Born Captive: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance
Broken Angel Book 1
Penelope Woods
Broken Angel
Three dangerously obsessive alphas will stop at nothing to claim their prized possession: Me.
After the fall of the Old Republic, the world succumbed to chaos. Some men lost the ability to procreate. But the alphas used the opportunity to rule. I was taken and held as his captive, the most brutal bounty hunter and slave trader in the western region.
Cassian: My creator, my captor, the devil incarnate…
His men brought me to an offshore facility. They hooked me to his machines, forced me to obey their every twisted desire. Granted a life of darkness, I still believed there was a new hope waiting around the corner.
I fell into his praises as any captive might, but I was wrong to trust so blindly. So f*cking wrong…
There are others out there: three alphas who vow to avenge my capture. They are the only devils that can stitch an angel’s wings back together. And when all is said and done, I will give them every inch of me.
I’m weak. I’m broken. But night after night, I pray for them to come for me. In a tyrant’s world, honesty and love are two things that go a long way. But three obsessive alphas go a hell of a lot further.
*Born Captive is Book One of the Broken Angel series. Welcome to Penelope Wood’s dark and twisted world where Reverse Harem romance meets science fiction dystopia. There is absolutely no cheating, and the final book will include a HEA that will leave you completely satisfied. This full length novel contains triggering elements. If you are easily offended, don’t say I didn’t warn you.*
Dedicated to my mother.
Penelope’s Dungeon
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Contents
Penelope’s Dungeon
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
15. Part Two
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
About the Author
Introduction
My joy is of your doing, my hangover of your thorn; whatever side you turn your face, I turn mine, by your soul.
-Rumi
O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
-William Blake, 1794
Prologue
Running, running, running. Breath down your neck. Arch of cartilage and huffing nostrils traced the curves of her tantalizing flesh and perfectly youthful frame. His fingers writhed like the bodies of scurrying roaches, leaving a trail of viscosity behind, his precum practically dripping from his fingertips.
“Consume you,” he whispered.
Him. The most horrible human on this godforsaken planet…
Run. Just fucking run.
It should be easy, right? It’s just one foot in front of the other. A few quick movements, and the body should do the rest of the work.
Only, it feels like you are trapped in quicksand. No, the air is made of thick humidity, so thick that you can’t even breathe. Yes, you wake inside a cocoon of concentrated webbing. Pictures flash against your eyes, forcing you to watch as he towers over you. And you still feel his fingers, searching every orifice.
Emotionless. Inhabited. Inhuman.
Now, you remember the horrors of what he did. He made you, turned you into one of them. He took your blank memories and filled them with his own. He is your tormenter, the man who longed to destroy the world.
His tongue lowered like a wicked drawbridge of saliva and chunks of red meat. Foam fizzes against his ruined lips, fangs flashing like daggers. She was his, taken and controlled, systematically mistrusted.
His cock extracted from the dark hooded mass of foreskin. Wet, slimy lubricant glowed with the light of flames. Where was she? Why couldn’t she move?
Was this all a dream?
“Slide open for me, darling.”
The twisting of his tongue against the curve of her neck caused her jaw to drop with repulsion. In an attempt to force away, she twisted her mouth to bite him. She gasped for air, but his musky, fatherly scent seemed to be everywhere, choking her.
“No,” she whispered.
“Mm… tight hole. Ripe for stretching.”
Wrists bound, body paralyzed with fear. His cock parted her lips, teasing her open with light thrusts. “I will go easy on you,” he grunted.
“No…”
The wretched beast paused and sniffed against her neck. “Virgin slut,” he moaned, stepping back.
Hot tears flowed from her strained eyes. She didn’t understand. How did she get here? “W-w-who are you?” she whispered through chattering teeth.
“I’m the devil,” he sneered. “And you? You’re my precious little girl.”
Chapter One
“When he knots into your ovaries, let’s hope his cock can breed you. It can be quite painful for the woman, at first, but no one ever talks about a sterile man’s discomfort. There are more betas than alphas, more betas than omegas. Too many humans have developed a chromosome deficiency,” the specialist said.
Deficiency…
“Omegas are special, but alphas are the planters of the seed. Dear, I know it may be difficult to process all of what has happened to you, but you are going to change the world for everyone. You are the cornerstone to true change. Someday, everyone will be able to have children again,” the man added.
Wren tried to move, but as she opened her eyes, the hell that was her life came rushing back to her in vivid, sharp fragments. Now alert and frantic, she scanned the room, pulling back against the cuffed wrists.
