“More…”

Warm air moved over Brenya’s ear, the weight of thick limbs circling like a python squeezing its prey. “What do you need, dearest?”

She was not fully awake, and it took her a moment to recognize that she had been the first to speak. Blinking, she took in the room. Around where she was kept, curtains had been drawn, enclosing herself and her captor in shadows. Linen under her nose was wrinkled and heady with male scent and the acrid stink of her perspiration.

Everything was muddled, all Brenya held were fragments of memory, but sometimes she knew to be afraid. She was lying in his bed—these were his rooms where she had been forced to convalesce.

In her stupor over the last few days, more than once she’d tried to leave, stumbling drunkenly from bed as if she might find a door in the dark. Each time, muscled arms had swept her up, returning her to the cocoon of soft blankets and strong limbs.

The other half of the time her mind was so fogged she forgot to be afraid, forgot where she was. Everything converged into simple sensation. Sometimes the male exercised the power to make her feel very good. Other times, just his presence, the lightest brush of his touch was agony.

The air was so saturated, she could taste him in every breath, was so soaked in his sweat, she felt as if that aroma must have seasoned her down to her bones.

“Shhhhh, Brenya.” Sensation trickled down her spine, the Alpha crouching over her, running his tongue down each vertebrae. He kneaded the space between her shoulder blades, tugged gently at the roots of her hair. “Be still and peaceful.”

Teeth came to her earlobe, his great weight settling over her back. Something about the way he crushed her against the bed, every time he had done it, quieted fear. He took control. She emptied her mind because she had no other choice. Tranquility was enforced.

These short lapses of peace never lasted. Something would invade reason… his smell, the weight of his body. Brenya would find her head turned, her cheek to his neck. Sometimes in the fever, she relished the burn his skin inflicted on hers. Once she’d even found herself licking that muscled column much to his delight.

And then excruciating pain came.

It tore at her insides until she screamed.

Gods how she hated it, what he’d do to her when agony twisted her limbs. His weight would abate. She would be uncurled no matter how she fought him, and forced to lay upon her back. Each of her wrists would be shackled in a grip of iron, arms spread open while she raged.

His answer to her suffering was to watch her and make her watch him.

He would talk. More often than not, Brenya did not understand a word.

“It’s time to listen to me, mon chou.” When he spoke so coolly and she felt so horrid, she longed to claw out his eyes.

“Brenya, I’ll tie you to the bed if I must.”

She fought to be free, biting.

The Alpha barked, “Cease this unit 17C!”

Instantly, still as a corpse she lay, eyes staring straight ahead, anticipating orders.

“Open your legs for me.”

She didn’t, but relaxed the stranglehold keeping them together.

“Unit 17C, have I harmed you once since you woke in this bed?”

Staring at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, she said, “I am an engineering grunt. My assignment is outer Dome maintenance. I am late to my post.”

Sterner, he gave her a little shake. “Have I given you pain?”

There was a wave of unfamiliar feeling. All at once Brenya felt very sad, completely alone, and really needed to pee. She looked at the Alpha tormenting her and whined, “My arm hurts.”

A smile split that sculpted face. The tip of his tongue licked up her tears. “Poor darling, the dislocated joint will be uncomfortable for some time. But, did I cause that pain?”

“No.” He had caused the pain everywhere else. “I fell down the side of the Dome.”

Her wrists were joined above her head so he might hold them with just one hand. The tips of his free fingers moved from her brow, down the edge of her face, to hook and stroke from jaw to chin. “You woke asking for something. Tell me, mon chou, what you desire?”

It was the feeling, the weight of that part of him that was always engorged, always erect. The heftiness of his cock draped over her belly, the slide of him a little slippery from sweat and the tiny, scented drips that continued to fall from his fat crown, they were magnetic.

Her eyes automatically went to that swollen member. More fluid pulsed from its tip, pooling at her navel.

The man groaned when he followed her line of sight. Reaching between them, his finger collected the sticky glob. Her jaw was pinched until teeth parted, and between her lips that mess was smeared.

This was not the first time.

The very thought of what he was doing disgusted her, the way he forced it in, the way he made sure it was spread all over her tongue. But the taste, oh my gods, the taste had a power of its own. She sucked it from his fingers like a starving woman might lap honey straight from a buzzing hive.

