Breeder

by Cara Bristol

  She squirmed out of the wagon onto a ledge.

  The hard road strewn with stones rolled beneath the wagon at a stomach-churning rate. At best, she would be cut, scraped, and bruised. Most likely? She’d break a bone. She pressed a protective hand to her abdomen. What if she injured the baby she suspected grew inside her? What if the driver heard the thump, halted the conveyance, and captured her again? She eyed the bank lined with stands of stinging nettle bushes.

  Jump!

  Her feet refused to obey.

  If the driver happened to look behind him…

  Omra glanced at the road. At the nettles alongside it.

  She released her grip on the gate and leaped.

  Thorns tore at her body as she crashed through the foliage and hit the ground. Her legs buckled, and she rolled downhill. She came to a stop and lay gasping but attuned her ears to the waning clop and jangle of the conveyance. The driver hadn’t noticed her escape!

  Trichomes, small hairs from the nettles, were embedded in her arms, legs, her exposed breast, her face. Her skin burned as if it were on fire. She bled from cuts and abrasions. But she was free.

  Omra clawed her way to the top of the bank and climbed onto the road. The conveyance had vanished. They’d taken so many twists and turns, she had no idea where she was or in what direction the domicile lay, but then she spotted the tracks in the road. Overnight rain had softened the ground so that the wheels had left a slight impression.

  She took off at a jog.

  * * * *

  Night had descended by the time Omra hobbled to the far side of the Market, her legs trembling with exhaustion. Though toughened from years of treading unshod, her soles were cut and torn from rocks and debris. Each step caused pain to pierce her feet. Little electric zings from the nettles continued to sting.

  While circumventing the village and Market would have been safest, it would have sent her miles out of her way. She managed to escape notice by clinging to the shadows of alleyways and avoiding street-side torches. A large number of guards seemed to be on patrol, but she couldn’t identify their insignia in the dark from a distance. As the center of commerce, the Market and the village that encompassed it drew citizenry from all provinces. She could not risk that the guards might report to someone other than Dak. She skirted around them.

  Logic told her the Market was no more or less a threat than the village itself, but since it had been at the former that she had encountered Sival, it loomed as a greater danger in her mind. Eying the back gates, she hesitated, then, taking a deep breath to fortify her courage, limped through the portal.

  Vendors had packed up, boarded their stalls, and left hours ago. Not a creature stirred among the vacant aisles except for the disease-bearing drakor feeding on orts of rotting food and carrion. She cut a wide berth around them as she had the guards. The hairs on her nape quivered. What if Sival had not given up the hunt? What if Veya had been involved in her capture? By now her escape would have been detected. She could not outrun them this time; she could barely walk. Every creak, every thump sent her heart leaping into her throat. She sensed menace behind every shuttered stall, every blind corner.

  Clear the market; you’ll be safe. A notion without reason, but she believed it. Once she exited the Market, which lay at the center of the Village, she still would have to trek through more of the town on the west side and traverse miles of country road. But she would be safe.

  She nearly wept with relief when she rounded a corner and spied the tall spires of the main entrance. She allowed herself a moment’s rest, then, with spirits buoyed, she shuffled toward the gate.

  A viselike hand latched on to her shoulder.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dak prowled the domicile. Every guard he could spare searched for Omra, reporting in at half-hour intervals. Initial communiques had reassured him. Omra had sneaked off to the Market. She’d collected her earnings from the panna baker and had shopped at the Terran bazaar in the company of another female identified as her former BCF cell mate, Anika. Anger at her disobedience assuaged some of his worry, and he’d decided when she did traipse home, it would be a very long time before she could sit comfortably.

  But then his guards had located Anika and had learned Omra had headed back long before Dak had arrived home to discover she was missing. As the search wore on and new information failed to materialize, his fears soared. He tried to hang on to his fury, but the only anger he could muster was directed at himself.

  He had known what the stakes were. Why hadn’t he taken better care of her?

  He alternated between cursing himself for not having deposited her at the BCF at the first sign of trouble and for fooling himself into believing he could do it at all. He continued to scan the horizon for her slight form, and each time the vast emptiness stabbed him like a dagger between the ribs.

  As did the small touches, bits and pieces of herself, she’d distributed around the abode—a vase of wildflowers, the uniforms and hair-care implements he’d bought for her, her sire’s severed telenium lock-ring, the Terran history book, a sweetcake not delivered to the panna baker because she held one back as a treat for him. The paucity of items overwhelmed him. Were these things all he would have to remember her by?

  Monto! He must remain positive. His men would find her. They had to. Because he could not live with any other alternative.

  He paced. He was prowling the opposite side of the domicile when his PCD buzzed against his hip. He snatched it off his belt. “Report!” he barked.

  “This is Kumar, Commander. I found her.”

  He had braved the fiercest foe in battle, had smelled the dank breath of death, but never had his legs weakened like they did with that announcement. For a moment, he could not even speak.

  “Commander?” repeated Kumar.

  “What is your estimated time of arrival?” His hand holding the PCD shook.

  “Three point four minutes. I am exiting the tram now. You should have me in sight soon.”

