Alpha and Omega

by Carolyn Faulkner

  Any remnants of the overwhelming jealousy she had felt towards Tura fled and her empathy for the girl returned full force—easily defeating the green-eyed monster—when there was a knock on the door, at which the two of them flinched. Vaudt, of course, did not, opening the door to reveal the specter of Kosh.

  At the sight of him, they all heard Tura's sharply indrawn breath, which sounded much more like a moan of ultimate pleasure than an exclamation of fear or loathing.

  He might have been second in command, rather than first, but he was Vaudt's equal in every other way—in fact, he might well have been just the slightest bit taller and broader, and he was actually about three years older. The two men were brought up together in the Spartan fashion of his father's devising, becoming much closer—and much truer brothers, it had turned out in the end—than he and Racide had been.

  Kosh was his right hand man, and he was more than capable of stepping into Vaudt's shoes, should the need arise. It hadn't yet, and—although mutinies had certainly happened within the ranks, which had to be put down ruthlessly and viciously—Kosh had never once given any indication that he would ever be on the wrong side of something like that. What's more, Vaudt had never once detected even the slightest bit of resentment or anger about his slightly lesser position.

  As a result, that position was rock solid. His portion of the spoils from raids was nearly as large as his commander's and his quarters were only slightly smaller. When Kosh had pulled Vaudt aside and mentioned that he wanted the Omega they had found—that he felt that she was his—he did so with pretty certain knowledge that she was going to be his. In truth, he felt in his fevered blood as if she already was.

  Of course, the proprieties had to be observed, regardless, so he'd had to fight for her, taking on every man who refused to back down to his claim. They'd lost more good men to him in that endeavor than they had to the raid itself, but paying homage to the ritual meant that the men would recognize it as a valid match. They would have their chance to take her from him.

  Only no one could. Unfortunately, some men had to die to realize that.

  The only person alive on the planet who probably could have beaten him already had his mate, and thus, was no threat. Thankfully.

  Kosh couldn't imagine how horrible it would have been to have had to kill his commander—his friend. Of course, he knew that Vaudt would have thought the same thing about him. The difference was that he was right.

  Despite the animalistic groan she had emitted when Kosh had appeared, Tura still attempted to hide behind Emmy, plastering herself up against the other woman and wrapping her arms around her waist—although that wasn't an easy task to accomplish, considering her heavy tummy.

  Vaudt saw what she was doing and lunged for her, but Emmy put her hand up to stop him. He backed down, but only a little, and very reluctantly.

  "She's not hurting me; I promise you."

  Vaudt could see the truth of her words in her eyes, but he could also see the tears that had gathered there, and he knew that the reality of this situation was going to be very hard on her. He stood where he was—within arm's reach of them, if it became necessary—his body still tensed and poised to act in a split second.

  But it was Kosh that stepped up and began to forcefully remove the girl's hands from around Emily's stomach.

  "Please, stop," Emily asked, knowing she had no right to ask it of the other man. "Let me talk to her, please?"

  Kosh stopped what he was doing, not looking at his leader's woman, but rather at his leader in regards to how best to proceed.

  Vaudt nodded with a short sigh. "I would consider it a personal favor if you would indulge her. She's pregnant."

  There weren't many advantages for a woman—especially an Omega—in this harsh world, but being pregnant meant she could get away with an awful lot that she probably wouldn't have been able to normally.

  Kosh took a step back, crossing his enormous arms over his chest and looking down at them skeptically.

  It took some effort on her part, but Emily managed to turn within the tight embrace of the girl's arms, knowing that what she was about to do was probably one of the hardest things she'd ever done in her life, but she saw absolutely no alternative. Since she barely knew him, she had no idea if what she was saying was true, but she certainly hoped, for the girl's sake, that it was.

  "Tura? Have you met Kosh? He's Lord Vaudt's second in command, which is a very honorable and coveted position. He is a very good fighter and a very good man. Kosh, this is Tura. She's an orphan, and she's only just come to know that she's Omega, so she's feeling very vulnerable right now."

  Then she turned back to the younger woman and drew a deep breath. "I know that this is going to be hard to accept—"

  "No!" Tura screamed, shaking her head, wishing she wasn't having to fight all of them as well as herself. She wasn't used to her body reacting like this to a man, but the one they wanted to give her to made her lower body ache in a horribly uncomfortable way that made her body leak in a manner that meant she was practically leaving a puddle of wetness wherever she stood. She was constantly having to resist the urge to rub up against him lewdly, or at the very least, cross her legs against the disturbingly pleasant pressure that was building up between them.

  "Because I've been there myself. But you must go with Kosh. He will be your Alpha." She lifted her head and met the second's eyes with a fierce look. "He will feed you, protect you and treat you well, and help you…" she wasn't at all sure how to approach the inevitable sexual aspects of their relationship, "…feel better, in ways you don't understand at the moment, won't he?"

  Kosh had the grace to blush a bit at her direct glare. "Yes."

