And because he kept scrupulously to his word, and she was not being fulfilled even in the simplest of ways, her heat showed no signs of ending.

Ebby was miserable. Not only had he continued to punish her bottom on the outside every time he thought about it—using his hand and the paddle and even the belt to scourge it—but he was doing so to the inside, too. But after just a day of only being taken in that manner, even that left her moaning and twisting, desperate to come any way she could. But he was too good for her. He never allowed her to descend from that perpetually unsatisfied high, taunting her with the fact that he wasn't using her the way she wanted him to every time he impaled her twice ravaged behind.

Every muscle hurt as if he'd taken a club to her, rather than disciplinary implements and his cock. She couldn't sleep, and she ate only what he gave her, only doing that because she didn't want to give him another excuse to punish her—in either method he had decided to employ, both of which were proving terribly effective.

But, on the second day, Ciaran decided that he didn't like the way she looked. It had not been his intention to compromise her health in the least, and he sent for his personal physician immediately.

The man examined the constantly moving, restless young woman who couldn't seem to keep her hips from rising up suggestively, then moved to speak to his commanding officer in the corner of the room and in quiet voices.

"She's exhausted. I'd say she needs to drink and eat more and get some rest. Keep in mind, though, sir, I am not a breeding doctor. I have more experience with jock itch and swamp foot than I do anything else."

"Thank you, Doctor," Ciaran said, dismissing him and concentrating his attention where it had been for the past few days—hell, since she'd come into his life—on his omega.

He ran his hand over his beard, pausing to think hard as he stared down at her.

And then, as if he had made up his mind about something important, he went to the door and gave the guards an order, then returned to the bed, where he removed her restraints, bringing her arms down gently and rubbing her shoulders.

Although she didn't want to, Ebby couldn't help but cling to him helplessly.

He didn't seem to mind, though. His entire demeanor was different from what it had been, softer, less angry, which, in turn, allowed her to be less anxious.

There was a knock on the door, and a large, empty container was delivered. Following after it were several men with large buckets of steaming water, which they poured into the container before leaving them alone again.

Without a word, Ciaran lifted her off the bed and lowered her into the hot water. Like a cat, she tried to claw her way up him and out of it, but he purred and petted her. "I know it hurts right now because you're sore. But I promise you, it will begin to feel wonderful in a few minutes."

She was still clinging to him, getting him soaked in a different way from how she usually did, but he held onto her and lowered her completely into the tub. "Shhhhh, little girl," he whispered. "Let's get you washed and more comfortable." He had to pry her hands way from his shoulders, but he persisted.

Eventually, he watched as she sank back against the back of the tub, eyes closed. Those sooty lashes of hers stood out even more than they usually did against her now even paler skin. As he washed every bit of her—using his own soap and a soft cloth—he realized that she was much too thin, and had—even in such a short time—taken on an almost frail look, for which he berated himself internally.

When she was clean and much less tense than she had been—on one level, at least—and long before she could grow cold, he lifted her out again and dried her with one of his spare sheets.

All of this touching set her off again, and she began to try to curl herself around him, lifting a leg to hook it around his waist as if she would climb him like a tree.

Ciaran gently discouraged her, setting her on the ground next to him, but humming to her as he did so, which softened the rejection. He wanted to get her dry and under the covers before she caught cold, which he did as quickly and efficiently as he could, because he could feel the heat literally rising off of her, everywhere he touched, her bottom and between her legs most dramatically.

The covers were warm and inviting, and he tucked the both of them beneath them, hearing her mewls increasing in volume as she immediately tried to turn and present herself to him.

But he stopped her from doing that—which caused her to protest even louder—pulling her onto him as he stretched out beneath her, instead.

She looked delightfully shocked at where she found herself atop him, and his hand came up to brush her hair out of her eyes. "I'm always ready for you," he confessed. "Just like you're always ready for me. This time, you may decide when you take me."

Her eyes went wide and she bit her lip, grinding her hips against his lower belly and peeping up at him hesitantly.

The big man knew that especially when she was in the grips of a heat, and as intelligent as he knew that she was, it was hard for her to say what she wanted.

The reassuring call that he used only with her erupted from his chest automatically, and he watched her movements grow less frantic, her body less taut because of it. "Whenever you're ready, Ebby."

