Stolen, page 15
“We will speak on Thólos in a moment.” There was a twitch at the corner of Shepherd’s lips, the nearest thing the psychopath might ever offer to an arrogant smile. “But first, I would like to congratulate you on your upcoming pair-bond. Jules tells me you found a solitary Omega amidst your population and prefer her over those we’ve offered.”
Holding the eye of a male who’d dare condescend, Jacques offered a cold response. “The Omegas offered in trade are lovely. Lucia has already been bonded to my Security Advisor and is with child.”
The mention of a child after having admitted the loss of his own changed nothing in Shepherd’s demeanor. The male was unflappable. Jacques would remember that. He would remember to keep his own temper in check… especially when the Chancellor was testing how far he might exploit it.
“Trade, it would seem, suits both our cities. When are my orange trees to be prepared for delivery?”
“My master gardeners assure me in three weeks’ time the roots will be ready to be packaged for replanting. For your patience, every tree should bloom their first year in Greth.”
At last. The news seemed to soften the male filling up the wall. “If they bloom as you say, I will reward you with more Omegas in our spring.”
It was as Ambassador Havel had said. The only thing Shepherd was interested in was pleasing his mate. From Jacques’ perspective, it seemed the rest of the world could burn for all he cared. “The queen must enjoy oranges very much.”
Darkness once again descended upon the Alpha on the screen, a bone-chilling finality in all he said. “There are no orange trees in Greth Dome, Commodore. The trees she loved were in Thólos, and as your intel must suggest, I destroyed that city. The trees are all dead, the people rot. It is a graveyard.”
Cocking a brow, Jacques simpered, the upper hand finally his. “Ten trees for ten fertile Omegas? An offer beyond believing… unless it was never the trees you desired.”
“My mate will enjoy your trees, and that will please me. But, no.” Shepherd leaned closer as if ready to reach through the screen. “What I desire is… assurances. Therefore, Jules will tell you exactly how and why I destroyed Thólos. I want you to see what the Red Consumption really looks like. And I want you to know that I’m watching. Bernard Dome controls the satellite systems and all external Dome communications. Greth controls a fleet of ships—ships that even now circle the globe intercepting said communications.”
Violent eyes narrowed, Jacques unyielding. “Your point?”
“Let me be clear. Any aid, any ships, any further attempted communication with Thólos, and I will bring a nightmare of horrors down upon you.” Shepherd carelessly cracked his neck, his gaze steady upon the Commodore of Bernard Dome. “We men stand in a position to be comfortable allies. It would be unfortunate to miss an opportunity to work together to advance both our kingdoms over a misunderstanding.”
Jacques was accustomed to court maneuverings, to dodging the knife in the back—not facing open threat to the front. But, it was not in his nature to acquiesce. He was Commodore, and had not become so by embracing weakness. That is why he ruled and his older brother was dead. “I will hear all your Ambassador has to say, while simultaneously reminding you that your ships’ navigations will not function without my satellites. Your threats are impotent.”
The Chancellor was prepared for such a statement. “Should communications go down, Bernard Dome would be riddled with plague in a matter of hours. The Red Consumption kills quickly, and you have nowhere to run.”
The wall went dark.
With a snarl, Jacques turned on the silent Ambassador, gnashing his teeth as he demanded, “Explain!”
A shadowy smirk crossed Jules’ lips, the very first expression he’d made since arrival. “Gladly.”
Waking alone, Brenya found she’d overslept. A slight headache lingered as a reminder of the awful night before. Blinking tear-crusted eyes, she found it was more than her skull. Her body ached everywhere.
Jacques had been too rough with her over the couch. And his strange petting back in the room had not undone the damage.
But at least he had not made her… mate with him again. At least he had not turned her body against her and used the night hours to seek out her pleasure while taking everything he desired for his.
Jacques had done enough.
Sitting up in the bedding, Brenya looked at the white sea of soft things, a place he called her nest, and felt lonely beyond all measure.
He had not slept at her side; he had not woken her before he left. She should have felt some victory in the solitude, but after a lifetime with her Corps, Brenya was not accustomed to being alone.
It felt truly pathetic, but she brought up her knees and buried her face against them. Arms tight around her calves, trying to shut out the nest, the sunshine, and the memories, she cried.
Over the weeks in Jacques’ care, all other tears had been out of fear or pain. This was the first time Brenya Perin had ever cried because she was sad.
The motion of it, the jagged inhales and messy exhales… they were cathartic. Even soft wailing brought about its own sense of comfort until she was scrubbing her face with the heel of her hand beginning to calm.
She’d seen the look on Jacques’ face last night. She’d found him watching her in the dark.
This was it for her. Termination.
He’d said it himself. You are not the only Omega in Bernard Dome.
The weight of his family’s necklace was still fastened uncomfortably around her throat. It had to go. Fighting the clasp, she got the damn thing off, and left it lying on the sheets where it fell.
Whoever wore it next would fit this life better than she had. A real Omega, one who knew how to smile and what to say. One who would fawn over the Commodore, not shrink from him.
