by Addison Cain
Hand to Caspian’s chest, she shifted back far enough to say what needed to be said before she made herself less than nothing.
You threw me out into the mud.
Unshakable, a liar through and through, Toby pressed his way nearer. “She says she never wanted to leave.”
Wren threw the grinning Toby a sullen glare, the Third subtly shook his head where Caspian might not see.
She tried again. You took my boys from me.
“The money isn’t for her. It’s for the kids,” Toby said, twisting her words to fit a very different narrative.
Wren shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. God, her fingers hurt and it was growing hard to sign.
Why was she even wasting the effort at this point? He said he’d give her what she wanted.
After a stuttering huff, Wren got down to the heart of her real fear. You, Toby, and Kieran made me whore.
That particular phrase Toby seemed to have trouble translating.
I don’t want to do that anymore. I kept our bargain. I did unspeakable things. Now you keep yours and you pay me what you owe.
Mud brown eyes held hers. “Why is she crying? What is she saying?”
With a pained look twitching over his face, Toby pushed his way close enough to stop her fingers. His hold unyielding, she struggled, Wren releasing a defeated whimper, as she shook her head no.
Anger growing before the word burst from his mouth, Caspian snarled. “No?”
“She says,” a look of outright sedition on his face, Toby offered, “she hated sharing you with the pen.”
There was no way to counter these lies, even if they were bursting with half-truths, leaving Wren to wilt when Caspian forcibly pulled her to his chest and set his nose to her hair.
No comment was made one way or the other. Caspian offered no assurance.
He just forced up her chin and laid a brutal kiss to her lips.
Toby at her back, cutting off any chance to push away and escape, Caspian grinding a boil-hot erection to her front, Wren was caught.
The First devoured, pawed, starved groans rushing from his mouth to fill hers.
“Please,” Toby whispered at her ear, fighting her filthy clothing to expose bare skin. “Please, sunshine.”
It was he, the obsessed Third who found his way into her pants first. His fingers that brushed her clit.
Bucking to escape, to seek more, Wren let out a moan that set Caspian roaring.
In tandem they tore away the remainder of her filthy things, no care for who saw, until Wren was bare before anyone who might dare look to their masters’ terrace.
Both growled, but she was too thirsty to produce more than a single gush of slick. Both licked and lavished.
But it was Caspian who spun her about, who bent her in half over his table and shoved his cock balls deep before she might fully spread.
That one manic thrust, and Caspian’s knot burst forward to trap her kicking and heaving over his papers.
Back arched, Wren keened, unsure how she got there or why it felt like her insides were on the verge of explosion.
A forced orgasm drew a raw scream that echoed despite the rushing water and slaves laboring below.
Alpha cum flooded her belly, churning with the rolling rock of male hips grinding forcefully against her buttocks.
Jerking and gasping every few minutes, Caspian peppered the back of her neck with lingering kisses. It seemed more than once he tried to speak; only choked gibberish met her ears.
And all the while Toby crouched next to her and held her eyes.
The lying maniac said it, as if it made this all okay. As if he’d make it up to her. “I love you.”
Pinned for ages, cunt quivering, grasping and sucking Caspian deeper each time his still hard cock spurt a fresh batch of seed, Wren saw him arrive.
Kieran, eyes sunken and face drawn, had made his way down to join his brothers.
Green eyes running over her pinned form, he looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
And indeed there was a ghost standing beside him—a pale female with long, white hair. A female who held Kieran’s hand and glared with disgust at the filthy Omega speared on the table.
A near carbon copy of Wren.
“I thought I was your new little girl.”
Wren’s story is far from over! Wren’s Song book 4 coming soon!
Thank you for reading WREN’S SONG VOLUME ONE. I hope you loved Wren and the Alphas who’ve claimed her! Your thoughts mean the world to me. Please review and share them.
Craving more Omegaverse? The #1 Bestselling THE GOLDEN LINE is a dark, sinister Omegaverse Romance for those with twisted tastes and a love for delicious villains. Complete power exchange dominates these pages, as does an attentive Alpha hero you will adore. This is a standalone novel set in a new universe full of intrigue and lust.
They call me brutal. They call me unrepentant. They call me possessive. I am all these things and much worse.
But to her, I will be conqueror.
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Carnal, filthy, and unbelievably satisfying. My bestselling Omegaverse Dark Romance awaits those daring enough to take a taste.
The Golden Line — They call me brutal. They call me unrepentant. They call me possessive. I am all these things and much worse. But to her, I will be conqueror.
Obsession and the most twisted true love, fill the smoldering page-turners of the Irdesi Empire Series. Irdesi Empire Series, a Reverse Harem Dark Romance.
Sigil — He will have her. Even if he must crush empires. Even if he must harm her for her own good. Even if he must share her with his brothers. Sigil will be his.
Sovereign — Sovereign tends his reluctant consort. His many Brothers lavish her with attention, each exercising their own brand of seduction to woo their species’ only female.