Most days, she sat in a small room, adequately designed for a young woman, and more comfortable than living in a hut somewhere. Today was monthly inspection to make sure her mechanisms were working correctly.
Lying against the cold, rigid table, Wren’s back bowed forward, nerves on fire. With the doctor’s prod pressed against her labia, she extended her neck and swallowed.
The first thing she thought to ask for was her medication. The needles that brought her painless sleep were a girl’s only friends. Still, she held strong, despite her sickening cravings. After years of practice, she knew the exact threshold it took to get her hooked, and she needed to start getting serious. She was as fertile as ever, and her mate would come to find her when the time was right.
The last thing in the world Wren wanted was for her captor to abuse her before the breeding process.
The doctor, a frighteningly thin man in his late forties, swiveled his head back to check the reading on the machines. Her eyes followed his,
widening as a sequenced set of tones reverberated around him. As soon as he saw the data, he groaned in approval.
Wren was aware of the thin cotton dress that hung against her thigh, but with her wrists bound, there was no way she could force it to cover her most sensitive areas.
Not to make a fuss—this procedure was just a routine exercise for a slave omega, but she really hated the idea of more prodding.
Wren looked up and beyond the doctor. She hated this place, too. The floors were almost always damp with mold, and the metal of the facility was covered with rust. It was unnatural. She liked being at home, where she could go over her plans. Yes, there were so many plans for when she escaped.
If she ever escaped…
“It will just be a cold pinch, and a—”
Deeply inhaling, the doctor thrust the metal rod upward. Though Wren braced for it, the sharp prodding left her broken on the table.
The doctor raised his eyes, deeply circling the ovulation reader into her guts. “As you may be aware, the birthing trials have yet to be… successful.”
“I’ve heard the crying, yes,” Wren said, eyes glazing over with tears.
She’d thought she had gotten used to the painful shrieks of grief, but every time she heard the women’s sounds, she wanted to claw her eyes out. They sounded just like her.
As the doctor pulled the wand back, Wren listened to the reading tone that beeped on the slick screen. “You spend time talking with the other women?” he asked.
Wren lifted her head. “What does it say? The reading. I’d like to know.”
The doctor looked down at the machine, paused, and hesitated. “Do you talk to the other women? It’s important we log everything in order to get to the bottom of your recent changes,” he said.
Wren’s heart sank with guilt. “It’s not hard to hear them. Our rooms are connected,” she said.
To Wren, all of this made perfect sense. This facility was her life. The women were lucky—in a sense, the luckiest of everyone throughout history. When the world began to crack, the financial institutions were the first to fall. By that time, the people welcomed the fall of the old Republic. Of course, they never relinquished their full control, but everything had changed. Those who could give birth were chose to bear the fruit. Powerful alpha men, the slave traders who tattooed the marking of the Ouroboros onto their hands, took the omegas. It was their job to repopulate the world, but other things were more important.
Wren was an asset to the men, but there was considerable worry about whether the sperm would take to her. She heard them speak about it on a daily basis. An omega needed an alpha’s knot to become pregnant.
No, she didn’t trust the doctors who had held her hostage for a lifetime. Then again, she didn’t have much trust left for anyone these days.
She remembered the slack-jawed look of her father as the alpha slid the blade into his mouth. The killing brought the terrible, choked silence of death. She didn’t expect it to slide in and exhume his soul so easily, but once he pulled away, she knew the sound would always twist inside her memories. Her daddy’s empty gaze horrified her the most.
Still searching the memorials of her past for truth, she quickly remembered how the brutes tore into her mother’s neck. The numbness Wren fought against soon drenched her in a dream. Her vision came in vibratory waves. And that’s when the brute bound her and hauled her over his shoulders, bubbling with sadistic laughter.
While those memories tore her apart, something else sprang forward in Wren’s mind. Something calming. Something of her own.
Short, amber hair. A blank look that seemed to suggest trauma. Candlelight flickered behind this vision, drawing Wren closer. The young girl opened her mouth, and tears began to flow onto the back of the young girl’s withering tongue.
Who is she?
What the fuck. Was this a memory of herself? A double of a double, a copy born in the heart of her trauma?
Wren couldn’t be sure of anything. After the alphas took her, her memory had gone to absolute shit. Still, if she could just have one day on the outside, she’d remember everything that they did to her.
They’d torched her home, the ragged men who appeared as scarred silhouettes. And the dogs that drooled over the trenched soil had ravaged the villagers who held their hands up in defense.
