Rough (Alpha Brotherhood 3)

e cocked his head to the side, studying me intently, and I held my head high, forcing myself to appear as though I was unafraid and undaunted by his menacing appearance. He smirked slightly, as if he could read my thoughts, and I narrowed my eyes at him in challenge.

“What is this?” he asked. He sounded annoyed.

His voice was like butter and my nipples pebbled almost instantly. I hoped that they wouldn’t show through the thin fabric of the dress. The attendants hadn’t given me a bra or panties to wear, forcing me to be exceedingly aware of my nakedness beneath it.

“A gift for you, Magnar. A proper gift for an alpha that is to be crowned as king of our magnificent city,” the center Cultist offered boldly.

The king glared at me for a long moment before he turned away.

“I did not ask for a wife,” he growled.

I don’t know why, but his rejection made the air rush out of my lungs. A cold simmering feeling rolled in my belly and I made myself stand tall. I took a deep shaky breath and glared back at him. I don’t know why, but it hurt.

“It is a gift from me, my king,” the bicolored Cultist offered.

Magnar sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as his gaze returned to me. He pointedly looked me up and down, pausing rather arrogantly at my chest and at the cusp of my hips.

“Omegas make alphas weak,” he spat. His glare deepened and I couldn’t shake the feeling in my chest that not only did he not want me, but he was also disgusted by me.

“This is not just any omega, sire. She is much rarer than that. She is a sigma,” the man explained.

I stiffened. What the fuck was that?

“A sigma,” he repeated flatly.

“My lord, a sigma is very special indeed. You see, she is at her core an omega, but her blood is very special. It will protect you. It is known that a sigma’s blood can cure a wound, fatal or not. It is also rumored that her blood may grant you long life,” the Cultist explained, and my breath caught in my throat.

“We found her in the most recent omega haul and knew she was a gift that would only befit a king,” he continued.

“A special gift indeed,” Magnar answered. He sounded only slightly less irritated than before.

“We will leave you now. We’ll see you at the crowning celebration shortly,” the Cultist replied. The two at his side stayed silent and I watched as they left the throne room together. They didn’t look back and the two great mahogany doors shut behind them, closing me and the future king together in a single room with a reverberating boom.

“What is your name, sigma?” Magnar said gruffly. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought there was a slightly gentler air to his tone now that we were alone together.

“Ariana,” I dared to answer.

“You’re a very unexpected gift, Ariana. I was not prepared to take an omega,” he ventured, stepping down the slightly raised stage that the throne was on.

“I had not expected to be given,” I replied curtly. My mind was still reeling from the information about my genetic makeup. I’d always known I was an omega, destined to give in to instinct and beg to be rutted by an alpha through my heat once it took hold. All my life, I’d taken suppressants to keep my nature at bay, but I had lost them once the Cult took me as their captive.

His eyes turned back on me with a fierce haunted look. He stepped even closer to me and I was made aware of how much taller he was than me. How much bigger. How much stronger. Without any effort at all, he could probably lift me off the floor and toss me across the room as if I was nothing but a pebble in his way.

If he decided to claim me as an alpha, right here, right now, there would be nothing I could do to fight him.

Nature had done that. Nature had made it all but impossible for an omega to fight an alpha. It was my fate and when he finally stood in front of me, my body responded even more vividly to his close vicinity. I could feel the first trickle of my slick dripping down the bare folds between my legs. There was no doubt in my mind that he could smell it too.

His rough fingers grasped my chin, and he lifted my eyes toward his. There was a glimmer of recognition in those eyes, but he turned away almost as quickly as his touch had come. I could feel his fingers on my skin long after they left me, electrifying trickles of tension arcing between us whether we wanted them to or not.

“I do not want you. I am to be crowned king and I don’t need a woman at my side to weaken me or distract me from my duty,” he declared forcefully. He refused to look at me and I stared at the back of his tattooed scalp. As he turned, the fur pelt jostled enough to reveal a blood-red layer beneath. I took a brazen step toward him and grabbed the edge, turning it up to look at the fabric. It was the same cloth that the Cultists’ robes were made of.

“You are a Cultist yourself,” I observed, careful to keep any hint of interest out of my voice.

“That I am,” he spat. I let go of the furs as if they had burned my fingers.

I don’t know why I was surprised. It made sense for the Cult to put one of their one on the throne in a city as massive as Kingsworth.

“I am yours to do with as you wish,” I eventually whispered.