Another of those cramps came, ushering after it a wave of warm fluid. Brenya released every last drop of what she had been struggling to retain. Slippery, the puddle grew, and her cramping stopped. Eyes burning in shame to have made another mess, she could never understand why the Alpha smiled each time she’d ruined the bed.

As if he could read her thoughts, he pulled his fingers from her lips and looked at what saturated the linen. His hand slipped over soggy sheets, cupping what he could catch, moving to her belly to rub it into soft skin. “This is beautiful to me, Brenya. Omegas are supposed to secrete slick for their Alphas. You honor me. There is no need to try and hold it in.”

Fully ashamed, she found her tongue. “What is slick?”

“Omegas create abundant lubrication to ease the entrance of an Alpha’s cock. You produce it now because you are sexually aroused.”

Sex…

She could feel the burn between her legs as if reliving the nightmare when he’d shoved that part of his body into hers. “Don’t do it again. Don’t, please. Oh Gods, pleeeease!” She could not stop herself, was practically groveling at the memory of the wall at her back, the terror. “I am sorry I looked at the flowers. I didn’t mean to break my helmet. I never observed the butterfly, it just landed there.”

“Hush, hush, hush…” His hand slithered between their bodies until the part of her that trembled and wept was touched. Cautiously, he pushed two digits inside. “We will suffer through this tainted estrous together, and until you have healed and are properly prepared, I swear I will not fuck you again. You have my word. What happened in Beta Sector, my loss of control, I will atone for it. I will deny myself release no matter the rut. Do not be afraid.”

Muscles clenched around his fingers, her mouth letting loose a low moan when he twisted deeper. “Why is no one stopping this?”

“Breathe, Brenya.” His tongue swept her mouth, slithered down her throat, between her breasts, all the way down to where he pressed her thighs apart. “You are safe, and I will never hurt you.”

And then it began all over again.

She squealed as his fingers toyed with the nerves inside her body, sobbed at the rough feel of his tongue moving through tender folds. The following screams were not inspired by pain.

No, those shrieks belonged to hysteria and the strange sense that she was going insane.

* * *

“You seem very satisfied with yourself, Jacques.” A man, another large Alpha bearing an impossibly deep voice, spoke from across the parlor.

The male stood far from where Brenya sat, his bulk leaning against the door. His hair was long, dark, and bound back into a queue—worn in the same fashion as all other Alpha males. One look at him had made her frown.

She recalled his cat-like features from the alley when Jacques had…

The dark-haired one had stood at a distance then too, watching while his host had fucked her senseless. He had watched, and he had done nothing. “I remember you.”

Head dipping once, the terms of their first meeting were acknowledged. “You look well.”

An upwelling of spite distorted her voice. “You didn’t help me. An Alpha’s duty is to protect Betas. That is your purpose in our population.”

The stranger across the room spoke calmly. “When you come to understand the importance of that moment, you will forgive me.”

Her brows fell. This new room, this parlor, was as bad as the bedroom. Her former barracks were infinitely superior. They were organized, for one. Everything had its place. Here there was just glittering stuff that served no purpose.

There was a cup of tea in her hand. Her nakedness was covered in soft clothing. No longer was she dirty, burrowed in sticky sheets, the weight of Jacques’s body holding her down in the dark. This room was bright, the surroundings rich, sunlight abundant. Under her feet was a rug so sumptuous, pressing bare toes to it felt unnatural. The chair she had been placed in was covered in silk damask, the texture of it slippery and cool. Brenya had never seen items like this in Beta Sector. Everything from the papered walls, to the opulent ornamentation, was alien.

She longed for the familiar grey of her jumpsuit. Uniforms made all equal. This strange, diverse clothing these peculiar people wore did not make sense.

At her side, that familiar vibration began, his purr growing louder until she took a deep breath and sank back into the chair.

Going back to his Alpha guest’s original question, Jacques, my captor, smiled, drinking me in. “And why should I not be pleased, Ancil? My mate is perfect.”

Mate…

That word was foreign to Brenya.

“Mon chou, say hello to my friends, Ancil, Bernard Dome’s Security Advisor, and his wife, Annette.”

