Choosing Her Alpha

by Isoellen

  "What?" She struggled back into the clothing, missing her own. "Maura said..." She let the worlds trail off. "Mother strikes again. Thanks for looking at that. I'll have to see about getting another one." She sat down.

  He typed something into the data pad. "Tomorrow."

  Sasha was shaking her head, stupefied by his presumption at making such a personal appointment. "Thank you, but I'll—"

  Constantine made a sound, sharp and hard, like a bark. It was just a noise in his throat, but it was a strike through her whole body that made her muscles spasm in pain. Eyes wide, she looked at him, confused.

  His full, sensuous mouth was hard now with disapproval. His black brows lowered over dark eyes in reprimand.

  Her instinct was immediate, driven by breeder biology. She needed to soothe him. Please him. Sasha wasn't sure why he was angry, but her instinct didn't care a bit about explanations. A little purr came out of her throat, the same she used for unruly children and terrified drones.

  One eyebrow rose. His mouth softened. A little.

  He looked back down at the data pad, typing again. "Tomorrow." It was the final word they would have on the matter.

  He was an alpha. Alphas dominated.

  Setting the pad aside, he grabbed a wooden box off the desk and pulled a mass of gold chains from its depths. He spent a few moments untangling them before he singled one out. Next he retrieved a coin shape and slipped it on to the chain. He held it up to her.

  "Do not take this off."

  Without asking permission, he moved her braid over her shoulder and brought the chain to her neck. When his thick, clawed fingers brushed her skin, goosebumps rose, and she shivered.

  "Quit fidgeting, girl."

  Someone knocked twice.

  "Yes?" His voice behind her was so deep she felt the vibration of it in her chest.

  The door opened. A woman dressed in white stood there. She was tall and slim, in the well fitted, fine cloth of a knee length jacket, silky tunic, and leggings with boots. Her shoulder length, silver-blonde hair was styled like she did much more than run a comb through it, and her makeup was painted with care. The woman could have been a store display, she was so nicely put together.

  She looked wealthy and refined, but her eyes dropped to the floor in subservience to the alpha in the room. "Sir?"

  "Get Sasha here a private bed and whatever she needs to be comfortable, please, Terasa." He touched the back of Sasha's neck, a barely there stroke above the chain. "You, girl—go with Terasa. No trouble from you. No more sneaking into drone laundry rooms and past beta guards."

  "But—"

  He made that sound again, the one that reprimanded her questioning him and made her whole body tense.

  Terasa was all brisk business. "Come with me now, girl. We will find you a quiet place. Do you like to read? Photo shows? You need a bath as well. Hmm, maybe a spa treatment. Are you hungry?" She gently took Sasha's arm to lead her away, pulling her from her seat. "Your name is Sasha?"

  "Yes, ma'am." Terasa had a natural authority and confidence that made Sasha want to please her. Wondering at the cause, Sasha lifted her nose and tried to scent the other woman.

  Almost a foot taller than Sasha, her body was slim and feminine in every way. She gave off an aura of strength similar to Constantine, though much less severe. Despite her desirability, this was not some soft bed partner to be easily cowed.

  In the hall, with the intimidating warlord now shut up away behind the closed door, Terasa stopped to finger the coin hanging from the chain around Sasha's neck.

  "Hmm. He's claimed you, huh? What is your orientation? You smell like drone but look like a breeder child. Where's your registration?"

  With no regard for personal space, she reached for Sasha's left hand. When she saw no mark, just the raw, dried state of hands constantly used to do daily work, she made a tsking sound.

  "Look at these hands and nails. Like a farm drone's. Well, he didn't say he wanted you tonight, so there is plenty of time for all of that."

  "Wanted me tonight?" Sasha repeated cluelessly.

  "Follow me, Sasha girl. The others always love to give makeovers. Makes them feel useful."

  Chapter 7

  Sasha felt lost. Somewhere she had missed a part of the conversation. Had Constantine agreed to be her husband-mate, or were they going to form a consensual contract business agreement?

