He'd stormed out, but he hadn't done it just for show. No, he'd hunted down the doctor and probably turned his interrogation techniques on that poor soul.

When he'd felt reassured enough that nothing he could do to her – short of things he would never do anyway – would have any kind of effect on the fetus that no one was really sure yet she was carrying, he had come back to her – so quickly that he was already out of breath even before he got to her.

But Emmy was not in the mood.

Or rather, she was trying desperately not to be.

He had been spying on her, and she found that very hard to forgive. In fact, she found herself remembering that the entire business was hard to forgive. She didn't want to want him, and he should be respectful of that. Why she thought that spying on her was beyond him, considering the other things he did to her on a daily basis, she would never know.

So, although she had greeted him effusively the first time he'd come through the door that day, his reception the second time he entered the room was just the opposite. She didn't so much as move on the bed.

She heard his heavy sigh and knew she was pushing her luck with him, but she also knew that he would be extra careful of her because he thought she was pregnant.

He knew that she was aware of his presence – there was no way she couldn't be. They had been so long apart and were so sensitive to each other because of it that, even if she had been unconscious, her body probably would have awakened her because he was so near.

He knew, too, that she hadn't been happy to hear that he kept track of her cycle, and that when he wasn't able to be around, he had the only other person who was close to her – Anja – do it for him.

But – as much as he wanted to sweep her feelings aside and simply have her, he grabbed his rampant libido with both hands and forced himself not to. Instead, he took a long, hot shower, washing off all of the crap. She had surprised him and ignored him, in favor of hugging him.

What a difference an hour could make.

He left little more than stubble from what had been a pretty good beard because he knew that was what she preferred. Despite the fact that it earned him a bit of teasing from his men to be quite so carefully trimmed, he brushed his teeth and even gargled with mouthwash, which was a luxury that wasn't available to most people any more. Too many folks thought it contained at least some alcohol – and some types did – and it had become quite a popular commodity for those seeking to find a cheap drunk.

Naked, he reentered the room, noting that she hadn't changed positions in the least.

She wasn't going to make this easy, apparently, although he could still smell her essence, which was always just as potent whether she wanted him to breed her or not.

And he had no doubt that he could make her just as ecstatic, to bring her to those towering heights as he always did, regardless of her preference, too.

It wasn't as if he hadn't done it before.

Only it had been a little while since she'd actually resisted him with any fervor, and he wasn't looking forward to reverting to that again. He preferred to feel those small hands of hers on him, flicking his nipples, which he hadn't even known he liked, rather than futilely trying to push him away, sometimes even raking her nails down his back, staking her own feminine claim on him while he drove her wild beneath him rather than pleading with him to stop.

She'd taught him a thing or two that was new – taken him into her mouth and nearly stopped his heart – and definitely stopped his mind – almost unmanning him completely between her greedy lips instead of between her legs, where his seed belonged.

She'd shown him a position she called 'reverse cowgirl'. The name didn't mean much to him, but it had rapidly become one of his favorites.

He snorted softly to himself. Everything was his favorite with her.

Vaudt unwrapped her slowly, and she didn't put up any kind of a protest. Although he was doing his best to try to take it slow, he nibbled her neck then teased her nipples with his teeth and tongue. All the while, his fingers used her cream against her as he tweaked a clit that was very interested in what he was doing, even if the rest of her didn't show any evidence that she even knew he was there.

Her eyes were tightly closed, as was her mouth, but he could see how rapidly she was breathing. He knew that, as much as she might want it to seem that way, she was not as unaffected by what he was doing to her as she would like to be – or as she would like him to think she was.

And, suddenly, with that familiar surge of passion, he signaled that he was ready to mount her, his patience largely evaporated, and he wasn't willing to pander to her any longer. He was going to get a response from her, one way or the other.

There was no further preamble before he drove himself into her with merciless speed, viciously hooking and knotting her at the same time.

That got her attention.

So shocked by his brutal invasion, she arched up, towards him, in order to try to cope with the pain of it, her eyes flying open and finding his in the midst of her distress.

And then he began to move, slowly, deliberately, coaxing a response from her – amidst her pain – that she did not want to give him.

But, even as she lay back down again, a mindless moan bubbled up from her chest and past lips that were wide open, just trying to suck in enough oxygen to deal with what he was doing to her.

He varied his rhythm, grinding slowly against her one moment, then delivering short, sharp, snapping strokes the next, keeping her deliberately off balance.

