Ravaged Captive (Wren's Song 4)

“You shouldn’t have hid in the mud. Why didn’t you come back to me?” Sweeping tangled tawny hair from his forehead, he snarled. “I helped your boy!”

Guilt did not belong in her heart, but it snapped at her all the same. Much stronger than the guilt was her own deeply planted resentment. I want my children back. I want a place where they can grow up and not die. They are the only reason I would come to this place.

“I can’t understand you.”

That makes two of us.

“What do you want from me?”

Why did he have to look so wounded, as if she had done something to earn such a sorry expression?

There was no answer she could give, lavender eyes falling to the wayside as her fingertip knocked against her breastbone. It made a hollow sound.

Which was fitting.

Still, she offered a shake of her head, softening it with a hint of tired smile before looking back at the looming male. Caspian is waiting.

And Caspian waited for no man. Not even for his Second.

Nor did he take other male’s leavings. She was to be clean of other scents before he used her. Yet when she entered the bathroom, Kieran refused to allow her access to the shower.

The First, who already sounded angry, would not approve.

Wren signed, knowing Kieran didn’t understand, but hoping the sentiment translated. She told him that she needed to wash.

“No.” Indulgent, sweet, Kieran had been replaced with a snappish Alpha who wore a thickly disapproving glare.

Anticipating the mountain of insults that always partnered that look, Wren sucked in a breath.

But he said nothing.

Nothing at all while he drew her back to the bedroom and dressed her in tense silence—in new clothing that still smelled of the factory it was made in. It was a fragrance Wren had forgotten existed, and one sniff brought childhood memories rushing back. Once upon a time, she’d had a full belly, clean clothing, water, even a place to hide from her father most days.

She’d had a mom who did her best.

A mom Wren had missed in all the years she’d been slowly sinking into the mud.

Who could imagine that something so simple as the smell of new clothes would be so powerful?

In the armoire before her, everything was new, the old dresses shared by the women of the pen gone.

And this new dress… was modest.

It covered her from wrist to chin. It covered the same wound on her throat that it chafed.

A comforting change from endless nudity and the sort of costumes the males had hung from her shoulders before. Yet again, something Caspian would take exception to. His bite marks were covered. His claiming mark on her throat encased in the same fabric that hid Kieran’s mistake.

Kieran led Wren from the room, and almost immediately, they happened upon Rosie in the halls.

The blue-eyed beauty took one look at the garment and her composure slipped. “Kieran, I need—”

The Second brushed her aside, never breaking step. “Not now, Rosie.”

Following, the blonde Omega tried to grab at his arm. “Please, Kieran. I’m begging you. If I was ever anything to you, speak for me. Don’t let him give me to whoever brought her back.”

Snarling, an animal bark forcing the woman off, Kieran didn’t break pace.

Wren did, that was the first time she tripped, looking back at a crushed woman who stank of real distress.

When their eyes met, it shook her.

The whole last hour shook her.

And now the door to Caspian’s den was swinging open.

Chapter 9

Seated in the chair Wren had come to recognize as Caspian’s favorite, the First Alpha slowly turned his head their direction. Kieran was not spared so much as a glance—not when all of Caspian’s attention was devouring her alive.

The dress…

Without so much as a hint of alteration to his expression, she could tell he hated it. But it also intrigued him for what it might stand for.

Of the three of them, this male most preferred to see his marks upon her pale skin, so he might touch, remember, and enjoy. Dressed as she was, it would require effort for him to reach what he believed he owned.

Though he most likely would rip the garment off, that in itself might amuse him. From the glow in his eyes, Wren was certain that very thought crossed his mind.

He would enjoy it.

Until he saw what was hidden underneath. And Caspian would see them, both the bite mark and the bruising on her rear.

“There is food for you on the table, pretty mouse.”

Food that smelled of heaven.

Wren would have fallen upon the offerings, eaten with abandon, but Kieran still had a hold of her wrist, stopping her excited momentum forward with grip of iron. Stiff, the Second growled lowly, and seemed to fight his impulse to yank her back to his side.

Caspian saw it all, yet still his face remained impassive. Still he kept to his great chair.