Corrupted (Alpha's Claim 5)

His Brenya was implacable on a soul-deep level. A place even he had not yet found a way to touch with the captivation of their bond or his more practiced pleasantries.

Jacques changed tactics. In place of luxury, he offered sympathy. “I was cruel to you, wasn’t I?”

An instant internal flicker, silent agreement followed by a sniff.

Despite his aggressive manipulation and constant, relentless pull on their link, honeyed eyes welled. A single tear fell on her next blink. And by the Gods, it cut him to the core. That tear gutted him, so much more than her small agreement.

A small voice replied, “You were cruel.”

In contrast to his height and strength, she was so fragile—feminine and delicate—and in need of his protection. She was so valuable, worth his whole kingdom no matter her scarred face or his abject obsession. No Omega anywhere could compare.

“You have my heart, mon chou. It might not seem that way when I correct you, or when I make demands, but you own it all the same.” Scooping up her limp hand, he pressed it to his bare chest. “Does our bond not tell you so?”

A refusal to answer was answer enough.

“How badly does it hurt?”

Wriggling on her seat, shifting uncomfortably at the mention of her discomfort, and the why of it, paired with the silent throb on her side of the link.

It had been done. Necessarily so. And she had agreed to it—the price she’d named certain to cost him a great deal of conflict with Ancil. Lifting the crystal goblet designed specifically for this vintage of viognier, placing it at the trembling lips of the only thing on the Gods’ rotted earth he adored, Jacques urged her to swallow another sip.

She’d been bathed, the water puce and filthy from all he’d been required to wash away. She’d been bandaged. She’d been held close when she sobbed.

She’d been warned.

And though he had spoken his threats with a rational compunction, that didn’t change the fact that if the name George crossed her lips again, he’d see the Beta thrown into the most despicable Centrist brothel. To be used until there was nothing left. And Jacques would watch that recording every last hour, over and over, until he was wizened and old.

Against his chest, her finger fluttered, Jacques realizing his thoughts had made him tighten his grip on her bruised wrist. Softening his hand, he nudged her chin. Offering a cajoling, well-meant smile, he pressed a kiss to her scar. “Tell me what will make you smile.”

When his mate shrank back from his nearness, sinking inside herself at the brush of his lips, he didn’t correct her. Not after what she’d suffered in the bath. “Come now, tell me how to cheer you.”

A minute headshake.

She believed there was nothing to remedy her spirit, and that just was not so.

Accept they were at odds and the Omega was unreasonable. He could give her the world. Fine things, the best foods, eternal comfort, endless sexual pleasure.

What she wanted, the only thing her brain focused on, was the very goddamn things he’d forbidden. Which things: Beta rations? Freedom? Ancil’s head on a platter? George? Further thoughts of the Beta sent his purr to a snarl. Before he could catch himself, he upset his mate all the further.

A mate who was now sobbing into her hands.

Fuck.

When it came to this female, his control had always been less than exemplary. He’d punish himself for that later. He would do better.

“Unit 17C, I order you to tell me what you need.”

The jolt in her body, he knew to expect. The way eyes, the color of honey in the sun, turned up to meet his eager gaze, Jacques was utterly unprepared for. Steadfast, the fluttering thing in his arms sat taller, grew angry. Drinking him in with the cold eye of a rival, she spoke with harsh tones and great feeling, “I want to hold the baby.”

What luck!

Tucking the front panels of her fluffy robe tighter about his mate, Jacques smirked. “Is that all it is?”

Of course! His Omega was upset that she had not fallen pregnant after her first true estrous. How had this not occurred to him? These tears were not due to his attentions during her bath or the deal they’d struck when he bartered his kingdom to wash another male’s seed from inside her rectum.

Yes, he’d known she had not understood this request. Yes, he’d manipulated her. And yes, another round of anal penetration had given her pain when there was no estrous to dull it. But his strokes had been cautions, methodical, and slow. And because he loved her more than breath itself, he’d kept his knot outside her sphincter when his excessive ejaculations had rinsed a pathetic rival out of her body.

He’d been exceedingly careful, and she had braced through it like a champion.