Only very close intimates used given names. Even Jacques had never told her his name. She’d only heard others speak it. Names were personal these people were strangers. Her lips parted, protocol all Brenya had to rely on in this new, unsettling place. “I am Unit 17C of Palo Corps.”

The third, and least menacing guest, pouted. The petite blonde Beta woman Brenya vaguely remembered standing over her that first day had a sweet look to her, a delicacy brought out by her floral dress and round belly. “But your name, dear, is Brenya. What we were before is left behind when we are called by an Alpha.”

The Beta female’s explanation did not seem to please Jacques. His voice quiet, his intentions loud, he spoke, “Centrists do not use designations. You have been reassigned here, and will follow your Commodore’s directives. Now, introduce yourself properly to our guests.”

Annette’s kind suggestion, her reasons, had not shifted Brenya’s feelings on the topic. But as if Jacques understood how she was wired, how much she clung to procedure, his orders focused her thoughts. Face blank, voice robotic, she obeyed. “My name is Brenya Perin.”

Purring loudly, stern, he leaned closer. “And what are you?”

“An engineering grunt responsible for the exterior maintenance of Bernard Dome.”

“No.” Hardening his expression, the man lowered his chin and very slowly shook his shining head in the negative. Eating up every last ounce of her awareness, he growled, “You are an Omega, mon chou.”

She felt as if he’d put the words on her tongue. They were not hers, they tasted foreign, and she did not want to swallow them down. “I am an Omega.”

“Good girl.”

Those watching may have found such an offering sweet, but Brenya saw the predator in those glinting teeth. Right there in the gleam of Jacques’s eyes laid a promise her soul was his.

No one in this room questioned what he’d done, or how she’d come to be there. Not one of them seemed to care that she wanted out.

Jacques possessed more than total control.

When her eyes floated to Annette, the pregnant woman favored her with a kind smile and wink. “I’ve known Jacques since I was a little girl, and have never seen him dote on anyone… or heard him speak so gently.” Giggling, utterly impish, she added, “With the Commodore under your thumb, you could rule the world.”

Brenya didn’t know what the designation Commodore meant. She didn’t understand anything here.

“Annette.” The hissed reprimand had come from the dark-haired Alpha at her back. Ancil was not at all pleased with his wife. “Your wit is not appreciated. You will watch your tongue before the Commodore.”

Waving a hand and glancing over her shoulder to her husband, Annette disagreed. “He doesn’t mind. His mate is bored, that’s why we’re here. You men can blather to one another with politic speech in parliament. We’re at tea, and I would like to see Brenya smile.”

The man dressed like an ancient king, the one lounging as if he owned the world, found the couple’s exchange amusing. “Speak freely, Annette.”

Brenya ventured a question. “What is a Commodore?”

As if at a loss for words, Annette cocked her head, her blonde ringlets bouncing. The question seemed unfathomable to the wide-eyed lady. “My darling…”

Ancil spoke in Annette’s place. “The Commodore of Bernard Dome holds highest authority. He is your leader, your chief, your priest. Your mate, Jacques, was anointed with that title, just as his father before him held it, on and on down the Bernard bloodline since the Dome rescued our ancestors.”

Her priest? The gentle Beta god had no priests. All were a part of him, making all holy… except Brenya wasn’t Beta anymore. That made her godless and alone. Disconnected, she felt desolate. “My orders were always issued from Oversight. Oversight manages the Dome.”

Ancil nodded. “Oversight is controlled by Parliament. Parliament is ruled by our Commodore. In essence, your orders have always come from your mate.”

Brenya’s eyes dragged over the carpet to land on the shined shoes of the man they claimed ruled them all. No wonder no soul had tried to stop him when he’d stolen her from Beta Sector. Jacques owned her—though mate seemed the more elegant term.

The weight of this understanding shrank her shoulders. “Wives consent.”

“Yes,” Annette agreed. “There are petitions, negotiations, ceremonies, everything documented because Alphas and Betas cannot pair-bond. Legal protection for the weaker party must be considered. I envy you. Once you enjoy a true estrous, you and Jacques will become as one harmonious being.”

Jacques had repeatedly alluded to this thing, this great magic that was going to heal every wound he had inflicted. Brenya had a head for mathematics, for science, and had never been interested in religious babble or romantic fairy tales. The balm of a pair-bond seemed unlikely.