  Was he going to help her?

  He was the most controlling, domineering male Sasha had ever encountered. He made the hair on her arms stand up, tied her nerves in knots, and obliterated everything she thought she knew about herself.

  Just yesterday she had been a smart, resourceful survivor, planning an escape from not just a past of torment, but from a future filled with the promise of it. Today she was a weak crybaby who did as she was told because she couldn’t bear to defy the male doing the telling.

  She'd never had trouble defying Merrick. Sure, she avoided it when possible, but her whole body and brain didn't freeze at the idea of making him unhappy. Rather, it felt like victory.

  Sasha knew in her core that there would be no victory in making Kane unhappy. None at all.

  She touched the chain at her neck. It fit at the base of her throat. Until she had a mirror, she couldn't see what was on the coin thing.

  Terasa said he’d claimed her. What did that mean? He couldn't claim her; alphas did not claim a breeder. The breeder chose the alpha.

  How much of a mistake had she made in coming here?

  That man, he was something more, a complete unknown. Unpredictable. He shattered her ideas about normal alpha behavior.

  Kane’s warlord label might have more significance than just a vanity title bestowed by his underlings. He was a bigger male than her father or Merrick, stronger both physically and in force of will. His voice alone could compel weaker souls to do his bidding.

  Intimidation rolled off him in the musky spice of pheromones—reinforcing the compulsion to obey—sending drone, beta, alpha, and breeder scrambling. They dropped their eyes and offered their necks in submission.

  The bigger the alpha, the more dominant, the more intelligent. Kane was a top shelf apex predator. Where Merrick was lean and pretty, currying favor from those stronger than him, Kane was powerful of body and aura, seeking favor from no one.

  He popped the heads of liars with the casual ease of popping a forehead pimple.

  And this place. His home.

  Sasha's father used Maura's dilapidated storefront property to create a fully functional pub, distillery, and inn. Most of it had been constructed from salvage torn from the bones of abandoned buildings. When he bought new things, it had been equipment to make the alcohol.

  Sasha’s home had been wood, plastic, and metal sheets. Garbage. She always thought of it as this functional patchwork of her dad's determined resourcefulness. She was proud of her home and the living it provided, and when she offered it to Kane as a business arrangement, she knew she was offering something of value.

  After traveling the sectors, exposed to a new understanding of how they functioned, she saw her home in a new light. This place shined the light brighter still. As a slum lord, Kane must rival the king for wealth.

  This place was beautiful. It looked clean, smelled clean, and felt new. Nothing was recycled, reused, or resourced. Even the light fixtures looked new, and they all matched. She remembered suddenly how incredible she thought the laundry room and kitchens were, how impossibly functional the spaces used by lowly drones were. The whitewashed walls matched Terasa's outfit, untainted by lacy black spots of mold. Clear of cobwebs from biting midge spiders, every corner she saw was pristine. There were no holes or haphazard patches. The floors—some gray carpet, some hardwood—appeared as clean as a dinner plate. She couldn't imagine the wealth it had taken to put this establishment together.

  Terasa led her far from Kane's rooms and up a set of stone stairs that split two ways at the top to a short landing with double doors. On their way
, they passed an alpha dressed in black. His eyes flicked over Sasha and caught on her necklace.

  Introducing him as a guard, Terasa said, "Now girl, remember, he's not a servant. But if you feel like you're in trouble or the girls get into a catfight, you come right to him. Alright? Anything else, one of the servants in the big room can see to your needs."

  Dazedly, Sasha just nodded.

  Terasa guided her into a room drenched in color and tactile experiences. Sasha’s mouth dropped open in amazement as she took in the open space with all its feminine details. Gentle laughter from a woman on one of the couches alerted Sasha to what she must look like—big eyed and gaping – staring like she never imagined such a place could exist.

  And she hadn’t. How could she?

  Seated in rich splendor were five women, dressed head to foot in different jewel tones. They matched the room. Or rather, the room matched them. Beautiful, perfectly arranged.