  “I shall wait.” He snapped his PCD shut and took a moment to calm himself with deep inhalations. To display weakness in front of a guard, with Omra, would not do. When he had regained his composure, he exited the domicile.

  Powerful luminas flooded the compound so that it appeared almost as day, but beyond the dome of illumination, darkness prevailed. Dak stood at attention and waited. Before he saw, he heard the guard’s approach, recognized the cadence of his march, of boot hitting road, and hearkened for Omra’s lighter step but caught a huffing sound as if the guard carried a burden.

  Into the light stepped Kumar with a bloodstained, battered body slung over his shoulder.

  “NO!” Dak roared, pain and rage exploding in his chest.

  “I have found her,” Kumar had said.

  By all that he ruled, he had assumed that had meant alive and well.

  “I am exiting the tram now. You should have me in sight soon.” I. Me. Not we, us.

  Dak struck his chest with his fist and bellowed. Not Omra. Not Omra. No. No. No.

  And then the body slung across Kumar’s shoulder squirmed and whimpered.

  His heart stopped. His life essence thundered in his ears.

  The guard eased Omra to the ground. She swayed on her feet. Dak dove and caught her before she fell. Her torn shift hung on her body, marred by cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Blood and dirt covered her from head to toe, especially her feet and hands, which were manacled. Tears had formed runnels on her face. She’d been muzzled too, and over the gag, her eyes beseeched him.

  “What is the meaning of this?” He speared the guard with his gaze as he unbuckled the gag and removed the wrist cuffs.

  “Begging your pardon, Commander, but she did not come willingly. She fought like a feleen, with tooth and claw,” he said, and Dak noted a bloodied crescent in the web of Kumar’s hand. Three gouges scored his cheek.

  He looked at Omra. “Apparently you are the one who must account for her actions.”

  “I could
not see in the dark. I did not know he was your guard.”

  Dak dismissed Kumar and made a mental note to order a special stipend to be added to the man’s pay. He continued to assess her condition. Words did not exist to express his emotions.

  “Do you realize what I thought when I arrived home and you were gone?” His voice shook like his hands. “I had every guard I could spare scouring the village for you. When no one could locate you, I feared you had been captured and killed.”

  Omra bowed her head. “I am so sorry, Alpha. I was wrong to disobey.” She wet her lips. “Y-you are going to punish me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” He followed his nod with a deep sigh. “But not tonight.”

  Males did not cater to females. To do so was to debase oneself and dishonor the Parseon race. Dak had betrayed far too much already, and he stood spotlighted by luminas in view of anyone who happened by, but he stepped forward and embraced her until his heartbeat slowed. Then he raised her into the cradle of his arms and carried her into his domicile.

  * * * *

  Dak lowered Omra into the bathing basin. She hissed as warm water touched her wounds. “It hurts,” he said. “But I must clean your injuries.”

  She gazed at him wide-eyed as he sluiced the liquid over her shoulders, her breasts, her back. He ran his hands over her body as much from a need to touch her as to check for injury. As blood and dirt washed away and tinted the water rusty, he was relieved to find that her wounds were relatively minor. Her feet and hands had borne the brunt of it, the former cut and abraded. He examined her palms, noting her finger pads had been rubbed raw in places. He kissed each fingertip, uttering a prayer of thankfulness for her safety, a curse for his delusion that he could release her.

  “I am sorry. I caused a lot trouble,” she said.

  “You did.” He soaked her matted hair.

  “I wanted to see my friend.”

  He lathered her head with a gentle massage. “Anika.” He nodded.

  Omra parted her lips in surprise.

  “I am aware of everything you did in the Market. What I do not know is why you vanished after you and Anika parted company.” He grabbed a ewer. “Close your eyes.”

  She did, and he poured the rinse water over her head. He dabbed at her face with a cloth. He tossed it aside, and she opened her eyes.

  “I was chased,” she said.

  Dak swore. “By whom?”

  “Sival. He was cleaning manure from the streets, and he saw me.”

  The man would be arrested, flogged, and imprisoned. “Then what happened?”

  “I hid.” She twisted her mouth. “In the back of a conveyance. But then its driver came, and it started to move, and I was afraid to yell in case the director was nearby. When I did scream, the driver didn’t hear me, and I was trapped.”

  She held up her hands. “The covering had been secured. It took me a long time to free the knots. But I did, and I jumped.

  “From a moving conveyance?” Dak tightened his lips. If she hadn’t been injured from the fall and already had earned a punishment for disobedience, he would have spanked her for endangering herself. “Why did you not alert the driver to halt it?”

  “I screamed at first, but when he did not hear me or he did not care to stop, I did not know if I could trust him.”

  He could not argue with her reasoning. She’d been wise to exercise caution. Inasmuch as she had. But running off to the Market in the first place, leaping from a conveyance? Monto!

  “In the future, you will not venture out unaccompanied. I thought you understood without me expressly having to state it, but I was wrong. So there is no misunderstanding, you will remain in the abode unless I or a guard is with you. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Alpha.” She bowed her head in contrition.

