Chapter 11

 

The commandant’s punishment produced the desired effects. Morgaine could not sit, nor could she comfortably lean against the glass cage she was once again locked inside. On display for the second time in as many days, she stood still as stone in the center of the enclosure exactly as they wanted her to.

When she was asked a question, she answered it. When foreign males picked up the clothing outside her cage to sniff, she pretended she didn’t see their reaction or the way many would reach down and adjust their growing erections.

“What is your name?”

“Morgaine.”

“Show me your breasts, Morgaine.”

Staring over their heads, the panels of her garment were pulled apart, taut nipples catching the fabric until fleshy orbs bounced free.

Unlike the day before, she didn’t wallow. In fact, she did not allow herself to feel anything. Almost robotic, she went through the motions, kept her eyes off them, and even forced smiles when told to—though her face always returned to neutral once she’d performed to their liking.

“Have you been trained in pleasuring an Alpha?”

“No. I am feral and have never been mounted. I have only seen matings via the screen in my room. The details were obscured.”

Alpha males were cycling through the data log at the base of her enclosure, one of them commenting aloud. “Corporal Esin holds the greatest stake. Do you see that, Regis? He won’t be of rank to take a mate for at least two years. Should his suit win, she will be made available for use in the pleasure quarters until he can legally claim her.”

Sergeant Uriel had never once mentioned such a thing to her.

Apathy dropped away, as did Morgaine’s stomach. “What?”

The males did not answer her, their conversation continuing between them. “The corporal will grow rich with her rental, and we can apply to share her company together. Look here, she has been cleared to service up to five males at a time… ten while in estrous. By the time she is under his pair-bond, he’ll have rank, status, money, and a well-trained Omega eager to please him. It’s brilliant, really.”

The soldier’s friend chuckled. “No wonder his case is so strongly petitioned. He must have financial backers impatient to take a cut of the profit.”

Any softness Morgaine might have felt after Esin’s tender care the previous night evaporated. She took a step toward the glass, and tapped her knuckles against the panel to get the males’ attention. “Great Alpha soldiers, can you please clarify?”

They ignored her, scrolling down the file and whistling at what they found.

Desperate for an explanation, she looked around, trying to make eye contact with any male. It was not her eyes they were staring at: breast, thigh, the width of her hips and taper of her waist. Her eyes were inconsequential.

She, Morgaine, was invisible. Only her body mattered.

Looking down at her hands, at her manicured nails, the temptation to set them to her flesh and tear grew overwhelming. If she could just make herself ugly, they might leave her alone.

…or they would heal her and chain her hands.

Frantically working the simple tie of her dress, she pulled the cloth away so all gathered might see her bared. “I want a mate, any mate. I do not wish to work in the pleasure quarters. Who can pay more than Esin? What do I have to do to please you?”

Finally, she had their attention. The male reading her file shook his head. “He was clever in structuring his bid. The sum here is great, more than I can afford. But, when it is my turn to visit you, I will pay the fee and treat you well.”

Her fanatic pitch grew, Morgaine’s palms banging loudly against the glass. “Is there anyone else who can pay more?”

Not one of them offered for her, even if several looked as if they wanted her more than anything in the world.

No wonder so many had been collecting outside her containment. No wonder they were interested in reading the file and scenting her clothing. Each of them would have a chance to know her intimately… for a fee.

For two whole years…

She had one chance to change her fate, throwing back her shoulders to announce, “I am feral, but I would be a good mate. I am industrious and hardworking.”

Someone behind her cracked a joke. “The marks across your ass would say differently.”

Breathless, flustered, Morgaine continued. “Never once was I punished in my settlement. I am loyal and loving. Do not Alphas want to be loved by an Omega? I… I know how to collect and store rare herbs. I can weave baskets, sew clothing. Three of my neighbors’ houses I helped build. I bred goats that made fine milk and cheese.”

They were starting to laugh at her ridiculous list of attributes, not one skill listed useful in their society.

Altering tactics, she said, “I can be the perfect servant. Is that what you want?”