She looked at Jacques’s guests, Annette and the dark Ancil. The pair wore rings, he had sired her child, and their contract was public… so lineage could be traced if questioned. These things mattered to Centrists.

Betas rarely ventured into such a union. There was no need to. Children could be produced if one wished, partners could be chosen, and when the baby was weaned and given to Oversight to be educated, the cycle could start again. Offspring grew up well, tests conducted so the child could be placed to assure their happiness and society’s enrichment. The women from Brenya’s barracks were more family to her than the smiling male who spoke with gentle care and exuded total control.

She was uncomfortable with this concept of mate.

She was uncomfortable being stared at by these three strangers. “Why are all the Omegas gone? Why was I never taught about them?”

Annette’s eyes betrayed a tiny sliver of shame. “I could not say.”

Brenya’s face must have grown stormy, for Jacques briskly interrupted her mental analysis. “Share your thoughts, Brenya.”

“You must assume the potential that there are other Omegas living happily in Beta Sector. Probability would be on your side, but Oversight Alphas should leave them alone.” It bubbled from her stomach, a wave of strong negative emotion. Her eyes flashed. Lips tight, she met his stare as if for once she didn’t fear him. “I was happy, but… you are Commodore… all orders come from you.”

He could hear the blame in her voice, and offered a soft look. “Do you think I should be the only Alpha enriched by an Omega? Do you believe those other women should be denied what they truly are?”

Whatever had possessed Brenya dried up. Her anger waned. Again her voice was colorless. “I hope you don’t find any.”

“Drink your tea, mon chou. You are shivering.”

It was an order. Following orders felt natural. The cup went to her lips. She swallowed every scalding drop.

Annette radiated concern, looking at Brenya as if she were some strange thing. “How long is she going to be like this?”

Rolling indolently to brace against the armrest of his chair, Jacques grew beautiful and dangerous. “Sparks of temper are a good sign my Brenya is progressing. Soon enough personality will develop, and you will see the smile you were eager to encourage, Annette. It cannot be easy to relearn what one is.”

They began to discuss the Omega as if she were not there. “She is close to crying.”

“You misread the signs.” Jacques sounded genuinely forlorn. “Brenya is hungry, but cannot eat. She is thirsty, but cannot drink. Her metamorphosis has been uncomfortable.”

Brenya looked to the pregnant Beta woman, saw her offered smile, and muttered a hoarse, “I want to go home.”

For just a moment Annette’s smile wavered, then it grew stronger, her voice purposeful, “My darling, you are home. This is your home.” Her energetic eyes darted over the room, finding great beauty in every carefully selected item. “And what a grand home it is.”

“I want to return to Palo Corps… to my sisters.”

Jacques answered for her. “No. They are Beta, you are Omega. The error in your placement has been corrected.”

She was never going to be returned to her cot at the barracks—there was no place for her there, her skills were no longer needed—this he had told her every time she’d questioned.

“I know you don’t feel well right now, Brenya, but you need to eat something.” Annette braced her hands against her chair’s frame, struggling to raise her bulk from the seat. The man at her back, Brenya could see by the way her husband tensed that he wished to help her, but he would not dare step deeper into the room.

Ancil was being tolerated only so long as he remained by the door. Not that it stopped him from watching the Omega, or raising his nose to scent the air every so often.

Padding across that opulent carpet, Annette took a seat on the divan at Brenya’s side. Kindly, she offered her a plate of sweets, well-meaning in her caution. “You must shore up your strength to assure a speedy recovery.”

Jacques had claimed he would not force his cock back into her body until she was healed. That knowledge was the reason her stomach refused food. But she could not tell Annette such a thing.

Sex was not discussed openly in the Beta Sectors. Such lewd behavior was not encouraged. The girls Brenya knew did not talk of mates and pair-bonds. Those raised and educated together had been warned of imprudent breeding. She’d been an exemplary student. The few times she had consented to fornication, measures had been taken to prevent conception.

Brenya had no attraction for sex, found little interest in the actual act, and only performed the minimum she was expected to. All her interest laid in the pride of labor. Her life had been uncomplicated and even fulfilling.

She had been perfectly content.

Now, she missed the regimented structure of her days, did not understand these Centrists, or why life was so foreign here when all lived under the same Dome. Even their accent, it wasn’t hers.

