Born to be Bound (Alpha's Claim 1)

Meeting those yellowed eyes, Corday stepped far too close for comfort. "You must think us sky-breathers are pretty stupid. The racket ain't nothing new. But, unlike you, we weren't dumb enough to get caught and crammed in the Undercroft. I said fuck Shepherd, and I meant it."

The man flat-out guffawed. "You're one cocky little motherfucker. If your stock is any good, I'll get you what you need, kid. As much as you need. And you'll get us exactly what we want. That's how an alliance works. Or do they call it a trade agreement under the Dome?"

#

"They really must think every last law-abiding Enforcer is gone," Brigadier Dane muttered under her breath.

The idiot on the causeways was either mentally challenged, or outright shameless of his crimes, acting as if consequence no longer existed. Not once had he suspected that Corday slipped a tracking device onto his person, not once had he even seemed wary. And even now that the creep was back in his cozy, dingy hole, she could hear the man laughing, the sounds of grunts, and hoarse, animalistic noises in the background.

It was hard to listen to. The Alpha female was fully aware of what was going on behind the concrete walls bad men thought would keep their flagrant secret safe.

What Corday had claimed to possess—Omegas kept like livestock—these men had in quantity. And they were being used even as the thug from the causeway plotted with his chums just how he planned to slice up the cocky kid who had such a mouth, laughing at how easy it would be to double-cross the boy, and how much they would rake in offering something other than used, slack pussy to the men lining up outside.

Corday's continuous issue with insubordination aside, for once the Beta Enforcer had done something right; the atrocities committed against those females had to be stopped. All the men inside had to be wiped from existence. And order—even if it was only a small step back to the way things were before—had to be enforced.

Things had gone to hell under the Dome, the beauty of a functional system going up in smoke at the first sign of real trouble. It shamed Dane to see her brethren so weak, to know that the precious survivors of wars and plagues could still be reduced to nothing but the animals humanity had become before the Domes. Thólos Dome had been the bastion of civility; the greatest Dome on all the continents. What had been accomplished under the glass—the flourishing culture, the beauty of life beyond mere survival—was now abandoned by Erasmus Dome, by Bernard Dome, even by the poorest Vegra Dome. One hint of plague and any chance of support from the outside vanished.

The issue had to be solved internally. Shepherd and his Followers had to be removed. The contagion had to be destroyed. And the infection—men like the thugs Dane twitched to kill—purged; an example made for others to follow.

A day or two of surveillance and her team would demolish the upstart syndicate. Brigadier Dane smirked at the thought of a much-needed victory, eager to see the look on the wretches' faces when she shoved something unwelcome inside them—something pointy—to see how they liked it.

#

Claire was gaunt, blinking rapidly as she kept as far from Senator Kantor as the small space would allow. With Corday gone, the Senator had remained to question her in his absence, so they might discuss options for the Omegas.

The options, it seemed, were limited. But anything was preferable to the other outcome; namely slavery, rape, or murder.

But help came at a price.

Senator Kantor was wise enough to keep his distance, to speak gently to the shifty-eyed woman pacing madly back and forth. "You must tell me about Shepherd. What you might know could save us."

Just hearing that name sent her attention to all the corners, as if the Alpha could be conjured with only a word. Stopping her feet, Claire wrung her hands. "I keep telling you, I can't. I don't know anything."

"You can do this," Senator Kantor urged. "Any information you divulge will help us all."

"You don't understand." Impatiently pushing her hair behind her ear, she tried her best not to trip up the words. "He didn't talk to me..."

The look of pity in Kantor's expression first inspired her anger, then shame. After what had happened, that look was one she would receive until the day she died.

The Alpha coaxed out the subtleties of what he needed. "We can just talk about the man, your observations."

"Okay..."

Senator Kantor started off simply. "The Da'rin markings, do you know what they are?"

Quoting what she'd been taught in school, Claire said, "Outcast tattoos—markings to depict whatever crime a prisoner was incarcerated for."

Nodding, Senator Kantor offered further insight, "Yet most are earned in the Undercroft, given from one inmate to another—a testament prisoners coax into patterns under the skin."