She was on him practically before he finished the sentence, dragging herself down his body. He had the incredibly erotic view of watching her take him in, feeling her doing that to him and watching the emotions crossing her face at the same time. It made him want to be less patient than he was trying to be for her, and his fists bunched in the bedclothes.

It took her much longer than it would have taken him to accomplish the same thing, but it was a torture he didn't want to stop, and he made no motions of impatience that might have made her feel she needed to move more quickly. When he felt her bottom against his balls, he encouraged her to sit up, her body weight driving him just that much further into her as she immediately began to ride him.

One hand found those enticingly swaying breasts, tweaking her nipples as he sat up to kiss her passionately, his other hand finding an almost too sensitive clit. She tried to jerk away from him when the pads of his fingers brushed over her, but he held her gently in place.

"You know what needs to happen next, little omega." It wasn't a question; it was a statement.

She gave him a distressed look again, her little hands pressing against his chest as she shook her head. "No," she breathed.

"Do you want me to do it, instead?" he offered softly, and she nodded, although reluctantly.

Ciaran rolled with her, so that she was beneath him, putting himself into the right position, the sharp point of his spur at the ready. As he purred more loudly and slowly pierced her, he whispered, "Bear the pain for your Alpha. The ecstasy you seek is just beyond it."

And he was right. Even in heat, it was hard for her to bear, but he wouldn't allow her to avoid it, and she did take some pride in bearing it for him, although she couldn't stop the inevitable tears that came before the pain subsided.

When he was truly in possession of her, in every possible way he could be, he knew he didn't have much time. She was in such a state from having been teased for so long that she was likely to explode at any second. So, he found and began to determinedly strum her clitty, whispering to her fervently, "Accept the pleasure and the pain your Alpha brings you. Accept me. Accept your life. Accept the new life that we create."

He wasn't sure what it was that he had done or said, but she seemed to blossom beneath him, feeling her truly welcome him into herself in a way she hadn't before.

Three…four…five passes over her painfully swollen bud, and that was all she needed.

Ciaran watched her full-body explosion, at first, while he still could, and it was the epitome of agony and ecstasy. But soon, he was caught up in the same feelings, and all he could do was drive into her as she gripped him almost to the point of actually hurting him, until he began to spray her insides with himself while she clutched greedily at him. He murmured under his breath the words that had been ringing in his head since that moment when he'd seen her while he was fighting for his own life, letting the horror they represented to him spill out with them, "I could have lost you. I could have lost you. I. Could. Have. Lost. You."

Ebby was too far gone to understand their significance at the moment. She finally had what he'd been denying her for what seemed like an eternity, and she was going to get everything she could out of it. Out of him.

She never really let him go, even when he wasn't really still capable—shooting blanks—keeping him inside her as much as she could while he recovered.

Ciaran held her back to his front as he ran his hands lazily through her hair. For some reason, the way Vaudt spoke about his mate—his unabashedly proud, surprisingly emotional words—had made quite an impression on him. And it appeared that Kosh had found the same thing with his omega, too.

And that made him want something more from his own omega than just the babies he'd set his single-minded sights on so early in his life.

When he spoke, he sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. "Ebby…"

She was now more in possession of her faculties, her heat finally beginning to recede. "I heard," she interrupted softly. "Sir."

He squeezed her gently.

"We really did think that we were saving you and ourselves—" she began, feeling him stiffen behind her.

"I know," he interrupted gruffly. "I'm surprised my hair and beard aren't stark white from the sight of you. I feel as if they should be."

"I'm sorry to have frightened you, Sir."

He was plain with her. "I can't say the same thing if what I did over the past couple of days stops you from ever doing anything so fucking idiotic ever again."

Was that a delicate snort of derision he heard from his little omega?

"But I didn't mean to make you sick."

Ebby was smart enough—even now—to realize that was as close as he was likely to get to an apology. "I know."

His big hand slipped over her flat tummy. "I like it when you're in heat, little girl." He drew a ragged breath, then took the plunge. "But I also like talking to you and feeding you and bathing you."

She squirmed a little within the confines of his arms, but he held her securely, which was exactly what she wanted. "Do you think that I could ever convince you to—"

"To what?" He was genuinely curious.

"To teach me to fight better?"

He almost smiled, his face buried in her hair. "I could probably be persuaded to do that, although it will depend."

"On what?"

"Oh whether or not you're pregnant."

She turned towards him, pressing her lips to his. "If I'm not, it's not going to be for lack of trying on your part."