Her speech was vulgar, unmusical in comparison. Amongst these people, it made her self-conscious to see how they cringed at the way she pronounced words.

They didn’t dress the same as she did, but were colorful, each person’s attire different. In Beta Sector there was specific pride in sameness; there was equality. Centrists, Brenya was learning, found such an idea laughable. And as their voices were honeyed, their food was rich. Every item on the plate Annette offered exuded aromas she’d never known. It looked like it all tasted awful.

Annette patted her hand again. “Eat, before silly Jacques orders you to do it.”

The pastry in hand, Brenya stared down at a piece of art. An actual plate made of bone china like the ones on display in the Dome’s Museum. Its scalloped, golden edges and hand painted symmetry had come from another era. That plate had belonged to someone before the virus cleansed the world and was a treasure of such value, resting it on her lap made her nervous.

What if she dropped it?

“You look pale.”

That impending voice, it made her jump. She had not heard him come closer. She’d been too distracted to see. Head flying up, their eyes met. Her lower lip trembled to find Jacques kneeling at her feet. His hand engulfed her shaking knee.

Brenya wanted to scoot back, to put distance between herself and the massive Alpha, but couldn’t. Just like the first time, she couldn’t move when under the power of his gaze.

Caught by the frankness of his expression, perplexed and hypnotized, she sat voiceless.

Jacques could tell the effect his nearness inspired, she knew he could.

Brenya was a mouse and he was the hawk, ready to tear her limb from limb.

He leaned closer, her terrorizer, and before she might claw and fight her way free, richness moved from him into her. That low rumble, the perfect steady vibration, came from his mass to saturate her every nerve. The Alpha’s purr switched her off, altered her physically, until her breath slowed and her shoulders sank from her ears.

His inquiries never struck her as meek. Each question demanded to be answered. “What has upset you?”

Dry lips parted and Brenya, as always, spoke the truth. “I’m afraid I’ll break the plate.”

The mournful reply amused the looming male. His eyes softened, his mouth curving up at one corner. “There are hundreds more. It is no matter.”

Brow drawing tight, she shook her head. Hundreds? She’d only ever seen twenty or so in the museum. Why would there be hundreds… so many that treasures could be treated as disposable?

Long fingers slipped up to gently pull the dish from Brenya’s grasp, drawing her attention back down to the beautiful china. Jacques’s purr grew deeper, the man raising a corner of pastry as if to feed her.

They had an audience, the guests taken with the scene that made the Omega acutely uncomfortable.

Annette relaxed, her hand resting on her pregnant belly, her smile wistful.

“Open your mouth, Brenya.” Jacques, green eyes alight, waited for his mate to part her lips. “You must eat.”

She obeyed, and something sweet hit her tongue. She chewed as she was expected to. She swallowed. Suddenly, she didn’t want to see Annette’s soft golden curls, she didn’t want to feel the intensity of the Alpha by the door, and she did not want to suffer the weight of Jacques’s stare.

Skin prickling, Brenya tried again to make things right, to explain why she should not be there. “Please… I didn’t mean to drink from the fountain. I was just so thirsty. Let me go home.”

“Mon chou,” Jacques wove an arm around her back while tapping another morsel against her lips, “this discomfort and confusion will pass. Once we are fully bonded, you will wonder why you were ever afraid.”

Seeking solace, her fingers sought the scar on her cheek, a reminder that she had fallen and smelled jasmine, that she’d served a greater purpose. “There are no other grunts who can deconstruct and repair ventilation as quickly as I can. I have a duty… a purpose. I must serve the Dome.”

He took her fingers from her face, brushing a kiss over the scar. “I am Commodore. By serving me, you serve the Dome.”

“It shouldn’t be this way, Jacques.” Annette looked at her childhood friend as if he’d done something very wrong. “Females should be happy to have been found by their mates—but she is terrified. If you bonded to her in this state, you would be forcing her—breaking our most sacred tenets.”

Before the absolute look of fury on Jacques face might translate into a scathing reply, Brenya sensed it. Ancil, the massive Alpha across the room, was afraid.

“Annette is passionate and often forgets to think before she speaks.” Ancil’s hand was out, fingers crooked to call his pregnant wife nearer his body. “I will handle her punishment for this infraction personally.”