They were slave traders. Wren had been too young to understand how it happened. The pictures, instead, ran inside her eyes as figments of a darker place within her imagination. She’d looked at the man with thinning hair, sunken eyes, and tarred teeth. He’d grinned and unsheathed his cock.
“Take every part of her except the fruit,” he chattered, voice hollow.
They broke her, tore the youthful skin with hypodermic needles to subdue her frantic movements. Rolling her pouty lips back, their writhing, fat fingers had pried her lips and exposed her perfectly aligned teeth.
Using their hands as clamps, they’d unlocked her jaw and huffed her scent obsessively. As their eyes fastened, the men howled, short, but manic enough to welcome Wren into their palace of pain.
She remembered the scorched landscape of humble homes and bodies. Carried away in the arms of her captor, she’d reached toward the heat, unable to remold the fabric of her reality.
Strangely, he had not fucked her. He’d fucked her mind instead. At least, that’s what she remembered. Everything was fragmented like the sharp needles of a broken ceramic bowl. If he didn’t fuck her, he gave her worse.
Wren had been sold into testing. They fed, groomed, housed, and even bathed her. In some ways, she was living a life of royalty. But whenever she gazed through her window at the edge of the dome, she realized she had a term limit.
At her peak fertility, the lab men would try every trick in the book on her. If she failed, they’d damn her to hell.
Who was she now? What machine did the men mold her into? When she looked at them, she did not gaze for too long. Though she had been treated with relative respect, the lurking feeling that he would be back to claim her never ceased to haunt her.
The doctor pressed a circular button on his tablet and whispered a record. “Subject EC23, showing signs of progress.”
“Why can’t we have children anymore?”
The man laughed. “You?”
She knew what happened, had heard the story time and time again. The men hated bearing the burden of hearing about it, but it was a fact that nature turned on all of them.
To her surprise, the doctor leaned forward and twisted his frown into a smile. “You’ll be the first to change the world. You’re the special one,” he said.
Wren’s gaze quickly fell toward the tactical belt firmly attached to the doctor’s waist. Hugging his hip, the side was a gun resting inside a leather holster.
She suddenly wished to take it, to stab it against her temple before squeezing the trigger.
The doctor carefully slithered his fingers into the twisted hips of her panties and rolled them downward..
“If I’m so special, why haven’t you brought my captor in to breed me?” she asked.
The doctor pressed two fingers together to feel Wren’s chest, but she quickly wriggled away. “As we discussed before, I didn’t choose your mate. You were taken and brought here.” He nudged his spectacles up the ridge of his arching nose. “The leader has a special liking to you. A connection, if you will.”
“Leader,” she whispered.
“There’s a lot you didn’t retain. That is a shame, but we must continue with the program for the sake of progress,” he said.
Wren gently wriggled her toe up his thigh. “You’re an alpha. Are you not a better candidate than the leader?”
The doctor stuttered and gulped. He glanced at the camera hanging from the corner of the ceiling. A dark beam of light blinked at them. “Please be still. I am required to take desensitizers before I meet with the patient—”
Wren kept her face still as she observed the blubbering idiot. He would be the one to do it, she
decided. She’d coax him into breaking her. Faced with the consequences of his knotting, he’d have to destroy the tapes and choke her to death to avoid detection. For her, death would be no different from the other girls’ fate. She could only hope it would come fast.
Locked up here for more than five years, she had been patient, counting the days by etching a thin line into the wall of her room. Now, she dreamed of sleep.
The guards, of course, saw it all on the streams, but the scarcity Wren possessed was far too valuable to let her be punished. Instead of a firm smacking, the guards would stand by the opening of her door just to catch her scent inside their nostrils.
Wren was done talking. Pouting his lips, the doctor quivered. “What are you doing?”
He grabbed his radio as Wren started to open her legs, revealing her moist virgin hole, just barely releasing enough slick for him to know he wanted her.
“Did you take your desensitizer? Did you really?” she purred.
The doctor choked and caught his throat. Thrown back into a fit, he let out a hungered, painful squeal. His hand, rigid and twisted, arched down to his zipper.
“No,” he admitted. “I did not.”
“I know I’m special, Doctor,” she said, spreading her creamy thighs apart.
The doctor urged his body forward. A quick spasm in his neck pulsed visibly. “Come here.”
Wren knew she wasn’t really special. She was far too aware the world thought of her as a whore. The doctor knew it. She knew it. So why not finally give her womb away?
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