Stolen (Alpha's Claim 4)

Caught by the frankness of his expression, perplexed and hypnotized, she sat voiceless.

Jacques could tell the effect his nearness inspired, she knew he could.

Brenya was a mouse and he was the hawk, ready to tear her limb from limb.

He leaned closer, her terrorizer, and before she might claw and fight her way free, richness moved from him into her. That low rumble, the perfect steady vibration, came from his mass to saturate her every nerve. The Alpha’s purr switched her off, altered her physically, until her breath slowed and her shoulders sank from her ears.

His inquiries never struck her as meek. Each question demanded to be answered. “What has upset you?”

Dry lips parted and Brenya, as always, spoke the truth. “I’m afraid I’ll break the plate.”

The mournful reply amused the looming male. His eyes softened, his mouth curving up at one corner. “There are hundreds more. It is no matter.”

Brow drawing tight, she shook her head. Hundreds? She’d only ever seen twenty or so in the museum. Why would there be hundreds… so many that treasures could be treated as disposable?

Long fingers slipped up to gently pull the dish from Brenya’s grasp, drawing her attention back down to the beautiful china. Jacques’ purr grew deeper, the man raising a corner of pastry as if to feed her.

They had an audience, the guests taken with the scene that made the Omega acutely uncomfortable.

Annette relaxed, her hand resting on her pregnant belly, her smile wistful.

“Open your mouth, Brenya.” Jacques, jade eyes alight, waited for his mate to part her lips. “You must eat.”

She obeyed, and something sweet hit her tongue. She chewed as she was expected to. She swallowed. Suddenly, she didn’t want to see Annette’s soft golden curls, she didn’t want to feel the intensity of the Alpha by the door, and she did not want to suffer the weight of Jacques’ stare.

Skin prickling, Brenya tried again to make things right, to explain why she should not be there. “Please… I didn’t mean to drink from the fountain. I was just so thirsty. Let me go home.”

“Mon chou,”—Jacques wove an arm around her back while tapping another morsel against her lips—“this discomfort and confusion will pass. Once we are fully bonded, you will wonder why you were ever afraid.”

Seeking solace, her fingers sought the scar on her cheek, a reminder that she had fallen and smelled jasmine, that she’d served a greater purpose. “There are no other grunts who can deconstruct and repair ventilation as quickly as I can. I have a duty… a purpose. I must serve the Dome.”

He took her fingers from her face, brushing a kiss over the scar. “I am Commodore. By serving me, you serve the Dome.”

“It shouldn’t be this way, Jacques.” Annette looked at her childhood friend as if he’d done something very wrong. “Females should be happy to have been found by their mates—but she is terrified. If you bonded to her in this state, you would be forcing her—breaking our most sacred tenets.”

Before the absolute look of fury on Jacques face might translate into a scathing reply, Brenya sensed it. Ancil, the massive Alpha across the room, was afraid.

“Annette is passionate and often forgets to think before she speaks.” Ancil’s hand was out, fingers crooked to call his pregnant wife nearer his body. “I will handle her punishment for this infraction personally.”

So much anger twisted under the skin of the Commodore. He hunched as if the Omega had been threatened, his shoulders physically blocking her view of all others in the room.

For whatever reason, Annette was in grave trouble for what she had said.

Brenya could not allow that.

“Jacques.” It was the first she’d spoken his name.

Head swung around, his fury no longer rolling over his guests. Blazing eyes locked on Brenya’s, he cocked a brow, silently demanding she continue.

She thought of the only thing she might say to redirect his thinking. “You are Commodore, leader of Bernard Dome. All commands come from you. I have been reassigned to Central Sector to serve as Omega. I have been ordered to recover my health. I will eat as required, but I do not care for sweets.”

The way his expression softened through her ramblings, the way he cupped his hands to the side of her face, Brenya felt he was very much appeased.

“The workings of your mind intrigue me. As Commodore, I order you to tell me freely what you like and don’t like.”

“I like Beta Sector rations.”

Smirking, Jacques took her lips in a soft peck. “They are not healthy for an Omega. Sorry, mon chou, but you cannot have them.”

She had been taught that their food was carefully chosen for maximum nutritional value. “Why?”

Another kiss, this time at the tip of her nose. “We’ll discuss that later. For now, I will think of something you might like to eat. Do you trust me?”