So much anger twisted under the skin of the Commodore. He hunched as if the Omega had been threatened, his shoulders physically blocking her view of all others in the room.

For whatever reason, Annette was in grave trouble for what she had said.

Brenya could not allow that.

“Jacques.” It was the first she’d spoken his name.

Head swung around, his fury no longer rolling over his guests. Blazing eyes locked on Brenya’s, he cocked a brow, silently demanding she continue.

She thought of the only thing she might say to redirect his thinking. “You are Commodore, leader of Bernard Dome. All commands come from you. I have been reassigned to Central Sector to serve as Omega. I have been ordered to recover my health. I will eat as required, but I do not care for sweets.”

The way his expression softened through her ramblings, the way he cupped his hands to the side of her face, Brenya felt he was very much appeased.

“The workings of your mind intrigue me. As Commodore, I order you to tell me freely what you like and don’t like.”

“I like Beta Sector rations.”

Smirking, Jacques took her lips in a soft peck. “They are not healthy for an Omega. Sorry, mon chou, but you cannot have them.”

She had been taught that their food was carefully chosen for maximum nutritional value. “Why?”

Another kiss, this time at the tip of her nose. “We’ll discuss that later. For now, I will think of something you might like to eat. Do you trust me?”

She needed his attention to stay on her, not on how Annette cautiously crept nearer her husband. “I did not like the broth you brought me, and I have not liked a single thing on this plate. So, no, I don’t think you are suited to choose food I will enjoy. Everything here tastes terrible.”

The man chuckled, his eyes, those bizarre, verdant eyes danced. “I had a feeling you would be funny. Would you like to make a bet?”

“Betting is illegal, condemned by Oversight with penalties ranging from fines to imprisonment.”

He outright laughed, taken completely with her nonsense and blunt rejoinders. “Then we shall call it a game. The winner gets a prize.”

Brenya nodded, her cheeks slightly compressed by his hands. “Okay.”

“It has been over a week since you arrived, and your doctor ordered that I can no longer feed you what your body truly craves.” His fingertips swiped over her lips, alluding to the fluids he’d fed the Omega in bed—of how she had loved the taste. “My body’s offering would only encourage your system to cling to the last traces of estrous, and I hate to see you suffer. But, I will find something for you to enjoy.”

She felt her cheeks go red, and it took a great deal of willpower to not glance at Annette and Ancil to see if they understood what he’d said.

Fingers carded through her hair, around her ears, under her chin. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. What I shared with you was a healthy offering from an Alpha for his mate. You have been designed to need and enjoy it.”

This was not comfortable conversation for Brenya. “What is the game?”

There was something deep inside him, some drive to dominate always. Jacques growled in a way that made her stomach feel funny. “This is the game. I’m playing with you right now, and I am winning.”

She was out of her depth.

A small contemplative noise came from her throat, Brenya pouting as she considered. “I am taking Annette’s punishment?”

A large portion of Jacques delight vanished. His voice was much louder, so all might hear. “Only Annette can take her punishment.”

This was Brenya’s chance. She put her fingers on the Alpha’s face in mirror of his touch on her. Shock came to his features, as did distrust. “If the game is to say things that make the other person uncomfortable, I can play.” She patted his cheek, just as he had done to her, and whispered, “You dragged me down a ventilation duct, slammed me against a wall, put your hands around my throat. You… hurt me. Ancil watched. Annette saw the aftermath when I was brought here—you’d summoned her to witness. It has upset her because she is capable of compassion. You swore to me you would make amends. Punishing her for desiring to defend a single, confused Omega is in contradiction to your oath.”

“You,” Jacques’s hands delved into blonde hair. He took her nape, leaning over his prize so it was clear who was in charge, “own me.”

Clarity, Brenya had not felt mentally sharp since she’d fallen from the Dome, but in that moment she had it. The tension where he subtly pulled her hair, the scent of him… for just one instant, she liked it.

He had seen the change in her, for again, his eyes began to burn. “Mon chou, do you forgive me?”

Sobering from the lapse, Brenya asked. “Did I win the game?”

His mouth ever so slowly descended to hers, the way his lips played languorous. When it was done, when she’d held still without cringing, he sighed. “I’ll always let you win.”