  At first, Emily couldn't think of anything else to say, and Kosh stepped forward to forcibly remove Tura's hands from around her waist.

  "Kosh is going to want to touch you, and that's all right, Tura. You must let him. It's a bit different and embarrassing, at first, but I promise you that he will make sure it's wonderful for you—eventually—right, Kosh?"

  The second was no longer paying her much attention, but was instead trying to claim his woman, preferably without inflicting any kind of injury to his commander's pregnant mate, but Tura wasn't making it easy for him to do so.

  So, he began to swat her behind, which was presented quite prominently because of Emily's belly. Tura was unprepared for the assault. She automatically reached back to try to defend herself from the stinging smacks and found her hands trapped there behind her. He used a strap from his own uniform to bind them there while she sobbed as if she was going to be put in front of a firing squad, begging Emily—who seemed, if not a friend, exactly, but someone who had at least a small understanding of how she felt—not to let him do this to her.

  Emily took a step towards the girl but then felt her mate's hand curl gently but firmly around her bicep to hold her in place. "No," was all Vaudt said as he pulled her back against him, leaning down to wrap his own arms around her tummy possessively. "She is his," he whispered into her ear. "Just as you are mine. She needs to find her own way with him, just as you did with me."

  "But—"

  "That is an end to it, Emily," he said sternly. "I will not tolerate any further interference from you, in regards to them." She backed down at the look in his eyes, not wanting to press her immunity too far, and watching with great consternation as Kosh replaced Tura's muzzle, then put another robe over her, controlling her easily as she struggled constantly to get away from him.

  When he had turned to open the door and escort her out, Emily noticed his bandage. "Wait! I didn't get a chance to look at your hand."

  Kosh didn't so much as miss a step as he led Tura away from them as she pulled and tugged against his hold, until he finally stopped short and simply picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of meal.

  "But—"

  "He will be fine. You can see to him later, little girl."

  It wasn't necessarily Kosh that she was
concerned for, but she didn't bother to correct him.

  "For now, it is time for you to come home with me."

  "But I just got here," she protested, knowing it was a losing battle as he ignored her objections—as usual—tucked her into her own robe and, unable to help himself, carried her out of what had once been a school building and was now the clinic—makeshift though it was at the moment, until he could secure the necessary building materials that he had promised her.

  Chapter 2

  Tura was bumped along uncomfortably on the man's broad shoulder, through the crowd in the waiting room, and probably would have had to spend the rest of the ride in that position if it hadn't been for a steady stream of men who were compulsed to challenge him for her. He put her down—none too gently—but kept ahold of her arm as he fought them off single handedly, finally deciding that it might be best if she was able to run with him while he kept watch for anyone else who couldn't control his baser instincts.

  There were two more before they made it to some sort of building that looked industrial, but ended up being housing, she guessed. They travelled down through a warren of corridors, finally stopping at a door that looked absolutely no different from the others, which he was forced to practically throw her through before closing and locking it behind them.

  Having already memorized—she hoped—all of the twists and turns they'd taken to get there, Tura immediately began to assess the probability of escape from this room and was disheartened to realize that there probably wasn't any. There was but one small, thin window—well above her head—with what looked like solid iron or steel bars in front of it and only one other door, which she assumed led to the bathroom, and upon further investigation, she was proven right. And that room didn't even have a window—just a shower, vanity and toilet.

  Not that the rest of the room itself was highly decorated. It was obviously the quarters of a soldier—sparse and spare. Although she deliberately avoided looking at the bed, she concentrated on studying everything else that was there—a small desk and table with an oil lamp, each with a chair accompanying it, a neat cabinet with what looked like various cords and wires of some sort piled on top of it, and, to her surprise, a small bookshelf that was far from full.

  She wanted to ask him if he could read but didn't want to engage with him enough to do so. She was having a hard enough time trying to ignore him without trying to become chummy with him.

  Despite the fact that her body had very different ideas about what she should be doing, her main goal was to get away from him as quickly as she could, then get back—not to D'Shu, but to Aichvy, as soon as she could. She was so young when she lived there with her mother and Chik, her mother's Alpha, that that she wasn't even sure she had the name right, but she'd spend the rest of her life trying to get back there, regardless, because life had been so much better there.

  Unfortunately, she was so preoccupied while she was trying to memorize everything about the room that she forgot to keep track of the exact whereabouts of her enemy, whose concentration had apparently remained solely on her. Tura started when he reached for her robe, trying to fight him off as best she could, but with no weapon, her mouth covered and her hands tied behind her back, she was more helpless than she'd ever been in her life.

  Not that the realization made her stop resisting him—to the contrary.

  Kosh was grudgingly impressed enough with her attempts at escape that he actually let her go, which seemed to confuse her and made him chuckle at her befuddled expression, which annoyed her to no end. But her ire only made him laugh harder at her as she stood there, trying to decide what his game was, in order to anticipate what he might do.