Keeping her on the precipice, but preventing her from coming at the same time...

He didn't mind if it delayed his own culmination. He knew he'd get there eventually.

But he wanted to make sure she felt everything he could do to her before he allowed her to have her pleasure, waiting so long that the swollen tissue at the base of his penis was the biggest it had ever been in his life.

And he forced her to stretch around it, even more so when he pounded himself into her. Every stroke – soft or hard – forced an animalistic sound out of her that he had no doubt was a combination of both true pain and true pleasure.

He kept her right there, right at the edge – writhing, wailing – desperate for a release that she knew depended entirely on him. There was nothing in her world any longer but the big man hovering over her. Nothing else mattered but that she convince him to grant her release.

Until, at last, he pushed her past the force of her own will, and she began to beg him feverishly, wantonly.

Humiliatingly.

But, even then, before he would grant her that blessed relief, he leaned down, pressing his lips to her ear to command huskily, "Tell me you're mine, Emily."

Her eyes – unfocused and wide – flew to his. He watched the tears seep sluggishly out of the corners of her eyes as she drew a breath that somehow managed to steady her, to bolster her, such that, when she responded to him, he heard her whisper brokenly, flatly, completely without emotion, lust, or even resentment or anger, "I am yours, Vaudt."

Then – and only then –he began to fuck her strong and steadily. Powerfully enough that she practically burst beneath and around him, milking him so firmly that he thought he was going to pass out from it as her body continued to contract with just as much vigor as it had when it started, sating and exhausting her at the same time. Carrying on relentlessly, sending shards of pleasure throughout her body like electric shocks, keeping her that fantastically high until even after he had run dry and begun to shrink within her.

Even when he had disengaged from her and was holding her now stiff, unyielding body against his, he could occasionally feel her shake with another jolt of pure ecstasy. He tried to comfort her – tried to help her come down from what had to be such terrifying heights, but she never said a word to him, her eyes remaining open, tears never letting up the entire time.

She was different after that. She never refused him, never gave him cause to punish her or be angry with her in the least. She ate what he told her to eat and was quiet even when he didn't really want her to be. She went where he wanted her to go and did what he wanted her to do without comment or protest.

The books he had done his best to remember to get for her from his mother on a regular basis – when he was there – piled up – unread and untouched, as far as he could tell – beside the bed. She spent her time sleeping, or simply lying on her back, staring at the ceiling.

And nothing he did, nothing he tried, seemed to have any effect on her demeanor. It was the most frustrating thing he had ever experienced in his life. When another man frustrated him, he knew how to handle it. It usually ended in a fight, but that cleared the air between them, and then they could go on like normal.

But he couldn't do that with Emily.

He didn't feel he could spank her – she hadn't done anything wrong.

The longer it lasted – especially the sleeping – the more he decided to chalk it up to her being pregnant. Although it was an unfortunate rarity nowadays, he knew that pregnant women were apt to be moody in the extreme – ecstatically happy one minute and dissolving in tears the next.

And he tried to be happy about it, but with her in the mood she was in, even that amazing development wasn't quite what it should be.

And then came the morning she bled, and he knew he could no longer blame it on pregnancy hormones.

For her part, Emmy had reached the limits of her tolerance for him and for what he was doing to her. She didn't even really want to escape any more. She didn't know what she wanted, beyond not to be where she was, she supposed, but not enough even to do anything about it.

All she wanted was for him to leave her alone to sleep.

She wasn't even happy to disappoint him and get her period. As much as she would have liked to continue to take the pills, to keep her from having one, she realized she couldn't then explain why – all of a sudden – she wasn't having one, even though she wasn't pregnant.

Vaudt went so far as to invite his mother to come see her. He must've been quite desperate, she thought, although she was feeling so removed from it all, it was as if it was happening to someone else.

She met with Hinda – what choice did she have about that, or anything else in her life?

She knew she had said all the right things. She was helpful and pleasant, if abnormally quiet and subdued. But the two of them just sat there, looking at her from across the table like she was shrieking crazily at the top of her lungs.

Not even one of Hinda's wonderful hugs had jarred her out of her stupor.

"Are you unhappy, Emmy?" she asked, sounding very concerned.

"No," Emily answered, not meeting the other woman's eyes, and it was the truth. She had moved well beyond that.

Vaudt had sighed heavily at that.

"Can I go back to bed now?" she had asked after spending about a half-hour with their – his – guest.