It was better that way, she supposed.
After a brief bath, the plainest clothing she could find was chosen. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, her hair, and walked out of Jacques Bernard’s rooms. The cadre of guards at the door silently followed behind like a shadow. No soul in those busy halls tried to stop her when she found an exterior door, and pushed it open to step into the palace courtyard.
It struck her the second sun hit her face—this was her first time outside beyond the breakfasts on Jacques’ terrace.
It might be the last.
She did not know when he would end her misery. It did not seem his way to waste time, and if that were the case, there was one person she wanted to say goodbye to.
But George was not in Central. And Brenya knew without a doubt that she would not be permitted in Beta Sector. He’d have to come to her.
COMstations dotted clean cobblestone streets. Rushing toward the nearest one, wondering why she had not thought to do this before, she knew a brief lightness of spirit.
“Unit 512XT.” All she had to do was speak his designation and the computers would handle the rest. Palms sweating, she held her breath, exhaling in a whoosh when a familiar face appeared on the screen. “George!”
The Beta was surprised, adjusting his glasses as if they were malfunctioning. “We were told you were grounded and reassigned to Central.”
Nodding, she grew breathless, grinning stupidly. “Yes. I’m in Central. Can you come here? Can you come now?”
The Beta replied immediately, “Affirmative, Unit 17C.”
“I lost my designation when he brought me here, George. I’m nothing but Brenya Perin now.”
It took him twenty minutes to travel the distance to Central’s gate, three minutes to clear through the line. When he stood before her, eyeing her odd clothing with confusion, Brenya threw her arms around him and clung as if he might save her again.
He couldn’t, she knew that.
But it felt good to hold a real friend.
20
It started with a video feed of panicked Thólos Enforcers locked behind contamination control. No detail was missed: blood streaming from eyes, noses, and mouths of all those scratching at the sealed door to get out. Screams. The begging to any Gods who might listen. Jacques watched the whole unedited thing the entire hour it took for thousands of people to die in agony before incineration protocol turned their bodies to dust.
“The Red Consumption spares no one.” Ambassador Jules changed the display to that of war torn streets. “Panic ensued, riots breaking out immediately. In less than a day, Shepherd had control of the city. We allowed his ‘martial law’. We allowed the rabid population to act as it would.” Images were rotating over the wall, horrific things all with the soundtrack of wails and shrieks. “The people of Thólos killed each other while we watched. The crowds cheered when their own Senators were hung. They thanked Shepherd for each new horror. What they did, they did to themselves.”
Like his father, and his father before him, Jacques had studied the effects of the Red Consumption and the Reformation Wars. He had seen ancient images of the virus in action, read medical reports, understood exactly the effect it had on a human body, but he had never seen anything like this. It was sobering, the cold creeping reality of so menacing a threat. “And your Chancellor who would be my ally has brought this to my Dome.”
Jules was quick to counter. “We have no interest in doing your people harm. But, it is imperative that you see this and that you understand why Thólos must be left to rot. Decadence at the cost of those who are weakest will always lead to revolution. You can only torment your people for so long before they rise up against you.”
“There is no tyranny in Bernard Dome. The population is controlled, passive, fulfilled, and thriving”—Jacques’ fury was held behind a stone cold gaze—“as you have seen for yourself.”
“Chemical constraint is an ingenious way of managing the baser human urges. Shepherd is very interested in this technique. I believe if you were to share your knowledge with him, he would be grateful. Prisons, as your forbearer knew, are ineffective.” Jules operated the massive COMscreen’s controls to offer more data, more images, more gore for the viewing of those poor souls collected in the room. “Your proletariat class is indeed thriving, workers completely unaware that they are laboring for Centrist luxuries. Central in itself is an interesting place… you have created your own snake pit, which does not concern us at all. Petty rivalries, grasps for power… such childishness will happen anywhere. We did not come here to emancipate your slave class or to punish your inept treatment of females.”
Jules had crossed a line; Jacques growing before him as he spat, “Females are protected and cherished here. Our laws are extensive!”
The Beta Ambassador did not flinch, but he did slide his gaze from the Commodore to his silent and seething Security Advisor in the corner. “I stand corrected.”
Ancil growled.
The insult would not stand. Not after the extortion and Shepherd’s rudeness. Jacques had his own threats to make. “I am tempted to have you and each of your Omegas immediately executed.”
It was Ancil who stepped forward. Ancil who smelled of fear and outright challenge. “What would the females have known? They are only women. Lucia should not be held accountable for this fool’s—”
Jules raised his hand, cutting off the alarmed Alpha to address the Commodore. “You may have us executed. Shepherd will not retaliate for such a response. I guarantee, were he in your position, he would have already ordered our deaths—they would have been public and they would have been painful. That is your choice, but I have been instructed to make certain you understand his only interest is in your potential actions concerning Thólos. What happens under Bernard Dome is none of his concern. What lessons you may take from what I’ve shown you are yours to decide. Could what happened in Thólos happen here? I don’t know. I don’t care. That would be your problem to solve.”