  Then he began to advance on her slowly. Her feet and legs were the only weapons she had left, and she used them as judiciously as she could, aiming more kicks at him than she landed. Even when the sole of her foot did make contact with him, it was as if she had kicked a brick wall, and all she succeeded in doing was abruptly jarring her entire body.

  She tried to circle around him as much as she could in the small room, dodging and weaving to avoid his exaggerated grabs at her, trying several times—all unsuccessful—to trip him and even once, very carefully, rolling herself at him then neatly avoiding the hands that swept down to take hold of her and ending back up on her feet, still dancing nimbly around him.

  Tura suspected that he was letting her escape him for the time being, and she was determined to use that to her advantage. Everything she did seemed to amuse him more than impress him, until he finally grew tired of playing with her—like this, anyway—and stormed towards her, arms out, legs wide, making himself look twice his already impressive size, and backing her into the corner of the room that was made by the closed bathroom door. And through which she immediately disappeared, closing it behind her quickly. That was of no consequence to Kosh, since there was no lock on the door. But within seconds, he heard the sound of something breaking, and when he tried to open it, it seemed stuck on something.

  Several somethings, he could see, as the ends of the pieces of wood she was kicking at to wedge beneath it began to poke out on his side.

  Again, he had to smile at her resourcefulness and innovation, at least until he realized that what she had probably destroyed was the extra long bath brush he'd had made for himself, in order to create a barrier to him opening the door.

  Straightening in front of it, hands on his hips, he gave but one warning, "Stand in the shower," he ordered.

  Kosh waited exactly ten seconds, then gave the door a tremendous kick, right in the middle.

  It surrendered immediately—hinges giving way with an explosive sound—falling forward onto the bathroom floor.

  She wasn't where he'd told her to be but was standing on the toilet, which the edge of the door had barely missed. If she'd been a bit further forward in her stance, he could really have hurt her, and he wasn't about to allow that.

  Fun time was over. He stepped on the door to get to her, bending down to pick up something just before looping his arm around her waist to carry her—much the way Vaudt had—back into the main room, where he stood her in front of the side of the bed and literally ripped the robe off of her cringing body. The cost of the now useless material—which was dear—would come out of his pay, but it was a highly satisfying thing to do, regardless of the expense.

  As much as he wanted to feast his eyes—and so much more—on her, he knew that he had to address her disobedience—of several kinds—first, so he turned her, giving her no choice but to bend face down over the edge of the bed, keeping her in place with a large hand in the middle of her back as she never stopped trying to gain her freedom.

  Then he placed the impromptu implement he'd scarfed off the floor against her bare backside. It was the head of the bath brush she'd broken up into pieces, with just enough of a handle remaining to fit his hand pretty perfectly—although he doubted she'd agree with that by the time he got through with her.

  "You will not fight me. You will submit to me. I am your Alpha and it's disrespectful. Besides, I will defeat you every time."

  "I killed two of your men, and I'll kill you, too, eventually," she snarled savagely.

  "You did," he agreed, startling her. "And yet, here you are still, getting your bottom paddled like the naughty little girl you are. Someone needs to teach you to respect your betters, little girl, and I am that someone."

  Anger, very akin to what she had felt when he had been laughing at her attempts to fight him, flooded through her entire body that he would both refer to her and treat her like a child. She might not be as much of a soldier as he was, but she had been well trained and had accomplished a lot in her battle against them.

  Worse, though, was the fact that him speaking to her like that—in that low, sexually dominant tone of his—made her lower body clench hard, doubling and redoubling again the strange, ravenous hunger he inflicted on her, too, by his mere presence.

  Unfortunately, as he'd pointed out so rudely
, she had not been good enough to keep her from ending up here, where she was subjected to ten slow, hard smacks of that thick, solid wooden head as it fell against her small, yet still rounded cheeks. And although she swore to herself that she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out, she found herself nonetheless howling after each by the third loud, agonizing splat on her flesh.

  Flesh that was terribly close to other parts of her that were already overheated and only becoming more so—to her great mortification—as he disciplined her. There was something about him overpowering her like this—as no man in her life ever had—holding her down and administering a severe punishment that hurt like hell but felt terribly, annoyingly wonderful at the same time.

  The copious wetness that she seemed to have little control over when he was around began to overflow out of her again, and she could feel it trickling in a steady stream down the insides of her thighs, even as the other side of her was in utter agony.

  As soon as those were over, he issued another edict she intended to ignore.

  "You will obey me—when I tell you to do something, you do it. What did I tell you to do before I kicked down the door?"

  Tura clamped her lips shut stubbornly, and the punishment began again, only this time, he didn't stop at ten. Or fifteen. It seemed he would go on forever, and she was rapidly beginning to realize that she couldn't. She had wanted to answer him when he'd reached five but had managed to hold off until she felt the nineteenth time her body was literally shaken by the impact of that makeshift paddle on her bottom—twenty-ninth, counting the original ten.

  "You told me to get into the shower," she blurted out quickly, before the next stroke fell.