  “I do not intend to keep you prisoner, but the village and the surrounding countryside are not secure right now. Much change is underway that will not be well received, and when my regard for you becomes public, you may be targeted.” Would be. Adversaries would link his feelings for Omra to his protection of the Enclave and tout his concern for a breeder as a sign of depravity to be eradicated. He could foresee rivals striking at her for the sport of hurting him. He hoped Sival’s actions in the Market had been motivated by a personal vendetta and not because he was an instrument of a larger plan. But anything was possible.

  “Your regard?” she blinked.

  His cheeks burned. How like her to focus on the one thing he hoped she wouldn’t notice. “Yes, I have…regard…for you.” He averted his gaze and poured more water over her shoulders, even though he’d rinsed her thoroughly. “Do you think it is Protocol for an Alpha Commander to bathe a breeder?” His heart pounded. He had no experience with matters like this. Baring his feelings left him more exposed than marching through enemy territory in broad daylight.

  She ducked her head. She curved her lips into a shy smile and peered at him through lowered lashes. “I have regard for you too.”

  Tested in ways that had killed lesser men, Dak had earned the position of Alpha. He had more enemies than he wanted to count—but he received and accepted as his due the fealty, respect, and awe of his people. But at Omra’s simple comment, joy infused him to marrow. A lump thickened his throat. He still could not look at her, so he reached for a drying cloth.

  “Let’s get you out of there. The water grows cold.” He assisted her to her feet, wrapped the cloth around her, and lifted her out of the basin. After patting her dry, he scooped her up in his arms.

  “I can walk,” she protested, wiggling her feet.

  “Not tonight,” he said. She felt light and fragile in his arms, a delicate injured bird. “Although if you would like, I could sling you over my shoulder like a sack of tubers.” He was amazed he could find humor in what had been the most horrifying moment of his life.

  “No, this will be fine,” she conceded with an imperious twirl of her hand as if she’d become Commandress.

  “I thought it might.” Without wasting further time, he strode to their sleeping chamber and placed her on the platform. He applied a healing salve to her feet before bandaging them and rubbed the ointment on her hands and the worst of her other cuts and scrapes. She had a nasty-looking gash on her back.

  After he finished, he crawled onto the platform beside her, pulled her into his arms, and drew the coverlet over them. “Sleep now,” he ordered.

  Omra sighed into his embrace and drifted away immediately.

  But slumber for him was a long time coming. She was safe for the time being, but the future had never been more uncertain.

  * * * *

  Omra stood naked. He too had removed his clothing but sat on the sleeping platform, his manhood engorged, the sudon at his side.

  “I do not want to chastise you, but I cannot protect you if you do not obey me,” Dak said.

  “I was wrong to go to the Market alone,” Omra admitted, looking into his eyes. Though punishment would hurt, it did not evoke fear. After Dak’s pronouncement of his regard, the way he’d tended to her injuries, their relationship had shifted overnight in ways she couldn’t identify but could feel, down to her bones. She trusted him, and punishment was a fact of life.

  He beckoned, and she positioned herself over his lap. His thighs hardened under her stomach, but they were not nearly as rigid as the erection that pressed against her hip. Tension and promise hovered in the air.

  She heard Dak sigh, and then he touched her, smoothed his palms over her skin from shoulder to thigh. He circled the spot on her back where she’d scraped it while squeezing between the Market stalls. The wound pained her less today, but her skin tingled under his touch.

  “The gash is healing,” he said.

  “Because of the salve you applied.” Her feet and hands were much better too.

  “Also your Parseon metabolism.”

  He squeezed the flesh of her buttocks, kneading and stroking, as if his intention was to pleasure rather than chastise, then sw
ept his hands down her thighs. For the longest time, he caressed her with soothing strokes. She relaxed, her body growing languid, her female center moistening. He’d already removed the lock-ring from her folds, which felt swollen.

  She’d almost forgotten the purpose of her prostrate position when Dak spoke. “Let’s get this over with.” He tensed, and a split second later, he slapped her buttock. Omra winced.

  He clamped a forearm across her waist and rained a succession of stinging, hard smacks over her skin. She bit her lip and willed her legs not to kick. She had earned this punishment. Deserved it more than any other.

  He picked up the sudon. “Only fifteen,” he said.

  Even though she braced for it, she cried out when the first one seared flesh already tender. Sharp pain was followed seconds later by hundreds of electrified hot needles jabbing into her all at once, the activation of the toxin accelerated by the increased blood flow wrought by the hand spanking.

  With her epidermis still reacting to the venom, the second strike fell. Pain skyrocketed. She screamed.

  “You must obey my rules.” His voice sounded almost choked as he punished her. “Or you will pay the consequences.” He struck again. “If not here, like this—” The sudon fell once more, and she shrieked. “Then by someone else’s hand.” Another strike.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes, A-alpha,” she sobbed.

  She had dissolved into gibberish pleas by the time he delivered the final blow and tossed aside the sudon. He hauled her up to straddle his lap. In a single thrust, he impaled her on his cock and drove deep. She was crying and moaning at the same time. Her ass hurt beyond belief, and the almost brutal way he’d forced himself inside hurt too, but she welcomed the pain. Needed it. Needed him.