He had a great deal to consider and this was not the place for deliberation. Jacques spoke his ruling, “You are no longer allowed free rein of the palace or city, Ambassador Havel. You are to remain quarantined on your ship. You will not be granted clearance to leave until I have made my decision regarding your neck.”
Offering a bow, Jules accepted the terms. “As you say.”
Cutting a glance to Ancil, Jacques ordered, “Lucia is to be under house arrest. The remaining Omegas will remain in confinement.”
Ancil was not appeased. Not one bit. “She’s pregnant with my child, Jacques.”
Colder than ice, Jacques turned his back on his friend and moved toward the door. “You already have a son and heir.”
Brenya’s meeting with George had been short, the pair having little time to do more than sit on a retaining wall near the gate and speak quietly with one another—if they spoke at all. Comfortable silence was more soothing than answering questions, and George had never been the talkative type.
But she had given him one stern warning. “Do not do anything that might risk your reassignment.”
Confusion wrinkled the skin between George’s eyes. “Are you unfulfilled with your newest assignment?”
“There is no assignment. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Huffing out frustration in an attempt to quash the ache in her heart, Brenya added, “There is no new assignment no matter your skill set or service record. There is no mercy, George. That’s why I wanted to say goodbye today. I needed to thank you for everything. I could not have asked for a better tech. I know you’re the reason I wasn’t cut from the rigging.”
“I knew you would climb up. You always do.” He seemed oblivious to the praise. “It has been nice to confirm you are well. Now, I must report for duty.”
She could see it in his mannerisms, in the way he replied. She must have been just like him a few short weeks ago. Robotic. “Of course. Thank you for making time to visit me.”
“You smell very appealing at this moment.” George stood, adjusting his jumpsuit and offering a salute. “I would be interested in submitting a mating invoice, if you were amenable. I have leave for mental hygiene in three days.”
Brenya blinked. She could think of nothing to say beyond, “I will be unavailable. My apologies, Unit 512XT.”
The Beta turned to leave with no further formality. He turned to leave as if he had no idea what had transpired. How could he know? How could he know anything protected as he was with fulfilling work and chemical-laced beta rations that made a simple life meaningful.
Waiting until he cleared the line and was out of her sight forever, Brenya whispered, “Goodbye, George. Thank you for being my friend.”
One of the massive Alpha guards shadowing Brenya interrupted her reverie. “You are drawing undo attention and should return to the palace now. We have orders to limit your exposure to crowds.”
Glassy-eyed, Brenya brought her head up. There were strangers, mostly male, edging closer and sniffing. More than one had an obvious erection.
George had not meant to make her feel unclean with his request to mate, but it had been a reminder of why Jacques kept her as his pet. Omegas only had one purpose: an Alpha’s pleasure. Finding utter strangers eyeing her, knowing what they wanted, how they would use her, made the inevitable end of the day more bearable.
Who would want to live like this?
How did those pretty butterflies from Greth tolerate it? Maybe it had been different for Omegas in their Dome. If so, those poor women were set to be disappointed.
Maybe they liked the attention.
Brenya would rather not have strangers staring at her, their eyes looking at her chest and gawking at the hidden slit between her legs.
If one of them growled, she’d vomit.
The guard was right; she did not belong there. There was no single place in Bernard Dome she fit.
Marching in the opposite direction of the gate, Brenya found her guards decisively handled those who would follow… though one male required restraint. Beginning to understand why Jacques had ordered so many to watch her, she kept moving, walking aimlessly as fast as she could as if she might leave everything behind.
She had no idea where she was going, hardly cared so long as she was in the sun and free of Jacques’ pretty things and soft bed. Someone else would be in that nest soon, so there was no use in feeling any sense of loss.
There was no reason to be melancholy.
She’d seen her friend. She’d gone outside. She should not be feeling tears fall down her cheeks.
Except she was.
She was softly crying, wandering a segment of the city she did not know at all, with absolutely no place to go.
Why did it have to be such a beautiful day? Had she been making the descent, her bio-suit would have been heated by sunshine, there would have been a light breeze rocking her in the rigging. It would have been heaven.
With her heart so low, the weather should have been dreary, rain slapping against the side of the Dome to blur the view of the distant ruins outside.
For a moment she was furious with George for breaking protocol all those weeks ago. Had they cut her from the rigging, she would have died without ever knowing this place, Bernard secrets… what she was. She could have died with honor to be remembered by Palo Corps, not grounded in shame, waiting to be terminated for failure to adequately serve the Commodore’s physical needs.
You are not the only Omega in Bernard Dome.
Someone else would soon know what he tasted like… he might even be with one of them now. Someone else would be blasted to pieces when the little death came to cull its price. Someone else would tangle their hands in his soft hair and see him smile.
Someone else would be called mon chou.
Jacques’ words last night had cut her deeper than he’d ever know.
Someone else would be hurt by him.
And Brenya could do nothing… because she would be dead. Annette would never coach another Omega on how to please the Commodore, because she would be a cog enslaved to raising a brood of children she had desired for herself.