Vaudt couldn't find a reason to tell her no, so she climbed into bed, scrubs and all, to huddle under the covers.

She could hear them whispering and knew they were talking about her. She heard Hinda say something about making sure he took anything out of the room that was sharp or that she could use as a rope, and she almost laughed. They were worried about her being suicidal.

How could they not realize that would take way more effort than she was willing to expend at this point? Even blissful oblivion was beyond her at this point.

Emmy didn't know if it was a last resort or what, but eventually, even Racide found his way there. And again, she sat dutifully before the two of them. Vaudt made her coffee, and she drank it. There were even cookies – Oreos, she noted dully, which she'd once told him had been her favorite – on a plate on the table, but no one touched them, least of all her.

It was the same as it had been when Hinda was there – with the two of them looking at her as if she was a puzzle they had to solve, when they both knew they had the solution she desired within their realm and refused to use it.

That was, until his older brother went to the bathroom, and Racide leaned over to hiss at her, "You have got to snap out of this. You're going to lose your mind if you keep this up."

Emily gave him a benign smile but said nothing.

"Look, I don't know what you're trying to do, but I don't like the look of it – of you. You were such a vibrant woman when I met you. You challenged my brother, and he needs that. Now he's done something that's turned you into some kind of a doormat, and I can't stand it."

Nothing. She wasn't going to bother to give him a list of the wrongs his brother had committed against her. It wouldn't have made any difference if she had.

After a long moment of silently contemplating her, Racide sighed.

Then, although she wasn't looking at him, she felt him reach across the table and slip something into the pocket of her scrubs, saying in a hushed tone, "I'm going to take him away from here, so that you can read that note in relative safety. Even just the act of giving it to you puts my life in grave danger, so destroy it, please, once you've read it. I wouldn't have given it to you unless I was certain, but I think it's the right solution – the only solution – for you."

Vaudt appeared at that moment, and Racide stood, which prompted Emily to do the same, even though he addressed his big brother. "I'd like you to take a look at something I found on our last raid that I haven't had the time to show you yet. It might be a help to our energy situation."

The older man glanced at his brother, but came to stand in front of Emily, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I don't think I should leave her when she's in this state."

Racide shrugged as if he didn't care whether his brother came with him or not, but reminded him, "You've not hesitated to go anywhere before. And you have to leave her sometime." He smiled. "She's less likely to get herself in trouble this way, I'd bet."

Vaudt gave him a sharp look, and then returned his attention to Emily.

So he headed for the door, saying casually, "Well, when you want to see it, let me know."

"No, wait," Vaudt called after a slight pause. "I'll go."

Emily sat down again, not looking at Vaudt. In fact, Racide had noticed that she hadn't looked at either of them – not once since he'd been there.

She was in such a black funk that, even when the men had gone, it took her nearly half an hour to fish in her pocket for the note he had given her, not believing that it was going to make one bit of difference to her plight.

Until she read it.

It said, shortly and succinctly, three words that made her beleaguered heart soar, "Escape is possible."

For the longest time, as those words sunk slowly in, she simply sat there, staring at it. Eventually ripping it into lots of tiny pieces and flushing it away – multiple times, even though she could no longer see any bits of it floating in the bowl – before climbing back into bed and surrendering to the blissful oblivion of sleep. She was too deeply depressed to spend much time even contemplating the possibility of her own freedom when it was dangled before her.

Because she knew Vaudt.

It could be a trap, a trick to get her to expose herself. She no longer had the protection of him wanting to treat her carefully since he knew she wasn't carrying his child. She knew he wouldn't hesitate to punish her severely if he found out that she was planning an escape.

And the spankings were bad enough – she wasn't much interested in seeing how a severe punishment from him – for her – might manifest itself.

And she didn't want to think of what he might do to Racide.

So she did the only thing she could do in that state.

At first, for a short while, she slept the sleep of one who had nothing left to gamble – not even feeling that it would be worth it to her to attempt to leave him and make something – anything – of her life other than this.

* * *

Visitors became more regular for them than they ever had been, and she knew that – at least his mother – had earned the honor of holding a key of her own to his room. She didn't know who might have suggested to him that socialization would be good for her, but whoever it was, he was taking it to heart when she knew he much preferred to be a hermit. Hinda, Anja – even Racide – were at the room fairly frequently, not that it seemed to do her any good in any way at all.

