon, so there was no use in feeling any sense of loss.
There was no reason to be melancholy.
She’d seen her friend. She’d gone outside. She should not be feeling tears fall down her cheeks.
Except she was.
She was softly crying, wandering a segment of the city she did not know at all, with absolutely no place to go.
Why did it have to be such a beautiful day? Had she been making the descent, her bio-suit would have been heated by sunshine, there would have been a light breeze rocking her in the rigging. It would have been heaven.
With her heart so low, the weather should have been dreary, rain slapping against the side of the Dome to blur the view of the distant ruins outside.
For a moment she was furious with George for breaking protocol all those weeks ago. Had they cut her from the rigging, she would have died without ever knowing this place, Bernard secrets… what she was. She could have died with honor to be remembered by Palo Corps, not grounded in shame, waiting to be terminated for failure to adequately serve the Commodore’s physical needs.
You are not the only Omega in Bernard Dome.
Someone else would soon know what he tasted like… he might even be with one of them now. Someone else would be blasted to pieces when the little death came to cull its price. Someone else would tangle their hands in his soft hair and see him smile.
Someone else would be called mon chou.
Jacques’ words last night had cut her deeper than he’d ever know.
Someone else would be hurt by him.
And Brenya could do nothing… because she would be dead. Annette would never coach another Omega on how to please the Commodore, because she would be a cog enslaved to raising a brood of children she had desired for herself.
Which one of them had it worse?
Annette did.
And Jacques had allowed that to happen. The same Jacques who twisted up her insides when he called her beautiful despite her mutilated face. The same Jacques who terrified her when he held her down and forced her to feel him.
It would almost be better if she didn’t have to see the Alpha before termination took place. One look at her weeping in the streets of his kingdom, and he’d know he’d won.
He would know that sometimes… sometimes when he touched her it had been beautiful beyond all measure. He would know that she’d hated not waking up in his arms even though she despised what he was.
And that… that was the most horrifying part of it all.Chapter 21How she’d wound up on the tarmac, Brenya didn’t know. She had no clue what part of Central she was in, how far the palace might be… but staring at the massive ship waiting there, she found she could not bring herself to care.
It was beautiful, sun glinting off the silver solar collection panels just as it would have off Bernard Dome’s siding. The sight was so familiar and so alien all at once.
Without hesitation, her hand reached out, fingertips tracing over the lines of the hull. The metal was warm. Warm enough to take the chill from her bones. Warm enough to distract a lost woman from her troubles.
With a sniff, she paced around the monstrosity, knowing what it must be: Ambassador Jules Havel’s ship.
As far as Brenya knew, there were no aerial craft in Bernard Dome. Or, if there were, she’d never been exposed to them. And this one was an original from the Reformation Wars. There were scars in the hull and marks where turrets must have once been attached.
This was a treasure, a living piece of history… and she was touching it.
When she rounded the back and found the gangplank down and hatch open, mindlessly she abandoned her guard and let her explorations take her inside.