“And you will be… in the pleasure quarters.”

Speechless, completely lost, Morgaine backed away. Glassy eyes went to the floor, to where her dress lay in a heap. Bending down to take it set the wounds on her back to burning at the stretch of skin. But she could not bear to remain naked and begging. Not before these horrible things.

She’d rather bear the pain of the cane over and over than submit to so many for so little. “Any who come to me in the pleasure quarters I will bite.”

That was the wrong thing to say, for immediately several pushed closer.

“I will scratch you, make you bleed.”

The bright-eyed male nearest the front licked his lips.

Locking eyes with him, she hissed, “I will hate you and cry the whole time. You and all Alphas disgust me.”

“Silence, feral, before you earn yourself more punishment than you can handle.”

One thing Morgaine was good at on this ship was digging her own grave. It seemed the perfect time to pick up the shovel. “I would rather be burned at the stake in front of everyone I loved, than feel the touch of a single one of you.”

Thoughts a riot of ugly things and evil outcomes, she became stone, ignoring their growled responses to her rudeness, refusing to answer questions. They grew bored of her, and over the hours, began to scatter.

Morgaine had done her reputation harm, but she did not care.

There was nothing in the world to care about.

Oblivious to her heart-pounding anxiety, Alphas ceased strolling, moving aside in automatic formation. They left her cage abandoned for the first time since she’d been locked inside that morning, and gave her a view of the massive gallery.

A vast room that, aside from the shuffle of footsteps, was a suddenly, eerily silent place.

Bracing, sure the commandant was coming to cast an unfavorable judgment upon her, Morgaine swallowed and took a deep breath.

Maybe they’d cut out her tongue, just as these men had done to her aunt years ago.

Maybe they would see her raped at last.

From the glitter of armor on the opposite end of the room, he had arrived, as had several high-ranked Alphas at his back. Stiffening her shoulders, she prepared to look her tormenter in the eye as he decided her next punishment.

But his attention was not on her. Instead he stood at the front of his men… waiting.

Squinting to see, Morgaine could hardly make out what they were doing across the vast space. Columns supporting the room’s high ceiling made spying difficult, as did the bright backlight of glowing metal at their backs, but something of great consequence made the air buzz with inevitability.

Every soldier in attendance had stepped into formation, as if banking a parade. All eyes cast toward the front of the room.

A secondary group entered. Alphas by the size of them, but not dressed in the vivid vermilion armor of the thousands waiting in their regimented lines.

Nor were these males trimmed and barbered. Long hair, some sported beards… and skin.

Bare chests, corded arms, some wore little more than strips of tanned leather around their hips.

Whoever the group was, they didn’t look a thing like any Alpha who had ever invaded her settlement. Their wild state, the fact they paraded before armored soldiers with no care for their menace made her nervous.

Even from a distance, she could sense their contempt for all they saw.

Not a word could be made out, but the commandant bowed, as did all those glittering with rank at his back. The new males did not return the gesture.

If the older Alpha was insulted by the lack of respect, he didn’t show it. He gestured for what must have been their leader to join him.

For reasons unknown, she broke out in a cold sweat, knowing that if they crossed the length of the gallery, they would walk past her.

These Alphas, the savagely dressed dark-haired behemoths, needed to stay far, far away.

No soul in the room was looking at her. She had been forgotten. But trapped in glass with nowhere to go, she felt the most exposed of her life.

The reason was those in formation near her. Yes, they were riveted on the scene, but not one of them looked gratified. In fact, the taste of air she had beyond the glass was animosity, bitterness… even a hint of fear.

Who were these men?

Formalities aside, these guests… if they were guests… were not welcome. Nor could they have been expected. They looked like raiders; scoffed and sneered at all they saw, brushing off the formality staged before them as the two groups converged.

Commandant and dark-haired savage leader both turned, walking down the center path that would lead past where she’d been caged. There was no conversation between them. That would require the practically naked male beside the old man to reply to anything that was being said.