He had taken to bringing Racide to see him when they had come back from a battle or a raid, so that they could discuss strategy. It sounded to her as if they didn't fight together, but rather had separate raiding and fighting parties.

Vaudt led the fighting. Racide, who was smaller and smarter, led the raids.

She was required to meet with him and sit at the table for what Vaudt deemed to be an acceptable time whenever they had a guest, but then he eventually dismissed her so that she was able to go back to bed.

Each time he left Racide alone with her – even though he was risking his life even more so to do it than when he'd given her the note – he had always come to sit on the bed next to her, whispering words of encouragement about what sounded like the possibility of getting away from his brother.

Eventually, through the repetition of his dangerous attempts to convince her that he was on the level, Racide had to gage perfectly when to leave her side and return to his seat before his brother noticed that he had so much as gotten up, much less gone to sit on the bed with her. From his tone or from the slow reawakening of her will to live, she began to listen to him. And more than that, to believe in him, discharging her concern that he might be acting as Vaudt's agent in order to catch her trying to escape him.

Their times together were necessarily short – Vaudt was usually just going to get something or using the facilities – but he packed a lot of information into a few words, and despite their brevity, Emmy learned a lot about Vaudt's brother.

Despite his older brother's great victories, it was Racide who had seen more of what remained of this world, having gone off exploring – against their dying father's wishes – while Vaudt had stayed behind to take care of their people. Because of those travels as a youth, he knew a place where Emily would be safe.

If she could get him to take her to the library, they could meet there. His mother wouldn't be exactly helpful – she wanted grandchildren – but she could see how miserable Emily had become and wanted to do what she could to help her.

She'd done it before – helped an Omega get away from a very bad situation – at great risk to her own life, knowing, as Racide did, that if Vaudt found out, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her – publically, and painfully, even if the female was someone he didn't know.

Yet the both of them were willing to help her, despite the incredible danger they'd be putting themselves in.

Of anything that had happened since she'd shut herself down, that reached her – touched her – the most – that two people who were, essentially, total strangers, would be willing to put their lives on the line to help her.

Perhaps this world was redeemable in some ways – or at least some of its inhabitants were, even if others weren't.

And so she began to allow herself to plan, to think, to feel again – if only in very specific ways. She still remained shut off to Vaudt, despite his ever-increasing attempts to shake her out of her depression. She noted that those attempts did not extend to not fucking her whenever he got the chance. In fact, he seemed to think that her state required even more intimacy. Not realizing that each time he raped her, each time he reduced her to howling beneath him in ecstasy, even each time he held her tenderly afterwards, he was driving her further and further away from him, making her want what Racide was offering just that much more.

Each time, when he finally stopped fondling her – however pseudo lovingly – and let her go back to sleep, she thanked whatever gods that were still around for having found those birth control pills.

Her mind was now occupied with scheming, preparing, and planning – with Racide as much as they were able – for the day when she was going to show Vaudt a carefully thought out sign that she might be on the road to recovery. And when that day came, she had to grip herself tightly so as not to appear nervous. It was imperative that he didn't think that what she was going to do was an act of deceit.

But Emmy knew that he desperately wanted her to return to the way she had been, and what she was going to do was prefaced on that fact. It was very subtle and quiet; there would be no fanfare. She wasn't about to try to show him that she was suddenly all better. She wasn't sure how much he knew about depression – she doubted that it was very much, but still. She wasn't going to take any chances. Emily was acutely aware that there were other lives at stake besides her own.

So, one afternoon, while he was sitting at the table planning and plotting his own things with Racide, and she was lying on the bed, as had become her habit, she very casually reached for the first book on the top of the pile of those that he'd brought to her from the stacks he had created at his mother's.

In fact, he had become so fervent about wanting to make her happy again, that nearly all of the ones she had selected had magically appeared in the room, although she had made no motion towards them whatsoever.

Until now.

She didn't try to be either loud or quiet in doing so. She simply took the book and flipped to the beginning – this one was Charlotte's Web, because she'd begun in the young adult's section that day – and began to read.

He had noticed. He'd always noticed everything about her, but he'd become even more attuned to her during this bout with depression. She knew that he had seen her reach for and begin to read the book. He had gone quiet – and so had his brother – and she knew they were exchanging meaningful – and probably triumphant – looks.

There would be no time to talk to his brother today, but that was okay.

Everything was – slowly – falling into place.

Hopefully, within the next month or so, if Racide could get everything arranged, she would leave this place – and Vaudt – for a shot at a better future.