Within about ten minutes, they had gathered everything they needed—which, luckily for them, wasn't much—and when they rolled out of the makeshift armory an enormous armored, all-terrain vehicle that sat impossibly high, crushing everything that stood in front of them, she stood high atop it, surrounded by members of the squad holding bulletproof shields, just in case.
Not only was she perched precariously up there, but she was totally naked.
The wind was a force of its own on the land since there was now little in the way of mountains or vegetation to temper it in the least. It was constant and relentless, and for once, it was going to work for rather than against them. The driver skillfully maneuvered the vehicle to the fringes of the battle—where the wind would be at her back, blowing her unmistakable—irresistible—scent over the combatants.
Then, once they knew they had caught the soldiers' attention, they drove away from the battle—always keeping the wind to their advantage.
It was more successful than they could have imagined. Their own troops—to whom they were physically closest—might have glanced at what they were doing, but then they got right back to doing the killing they were trained to do. The gang who had conducted the surprise attack on them, and who had been decimating their numbers with each skirmish in which they encountered each other over the past few weeks, became easy targets as they abandoned their posts in favor of trying to get to her.
Ciaran himself was one of those who had turned around—just for a second, originally, to see what all of the commotion was about—and nearly died right then and there because he was so utterly horrified at what he was seeing.
But the invaders—they were completely captivated. The colonel nearly lost his life—not because the man he was fighting wanted to take over his camp, but because the man he was fighting desperately wanted to get by him to get to his woman!
Luckily, he caught on very quickly to what was happening, whistling for his stallion and mounting him as he shouted the order to stand down. Very quickly, there was minimal fighting going on between his troops and their rivals, anyway. After she'd made her astonishing appearance, the battles were among men who were following the all-terrain vehicle. The rest of what was left of the skirmish was cleaned up easily enough as his men followed behind the slavering newcomers and took them out. It was like what mowing down hay looked like in some pictures he'd seen of harvests in the old days.
Without taking his eyes off of her, he circled around so that he was in front of the truck, his heart nearly stopping when he saw her drop to her knees, spurring the horse on as he watched her slowly stand up again, the screams and cries of the men who were after her suddenly ratcheting up that much louder, their antics in trying to get to her even more fervent than they had been before, although he didn't know why because he wasn't in her lee.
Ciaran galloped his horse next to the vehicle and climbed on to one of the running boards, then up onto the roof in practically a single bound. And as soon as he was close enough to her, he knew exactly what had caused her slobbering, slavering fans to become just that much more zealous.
She was in heat.
He shouldered his way past the men who were so bravely guarding her, pulling her into his arms.
He was a soldier, not a poet, and he couldn't have come up with anything more eloquent if he had wanted to, and he didn't. "You are mine," he growled fiercely, having a hard time not fucking her right there and then, in front of all of those people, partly because he was so relieved to see that she was all right, partly as a punishment, and partly because that was what his body was screaming for him to do.
In seeing him—her Alpha—Ebby became no better than the madding crowds that were trying to reach her, only it was him she had to have. She rubbed lewdly up against him, trying to hold onto senses that were rapidly deserting her at his nearness. "Did we win?" she whispered, kissing him as she tried to ride his cammoed thigh.
"We probably did, but then we would have without this idiotic stunt," he snarled. "But you most definitely did not."
She wondered what the "probably" was but didn't dare ask.
He wanted to get her out of there as soon as he possibly could, and everything in him wanted to simply jump to the ground with her in his arms, but he couldn't make himself do anything that might not be safe for her. So, as the sounds of the slaughter increased around them—even though he knew it wasn't his men being slaughtered—he didn't waste time. Ciaran gave orders to the leader of the team—not addressing their unacceptable actions in the least because if he thought about what they'd done, he might gut them all with his bare hands. Then he left some of the Omega Team to continue guarding them but used the others to help her down, finally gathering her onto his horse in front of him and riding away, making damned sure that she didn't have the wind at her back and taking great satisfaction in using his own gun to kill those few who went after them.
As he stepped back into his tent with her, it was immediately surrounded on all sides by his men—members of other Omega Teams and his elite guard. It was probably overkill, since there weren't very many of the enemy left, but he would not take chances with her. But he felt pulled in two different directions—he had things he needed to do as commander, but he needed to see with his own eyes—and hands, and other things—that his omega was all right, too.
To say nothing of the fact that he wanted to drive himself into her more than he wanted to live at this moment.
But duty had been ingrained in him since a boy, and he would be damned if he would start shirking it now, even as he gazed at her longingly, causing her to shudder at the look in his eye that promised sound retribution.
Setting her down, he said sharply, "Don't you dare move." Then he turned towards the door. "Guard!"
A young man entered immediately. "Yes, sir."
"Have they arrived?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. Day late and dollar short, if you don't mind my saying so, sir."