It seemed he pointedly ignored the high-ranked escort, staring straight ahead and walking with purpose. Upon their approach, Morgaine found these men to be even stranger. Her initial assessment was right; they wore their hair almost as long as she wore hers. On many, scars were prominently displayed: slashes across bared chests, shiny star-shaped splatters of mended skin.

Though she’d never seen a wound of that sort healed, she had seen many of her neighbors die from blaster fire. She’d seen the way the skin around the wound flashed out like a bursting flower.

Warriors?

Was this some ritual? Is that why so much skin was exposed?

Were these elite soldiers?

Their features didn’t look like the other men. Cheekbones higher, brows harsh.

Foreign.

They looked rough, these men, rougher than their shined, vermilion armored counterparts. In comparison, they looked monstrous.

Sharp pain jarred her, Morgaine instinctively backing away until her welted and bruised back hit the glass. Her hiss went ignored, for the men were still too far down the gallery to hear her and those near seemed to have forgotten she existed.

The commandant was in conversation with a scowling, square-jawed male at the front of the cavalcade. Like the others, this one wore a weapon at his hip. It did not look like the blasters or knives of the Alphas Morgaine knew. In fact, she would not have thought it a weapon at all except that the commandant looked to it multiple times. When he did so, it was with the same disgust he had projected upon her the day before.

Under that disgust was concern.

It made Morgaine more nervous to see a man as hard and mean as he display veiled hesitation.

They were near enough now she could hear them speaking, but only one language Morgaine understood. With a low timbre and a scratchy grumble, the guest gave throaty responses an unseen male at his back translated.

This was a true foreigner.

Settlers told stories about alien peoples, about harsh cruelties that drove her kind to these new worlds. In the tales, the men described were just as coarse as those marching closer.

And closer, and closer.

Close enough now that several in his party had seen her, seen how she pulled her hair over her shoulders as if to hide behind it… how she only looked at them from the corner of her eye.

They stared as if confused by such a sight, grumbling between themselves in their rough language.

Worried she’d offended, that she had earned more than just another beating, Morgaine glanced to their leader and found him stopped dead in his tracks.

He was staring right at her, speaking quickly in a collection of growls and hisses.

Whatever the translation was, she couldn’t hear it over the beating of her heart in her ears.

The ferocity she’d leveled at the Alphas earlier had dried up, just like her mouth. It might as well have been full of sand.

Their eyes met.

The weighted stare of a demon held her in terrified thrall.

Morgaine forgot to breathe, to blink.

The foreign monster put a hand to the commandant’s chest when he tried to step between them and shoved him back. The old man sprawled, and heavy footfalls beat the ground, dark hair flying out behind the snarling Alpha as he charged her cage.

Others flew after him, trailing behind the male running full speed toward her cage. He reached the glass, gathered the dress she’d worn the day before, the one that had been left out to be pawed and sniffed by strangers. He held it to his nose, roared, and brought both fists to pound the clear barricade between them.

As he beat the glass, as cracks formed and the whole cage trembled, Morgaine screamed.

She screamed and screamed, backing away, curling up as if to hide no matter the welts or the pain.

If she could have made herself invisible, if she could have willed her soul away, she would have. Because the devil was roaring for it, and the cracks in the glass were growing.

Men fell upon him, men in vermilion armor and men in leather alike. It took an entire swarm to pull the bellowing beast away, even more to quell the growing rumble between the two groups. She saw him dragged from the room, saw the veins and muscles standing up in his neck, his snapping teeth, and the way his eyes were locked only on her.

What he shouted in his ugly tongue, whether they were curses or threats, Morgaine did not know. She’d pressed her hands over her ears, still screaming even as Sergeant Uriel entered to gather her up.

The mangled scents of the room hit her, the stink of furious musk, a cacophony of men, of sweat, of agitation, of fear… of hunger.

The instant she felt hands on her, she fought, biting and scratching just as she’d threatened the others. But one Alpha was much stronger than one traumatized Omega. The male ignored her thrashing, and rushed her away in the opposite direction.