The twisted love of Shepherd for his stolen Claire. Omegaverse Dark Romance at its most gut-wrenching!
Born to be Bound — Violent, calculating, and incapable of remorse, Shepherd demands his new mate's adoration. Her attention. Her body.
Born to be Broken — He doesn’t know how to love his captive Omega. But Shepherd is determined to learn.
Reborn — the nature of their pair-bond has consumed Claire to the point that she has difficulty differentiating where her feelings begin and Shepherd’s machinations end.
Stolen — He took her with violence while none intervened. He broke her, swearing he’d put her back together.
If your tastes run to brooding alpha males, my hit dark romance, this Regence Dark Romance will scratch your itch.
Dark Side of the Sun — Greedy, cunning, cruel, Gregory claims to love her, offers to kill for her… but lies come easily to his tongue.
Taboo horror that will worm its way into your darker thoughts and keep you up all night? Whatever you do, don’t follow the white rabbit!
The White Queen — The devil owes the Hatter a favor… and he knows just what he wants for his prize.
Love good, old fashioned desire? Take a turn with this prohibition era romance,
A Taste of Shine — Something isn’t right about the new girl in town. Charlotte Elliot swears, she drinks, and she’s trying too damn hard to fit in with the simple folk.
A Shot in the Dark — Matthew is determined to find his run-away sweetheart. And then he’s going to marry her.
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Now, please enjoy an extended excerpt of THE GOLDEN LINE…
THE GOLDEN LINE
The bizarre toilet, the deep, gilded tub—both items of such a personal nature were exposed to the room.
No screen, no curtain… they were just there out in the open.
Sergeant Uriel had warned her, presented two clear commands, and then he had taken his purr and his presence
away. Curled in on herself, she had not even seen where he’d gone.
Having slid from the chair the moment the weight of his hand had left her back, she’d crouched down on the floor, trying to make herself as small as possible.
Lessons.
Her mind would break if another lesson had to be endured.
That poor Omega. From what Morgaine had seen, the girl had done no evil. Evil had been done to her.
Why? Why would her townsfolk commit such a heinous act?
The questions came out unbidden, muttered brokenly to the air the same way Morgaine had prayed to the spirits. And just like when she prayed to the spirits, no answer came.
The only response she received was the room growing colder.
Skin prickling no matter how she ran her hands up and down her arms, she began to shiver, and would have given anything for a blanket.
Naked, utterly exposed to an empty room, feeling the cold seep into her bones… was messing with her head.
She let out a frustrated breath and saw fog hang in the air before her eyes. Seeing the mist dissipate, knowing the room had been made cold on purpose, pushed her over the edge.
“Help!” There was no door in the room to bang upon, the frantic Omega scrambling off the floor in search of a way out. All the walls were smooth, unchanging, and icy to the touch. “Please, anyone. HELP ME! I need to get back to my mother!”
She banged on the reflective surface, she begged.
Silence.
Growing colder by the second, her teeth began to chatter. Arms tight around her middle, she understood there were only two options: the odd sunken bed full of smelly bits of fur, or the exposed tub that had miraculously begun filling itself.
Twirling steam rose from the surface, beckoning her to step into the heated water and find comfort.
Eat, the Alpha had ordered. Then bathe, he had said.
Do these things or suffer another lesson.
Crying in earnest, her attention went to the table.
Legs heavy enough to be weighted with sand, carried her to it. Her naked rear set upon an embroidered cushion. It was a pretty chair, one that could have been stolen from one of the finer houses in her settlement. Morgaine would have preferred the polished wooden seats that her mother had provided in their simple cottage—just as she would have preferred the smell of fresh baked bread to the rich dishes lain out before her.
The tears had dried up as she looked over the spread, or maybe they had frozen on her cheeks. Even the panic seemed to have grown ice cold.
Numb, inside and out, she made herself reach out for the nearest piece of food. A bite of sweet sliced fruit hit her tongue, but all she could think of was blood and parts of a man that had drawn that blood.
Ugly parts.
Parts that she’d witnessed just moments ago spurting grotesque fluid on the face of that dead girl.
Morgaine threw up every bite.
Less concerned about her body’s rejection of the food, and more concerned about looming punishment, she forced her head up and looked around like a spooked animal for the predator she knew was hiding in the shadows.
Except this room had no shadows. That odd glowing light came from everywhere and illuminated everything.
Certain she would be punished for the mess she’d made, Morgaine gave up. It was as if something else controlled her limbs, some sort of self-preservation forcing her to act. She stood, took a beleaguered step forward, and then another one.
The toilet was there.
First she vomited into it. Then, glassy eyed, she’d sat on the rim and tried to pee.
She couldn’t squeeze out a drop.
The lights dimmed.
Urine splattered inside the bowl, as if a silent voice had commanded and her body had obeyed.
She staggered from her throne to the steaming tub.