"I mind," he growled. "Those men came to save our bacon, which they would have done if there hadn't been interference." He turned to glare at Ebby. "And now, I have no idea how many men they might have lost because of something that happened that I neither sanctioned nor ordered." Another angry look came her way, and Ebby's eyes slipped from his.
"Make sure they get what they need, and bring their leader to me."
"Yes, sir!"
Ebby looked confused at what he'd said. He was giving aid and comfort to the men who had attacked them? She might have asked, but he definitely didn't look as if he was in a talking mood—especially not to her.
A few very tense minutes later, during which Ciaran didn't dare go near her, there was a knock on the door.
"Come."
In stepped a man who rivaled her Alpha in size, easily as tall and broad as Ciaran was.
Even though Ebby had no doubt that she was in no danger from him—that her Alpha wouldn't allow anyone into his tent who would wish her harm—she couldn't help but give him a wide berth, circling the perimeter of the room as far away from him as she could to get to stand behind Ciaran, wishing that she felt as if she could touch him, just for reassurance.
But neither of them was paying any attention to her at the moment.
They embraced as friends, grasping each other's forearms, although neither of them smiled. "Vaudt. I am in your debt for coming when I called—and with such a formidable amount of reinforcements."
"I will always come when you call, brother Redbeard. I owe you."
Ciaran blushed at the nickname. He was aware that the men called him that, just never to his face. He slapped the other man on the shoulder. "Only in your own mind, brother. Kin does not keep tallies."
Vaudt nodded in agreement.
"I trust the…uh, unexpected appearance of my omega didn't cause you to lose too many men?"
The massive man shrugged. "If they followed her, then they were not truly my men."
Ciaran nodded. "Wise, as always."
He
looked past Ciaran to Ebby, who cringed behind him. "I take it that she was not following your orders, then?"
His jaw clenched, fit to break his teeth. "She most definitely was not, which is nowhere near as unusual as it should be."
"You are fortunate. It was a brilliant move. She has the mind of a great strategist and the heart of a fighter—a true, fit mate for a warrior such as you."
The redhead turned a bit to look at his tiny woman, still much too full of fear for her life and anger at her blithe risk of it to consider forgiving her anytime soon, despite his friend's obvious admiration. "She fancies herself a soldier."
The other man almost smiled. "That's what Kosh always says about his fierce little mate—she gave him a nasty bite and fought him at every turn. He's always saying that she would make a damned fine soldier."
Those words had a familiar ring to them. "Is he not at your side?" Ciaran frowned. "I hope he is well."
"He is—he and his mate were just delivered of their second child—a second son, although I know he desired a girl child, like his omega."
"Ah. I am glad. Remind him that he still possesses a radio that I intend to collect at some time. And your Emily?"
The change that came over the other man at the mention of his mate's name was palpable. He softened considerably, looking almost approachable—not that she would try.
"She is more mine than ever." He paused, then added almost reverently, "And I hers."
Ciaran nodded, although he was surprised to hear that. The last thing he'd heard, he was having a hard time taming her—she was resisting him at every turn.
"She is still stubborn and willful, of course," his friend said, not sounding in the least angry or concerned about it. "I'm beginning to think that the best omegas are much stronger than we Alphas would like to think—or prefer to have to deal with because of the way they challenge us. But she's kept busy running a very fine clinic she browbeat me into, even though she's very heavily pregnant with our third." He frowned, and it was at least as intimidating as when Ciaran did the same thing. "No doubt she is, at this very moment, engaging in some behavior of which I would not approve." Speaking of his mate—in such loving, if teasing, terms—was what finally succeeded in bringing a smile to lips that looked as if they didn't do that very often.
A deep pang resounded through Ciaran's chest as the other man related—in so many words—how happy and contented and…in love, it sounded—although he found the concept mind-boggling, considering what he knew about the gruff, hard as nails warrior he was—with his omega.
When he replied, Ciaran's tone was more constricted than it might have been but for the way the catch in his chest affected his breath, "Congratulations."
And he was not the only one who was moved by what Vaudt had said so unabashedly about his mate. She didn't know if it was because he was another Alpha—at least as powerful in many ways as Ciaran was—but his words cut through the fog that surrounded her and made her frankly jealous of what they had together.
If she had been fully in her right mind, she might have begun to consider what that might mean for herself and the man who had claimed her, but she wasn't quite that coherent at the moment.
Vaudt hugged his friend again. "Well, I shall leave you, my brother, but you—and your beautiful omega—must come see us again some time. I know Emily would like that very much."
"As would I. You will not eat with us?"
He looked past Ciaran to Ebby. "No, you have more important things to attend to, I think."
The two giants took their leave of each other, while Ebby watched and tried to glean what she could from it, but her mind was rapidly growing too fuzzy for that.
When his friend was gone, he leaned out the door, ordering, "I do not wish to be disturbed," as he closed it behind him.
When Ciaran had put her down moments ago—he—and his horse—were already soaked in her essence, but he couldn't do anything about it because of his obligations. Now, he took her face in his hands and caught her eyes, recognizing that faraway look. "If you value your hide, Ebby, you will do exactly as you're told from this moment on and for the rest of our lives together. Lie down on the bed on your back with your head on the pillows. And you had damned well better stay there."