  A giggle bubbled up inside her. Like a picture or advertisement, this place was far too nice for Sasha. The likes of her, a little brown thing with her dry hands and cracked fingernails, didn’t belong here. She knew there must be some mistake. In contrast to the soft layered rugs on the floor, up to the ceiling hung with embroidered floral panels and glass dew drops, and the prettied up women themselves; Sasha did not fit.

  Red and amber quilted couches and a platform lounger commanded the majority of space. Lining the walls were tents with peaked tops and draped sides. Terasa led her to a tent nearest a set of wall length picture windows. The windows were the room’s best feature, but also, the one that struck Sasha as the most wastefully extravagant. One rock thrown from the outside and they would shatter into a million pieces. Who could dare such a luxury?

  "Alright, here is your private sleeping space. I know it's just a fabric, but no one, and I mean no one, not even our alpha, will cross the threshold without your permission. It's one of the most sacred rules of this room. It's more than just rude to invade someone's space. The alpha will have you beaten for it."

  That sounded frightening and wonderful at the same time.

  "You need some new clothes. Do you have any belongings?"

  She had stashed her clothing in a ditch behind the laundry house, and Sasha could just imagine this perfect woman's face if she were asked to retrieve them.

  "My stuff is at home," she said. "He didn't say—"

  Taking after the warlord of this house, Terasa cut her off. "By the look of you, you'd probably like some new things. I'll take care of that in a bit, okay?"

  Her voice was kind, if condescending. She raised it and looked over Sasha's head to the jeweled ladies laid out like decorations.

  "Ladies, this is little Sasha. She needs a full make-over. Who is interested?"

  Like bread crusts thrown to trap seagulls for dinner, the five women who had been watching Sasha's entrance, descended in a flurry. One picked up her drone braid with a light tug.

  "Can't have this, and so dry," the woman declared. The rest started at the top of Sasha’s head and decided to work down, announcing every flaw as they came upon it.

  “You have a sweet face, dear, but these eyebrows!" the red-headed, emerald jewel said, like Sasha's eyebrows had engaged in immoral and degrading behavior.

  "And your poor lips! Are you thirsty, child? You're so chapped. Not only do you need a milk bath, but I think you need some milk." The black-haired jewel in red met Sasha's eyes and smiled.

  One pulled on the gray drone uniform as if it had been Sasha's attempt at a fashion statement.

  The brown-haired jewel wearing purple held up Sasha's left hand for all to see. "Oh, you poor dear. These root beds! Your fingers look absolutely painful. I'm sorry to say they will take more than one treatment, and your elbows as well. I agree—a milk bath, moisturizer, and a wax too. You are as hairy as a kitten."

  Sasha had no idea what was going on. Who were these women? They smelled like wildflowers… and Constantine Kane. These women were swathed in comfortable sensuality, the traditional wrapped style of dress clinging to their breasts and hips in a way that hinted at a lack of undergarments.

  She looked to Terasa for help, but couldn't see her through the circle of women. She was shorter and smaller than all of them.

  With gentle but insistent hands, they undressed her, pulling her shift up and off before she knew what was happening.

  When they spotted the mark on her breast, they expressed a unified gasp of outraged horror.

  "Who did that to you?" the raven-haired jewel asked. "Did your father order that? I have known some fucking evil alphas, but what kind of monster would do that to a baby knowing what would happen the rest of her life?"

  "That's so cruel," the sapphire jewel agreed. The other three gave sympathetic murmurs.

  "Oh my," one gasped, shocked and appalled. They'd seen the scars now on her back and across her thighs.

  The reminder of her past had her fists in tight balls. It was like Maura was suddenly in the room with them, spewing filth and telling her why she deserved those scars, laughing at her as the jewel’s tutted.

  Sasha breathed fast through her nose. She had nothing to be ashamed about, she reminded herself. These women could not embarrass her with their calls for moisturizer and gasps of half-felt empathy. They didn't know her. They didn't know where or what she came from, and they couldn't understand the woman who had done those horrible things to her.

