Stolen (Alpha's Claim 4)

“Hush, hush, hush…” His hand slithered between their bodies until the part of her that trembled and wept was touched. Cautiously, he pushed two digits inside. “We will suffer through this tainted estrous together, and until you have healed and are properly prepared, I swear I will not fuck you again. You have my word. What happened in Beta Sector, my loss of control, I will atone for it. I will deny myself release no matter the rut. Do not be afraid.”

Muscles clenched around his fingers, her mouth letting loose a low moan when he twisted deeper. “Why is no one stopping this?”

“Breathe, Brenya.” His tongue swept her mouth, slithered down her throat, between her breasts, all the way down to where he pressed her thighs apart. “You are safe, and I will never hurt you.”

And then it began all over again.

She squealed as his fingers toyed with the nerves inside her body, sobbed at the rough feel of his tongue moving through tender folds. The following screams were not inspired by pain.

No, those shrieks belonged to hysteria and the strange sense that she was going insane.“You seem very satisfied with yourself, Jacques.” A man, another large Alpha bearing an impossibly deep voice, spoke from across the parlor.

The male stood far from where Brenya sat, his bulk leaning against the door. His hair was long, dark, and bound back into a queue—worn in the same fashion as all other Alpha males. One look at him had made her frown.

She recalled his cat-like features from the alley when Jacques had…

The dark-haired one had stood at a distance then too, watching while his host had fucked her senseless. He had watched, and he had done nothing. “I remember you.”

Head dipping once, the terms of their first meeting were acknowledged. “You look well.”

An upwelling of spite distorted her voice. “You didn’t help me. An Alpha’s duty is to protect Betas. That is your purpose in our population.”

The stranger across the room spoke calmly. “When you come to understand the importance of that moment, you will forgive me.”

Her brows fell. This new room, this parlor, was as bad as the bedroom. Her former barracks were infinitely superior. They were organized, for one. Everything had its place. Here there was just glittering stuff that served no purpose.

There was a cup of tea in her hand. Her nakedness was covered in soft clothing. No longer was she dirty, burrowed in sticky sheets, the weight of Jacques’ body holding her down in the dark. This room was bright, the surroundings rich, sunlight abundant. Under her feet was a rug so sumptuous, pressing bare toes to it felt unnatural. The chair she had been placed in was covered in silk damask, the texture of it slippery and cool. Brenya had never seen items like this in Beta Sector. Everything from the papered walls to the opulent ornamentation was alien.

She longed for the familiar grey of her jumpsuit. Uniforms made all equal. This strange, diverse clothing these peculiar people wore did not make sense.

At her side, that familiar vibration began, his purr growing louder until she took a deep breath and sank back into the chair.

Going back to his Alpha guest’s original question, Jacques, my captor, smiled, drinking me in. “And why should I not be pleased, Ancil? My mate is perfect.”

Mate…

That word was foreign to Brenya.

“Mon chou, say hello to my friends, Ancil, Bernard Dome’s Security Advisor, and his wife, Annette.”

Only very close intimates used given names. Even Jacques had never told her his name. She’d only heard others speak it. Names were personal; these people were strangers. Her lips parted, protocol all Brenya had to rely on in this new, unsettling place. “I am Unit 17C of Palo Corps.”

The third, and least menacing guest, pouted. The petite blonde Beta woman Brenya vaguely remembered standing over her that first day had a sweet look to her, a delicacy brought out by her floral dress and round belly. “But your name, dear, is Brenya. What we were before is left behind when we are called by an Alpha.”

The Beta female’s explanation did not seem to please Jacques. His voice quiet, his intentions loud, he spoke, “Centrists do not use designations. You have been reassigned here, and will follow your Commodore’s directives. Now, introduce yourself properly to our guests.”

Annette’s kind suggestion, her reasons, had not shifted Brenya’s feelings on the topic. But as if Jacques understood how she was wired, how much she clung to procedure, his orders focused her thoughts. Face blank, voice robotic, she obeyed. “My name is Brenya Perin.”

Purring loudly, stern, he leaned closer. “And what are you?”

“An engineering grunt responsible for the exterior maintenance of Bernard Dome.”

“No.” Hardening his expression, the man lowered his chin and very slowly shook his shining head in the negative. Eating up every last ounce of her awareness, he growled, “You are an Omega, mon chou.”