If there was anything that could come close to cutting through her haze of unmitigated lust, it was that tone right there. Even it couldn't get all the way through, but it made her think more than she had in her previous heat at all.
But then, in her previous heat, he hadn't been absolutely, palpably furious with her. His anger was so great it was like another person in the room with them—one who was bent on teaching her a lesson she would never forget.
Alarm bells were tinkling in the back of a mind that only wanted her to beg him to take her, but somehow they managed to prevail, and, although she had no doubt that he would never do anything that would cause her bodily harm, she still never took her eyes off of him as she obeyed.
It didn't take him very long to find what he was looking for, bringing three of the small items over to sit on the table next to his bed. An evil grin crept over his face as he saw that she had recognized what they were, her eyes round and—although still dulled—he thought he could detect edges of fear there, too.
A very smart little girl, his omega, who had taken it into her mind to put herself into terrible danger and had even managed to convince an entire squadron of his men to follow her.
He wasn't sure yet what he was going to do about them, but he knew exactly what he was going to do about her.
She had done as he had told her to do but was unable to keep still while doing it, and the closer he got to her, the more wildly and frequently those hips rose into the air. She was even chanting a soft whisper—three small words that he knew would have embarrassed the hell out of her at any other time.
"Please fill me. Please. Please fill me. Fill me. Please." He could see the pool of dew growing beneath her, and she smelled—
There were no words for how luscious she smelled to him. He wanted to drink her, to fuck her, to pin her from within and revel in the scream she could never seem to suppress, to stretch her beyond any kind of comfort and, as the storm he'd created within her raged about him, let loose inside her with a deluge of his cum until it even seeped out of her tight seal around the base of his knot.
She was his. He wanted her full of his children, and he vowed to himself that that was how he was going to keep her—smart or not—because, apparently, she was not so smart.
This time, though, he baldly acknowledged to himself that he had to hope that he could stick to his resolve and do what he felt needed to be done.
It was going to be almost as hard on him as it was on her.
Not really, though.
No, she was going to suffer more than he did.
Much, much more.
And he wasn't going to have to raise a hand to her to discipline her in the manner in which he had chosen.
Although he probably would, just so that he could get out some of the gut wrenching fear that was bottled up inside him. He knew that, any time his determination waned for as long as he decided to inflict this particular punishment on her, all he would have to do was bring to mind the sight of her on top of that truck—naked, and pursued by mindless masses of Alphas who were literally killing themselves to get to her, protected by only a small handful of men.
He swallowed hard at the thought and resolutely tied her wrists together, anchoring them above her head. There were two more strips of the strongest soft material he owned, but he would save those for later.
Then he got up and followed his routine of long standing as he got out of his uniform, although he stayed in his pants and shirt while she remained naked—as she should be.
He debated about what implement to use on her this time. He didn't like administering the belt on the bed—it constricted his swing. His hand wasn't nearly severe enough, although he was likely to start with that, which he did, mome
nts later.
Ciaran positioned himself on his knees at the head of the bed, but so that he was facing the end of it with her on his left, turning her over and looping a big, muscular arm around her waist in order to hold her hips up. "Fold your legs under you."
The order was eerie in the neutrality with which it was issued.
Panting—in unrequited passion as well as fear—she did as she was told.
As soon as those legs were in place, the spanking began, and it was a very long while before it ended. Her thighs were out of the way, and he didn't concern himself in the least where the smacks landed. Twenty—thirty—fifty in the same spot on each cheek, then moving on to another—hardly untouched—area, each one delivered with absolutely no variance to its breathtaking strength.
He was well aware that punishing her could have the opposite effect from what he was going for, especially during her heat, when she was highly sensitive to any kind of stimulation from him whatsoever. But he took her well past that point, to where her wiggling and writhing had nothing to do with her wanting anything other than for it to stop.
But when it did, she wished heartily that it hadn't, because the next thing he picked up was a paddle. It was the kind that had been used on school children at one time, and because he had always planned to acquire an omega at some time in his life—and knowing that they could be a handful in many ways—he had tucked it away in one of his trunks.
When that goal had been fulfilled, he'd had the forethought to move it to a secret compartment beneath the table he used as a makeshift desk. He had a feeling that his inquisitive little mate was going to search the room as soon as she was given the opportunity, and several little tells he had set in various places around the room had alerted him to the fact that she had done just that almost immediately. Luckily, he didn't normally keep much in his room that he thought would be of use to her, cloak notwithstanding, and he had divested it of all weapons but those he usually wore on his person, that first night.
The paddle was deceptively demure looking—not one of the giant ones he knew the commandant of the base where he was raised had several of. The head was only about six inches long, not including the handle, but it was of solid, hard wood, and it carried quite a heft—as Ebby found out seconds later.
Red's Mate Page 9