  She lacked the beautiful, slim curves the four colorful betas claimed, she did not possess the generous softness of the red jewel, a woman who Sasha thought must have breeder genetics. She also may not have been clean and perfect, but she would not feel uncomfortable with things she could not change.

  Or so she told herself.

  The reality was that she was the current focus of more attention now than she had ever had in her entire life, and she was going to burst into tears (again) or scream bloody murder if they said just one more thing.

  The black-haired jewel saw her starting to crack. Maybe, being a breeder herself, she felt it. She pulled the others away from Sasha and apologized.

  "We're sorry, sweetie. We don't mean to scare you." Her words pushed like a whisper to her brain, encouraging Sasha to calm. "I'm Bella. I'm so sorry. Look at us, treating you the way we hate to be treated, taking your clothes off, getting into your space, not asking what you want.

  "It's been a boring week, I guess. We missed two outings because of some trouble in the city and have been stuck in this room for too long. That's not an excuse for getting all excited and crowding you."

  The young woman with light brown hair, wearing yellow and gold, made sounds of agreement and offered her hand. "I'm Ardrua. That was so rude, please forgive us."

  Sasha fluttered her hands in front of her body. "Can I have something to wear?" She didn't like the meek, childlike sound of her own voice.

  Three of the women dashed away to look for clothing, but a woman with dark brown hair wearing purple grabbed a blanket from the platform couch.

  "I'm Neena, sweetie. Don't be afraid of us. We mean you no harm. You will love our makeovers. Your skin will feel so delicious that you won't be able to stop touching yourself."

  Sasha pulled the blanket around herself and just blinked at her, feeling stupid. What had that woman just said?

  Bella laughed at the younger girl's expression. "Oh, so young and innocent. I am sure our warlord adores you already."

  Sasha didn't agree.

  Two years ago, Merrick had come into her life and plowed through every bit of innocence she had. She was still a virgin only because Merrick didn't want to run afoul of breeder law.

  But just because she'd never had sex and the idea of physical pleasure was still alien to her immature body didn't mean she was innocent. She knew how to endure. Survival sucked up innocence like a dry ground sucked up the rain. Yet all Sasha's past experiences weren't keeping her from feeling out of her depth.

  Looking at this room, at these women, pretty-dre
ssed jewels, she had the dawning realization that Constantine Kane had just added her to his harem.

  His harem.

  First a torture chamber. Then his big lap for lunch. Finally, his harem.

  Lovely.

  "Can we then?" Neena wanted to know.

  "Huh?"

  With a giggle, Ardrua finished for her, "Give you a makeover!"

  Uncertain, Sasha replied with a weak, "Yes?"

  Exchanging her blanket for a robe, they took her through a hidden panel in the wall, down two flights to a white tiled space that felt directly beneath the room they had just come from. It was a bath space, but one clearly designed to suit the needs of multiple women who would spend a lot of time here. A shower with so many pipes and shower heads it made Sasha think of the distillery room, a bath tub that stood on four clawed feet, and a second, sunken tub thing that was actually already filled with heated, swirling water—several sinks, and three toilets hidden behind white curtains created a room for washing that was out of a dream. Oh, how the drones at home would coo and sigh over this room.

  How much water did this one room in Kane's complex consume?

  Just hours from here in the industrial district, water was so scarce and expensive she could only reasonably take a shower once a week. The pub sold little clean bottles of it for the same price as a large bottle of lemon flavored gin.

  Now Sasha knew why. The women of Constantine Kane's harem used more water in one day than a whole township.

  Pulling Sasha to a reclining chair, the jewels gathered around her for her makeover. Each one of them took over a body part: her head, her arms and hands, her legs and feet. Settling on stools, they talked to her, asking questions one after another. Sasha was so overwhelmed that she just answered with vague humming noises.

  She closed her eyes as the chair tipped back. She needed to think. She needed to process.

  She needed to get away from this crazy place.