Like the cushion and fur-filled sleeping pit, the tub was sunken into the ground and ornately decorated. An array of blue tiles, the patterns of flowers vining through the mosaic, warm soothing water...
Morgaine knew it was a lie.
Not one thing in this room had offered comfort in any measure: not the bed, not the food, not the strange toilet or this steaming pool.
The water began to swirl and offer up frothy bubbles.
Too cold to be properly startled, her only reaction was the insignificant widening of her eyes.
Rooms were supposed to have doors.
Tubs should not fill themselves.
Walls should not show horrors.
Was this hell?
Is this what she’d brought upon herself for lying to the village?
As if the room could read her thoughts, the very wall that had terrified her only moments before transformed in a rippling blur. In place of rape and murder, Morgaine was given a window. From corner to corner, the space displayed verdant forest. Even the air grew warmed by a soft wind and the chirp of birds.
Technology of this sort this did not exist in her settlement.
Wise enough to know there were no birds singing, no tree branches bending to soft breezes, she frowned at the view. It was nothing compared to forests, to real trees. The image, in its entirety, was an insult.
Gorge yourself on food most likely stolen from your settlement. Bathe, hair uncovered, like a whore.
Or watch more horrors…
There was no question.
Lowering her body into the steaming water, Morgaine kept her eye on that false view of the forest. She sank like a stone until the water hit her chin.
The heat stung limbs that had grown ice cold. It hurt.
She wanted it to hurt.
The tub whirled, streams of steam mixing with soap until more bubbles covered the surface.
The scent was not to her taste. The instant she wrinkled her nose, she would have sworn it altered. What had been roses became herbal... tolerable.
Nausea slowly subsided. Extreme exhaustion took its place.
Drawing a deep breath, she let her head slip beneath the water, listening to the churn and slosh until her lungs began to burn. She wanted to stay like that, in her own underwater world until her heart stopped.
But the tub began to drain on its own.
Her momentary sanctuary was stolen away.
Dripping wet, she sat in the empty bath and hung her head in her hands.
She recognized that the tub wasn’t for comfort. It might be pretty, it might have smelled pleasant, but its purpose was for her to listen and obey.
To be clean because Sergeant Uriel had ordered it.
To be trapped within flower mosaic tiles because there was no towel and nowhere to hide.
She had not been able to get out, but he had found a way in. She’d heard the bootsteps, could smell who’d come to invade and stand in triumph over her.
Morgaine did not give him the honor of lifting her head or even addressing his presence.
The intruder began to purr.
Still, she refused to raise her neck and meet his eye. What was the point? “Is this what you had in mind when you claimed you knew what would make me feel better? Leaving me naked, wet, shamed, and frightened? Whatever punishment your people have decided I have coming, just get it over with.”
An unwelcome hand came to rest on the top of her head. Voice just as gruff as she remembered from her cottage, said, “That is not an appropriate way to address an Alpha.”
Disgusted that he would touch her, Morgaine squeezed her eyes shut. “Uriel? Was that his name, the one managing my transition?”
He corrected, “Sergeant Uriel.”
Digging the heels of her palms against her lids, she pressed until she saw stars, and said, “Sergeant Uriel said only you could tell me what became of my mother.”
“Look at me.”
It was a gentle command, one Morgaine supposed was intended to entice. But that was not why she raised her head. She did it because her heart was breaking, and she needed to know her mother lived.
The man w
ho had fondled her breasts in her home, who had threatened the person she loved most, who had dragged her away as if he had the right, smiled.
Unlike Sergeant Uriel, he no longer wore the vermilion armor. He was dressed in knit fabric that stretched across his chest yet left his arms bare. Loose pants hung from his waist, held up with what looked to be no more than a drawstring. Casual.
At her attention, the soldier tried to soften the harshness of his craggy voice with gentle speech. “My name is Corporal Esin.”
There was only one name that mattered in this moment. “My mother’s name is Elizabeta. Your friend held her by the neck when you threatened to burn her alive. And then… I couldn’t see what was done to her.”
He stroked her head, seemingly distracted by the way her curls hung limp while weighted with water.
Wary, angry, scared, Morgaine whispered, “Please tell me she’s okay.”
Brown eyes met hers. Clear and concise he answered, “Her face was branded for treason.”
It was like a knife in the heart. Throwing off the hand that played with her hair, daring to raise an expression full of hate toward the very soldier who had stolen her from her house, Morgaine spat on the man kneeling at the edge of the tub.
Indifferent, Corporal Esin wiped her spittle from his cheek. “It was the most lenient punishment I could offer. Considering the offense, she should have been executed… not paid as handsomely as she was for the trouble. Be glad she still lives and has a fortune to see to her comfort.”
Blood boiling, Morgaine drew up and hissed, “If I ever find a way to brand your face in exchange for what you’ve done, I will do it. Better yet, I’d rather see you dead.”
Her threat made his smile fade, and the Alpha’s expression grew dark. “If you continue to speak this way, I will be forced to act, and you will not like the outcome.”