by Cara Bristol
Summoning her remaining strength, Omra shoved Corren at the alien. He howled when his bare shoulder connected with its caustic skin. She ran, but Corren caught her, retribution burning in his eyes. The stench of his smoking, blackened shoulder was enough to make her retch. She screamed and struck out at him, but rage and hatred fueled his strength, and with his good arm, he dragged her toward the alien.
A red bead of light appeared between the creature’s eyes. It fell dead.
A spot of red dotted Corren’s temple. His grip on her released, and he crumpled. Dead.
Omra jerked around.
Dak stood in the doorway. He holstered his weapon. Guards rushed in.
Omra’s legs collapsed. Dak caught her and cradled her in his arms. She burst into tears and clung to him. “Y-you’re alive. They told me—the b-bells rang.”
Dak’s chest expanded with his breath. “Tarbek is the one who died.”
She lifted her head from his shoulder. “I think th-there are other Parseon females aboard the shuttle.”
Alpha nodded at his guards. “Get them off and release them. Arrest every crew member.”
“Let’s get you out of here.” He shouldered his way through his men and carried her outside. Though malodorous, the smell of the dock could not compare to the horrible odor that had emanated from the alien, from Corren’s blackened shoulder.
Omra shuddered. “Veya and Sival are dead. Corren killed them.” A sob erupted from deep inside. “And Anika.”
“She survived,” Dak said. “I found her in time. My medics have reported she will live.”
Omra went limp with relief.
A tic pulsed in his cheek. “I ordered you to trust me, and I failed you. You and your friend suffered because of me. I nearly died when I saw your friend and mistook her for you.”
“It is not your fault,” she said. “And you rescued me.”
He swept his gaze over her face, and she knew he cataloged each bruise, took every one personally. Dak shook his head. “You saved me.”
He strode with her in his arms down the dock, past the gawkers. No man, beta or alpha, would cosset a female in such a way. For an Alpha to do so was stranger than the aliens roaming the docks. She would have laughed at their aghast, disbelieving expressions if her heart hadn’t been pounding with regard.
“The shirt?” Omra asked. She hadn’t quite believed Tara that the fabric was woven from special fibers. She had bought it on the chance it might protect Dak.
“The shirt.” He nodded.
She hugged his neck and buried her face against his throat. He smelled warm of his own musk, like man and hope.
“Our baby,” he said. “It she still well?”
“Yes.”
She felt a measure of tension leave him.
“I cannot forecast the future,” he said. “I intend to implement many changes in my province. I shall do everything to hold my command…” He trailed off and shrugged. “No matter what occurs, I promise I will take care of you and our children. I will not let you down again.”
He exited the dock and headed toward the tram terminal. Omra tensed.
“What is it?” His eyes narrowed with concern.
She could not forget her terror as the tram had sped toward a fate worse than anything she’d ever imagined. Corren had held her captive, and people had packed in around her, oblivious to her desperation or uncaring of her plight. She would rather crawl through stinging nettles than spend even seconds on the tram.
“I don’t want to ride the tram.”
He nodded as if he understood. “Then I shall hire a conveyance. Whatever you wish, Omra, it is yours.” His expression laid bare his emotion.
Pressure welled behind her eyes. “I want you,” she blubbered. “I have regard for you.”
“I have deepest regard for you,” he answered and kissed her with a thoroughness that robbed her of her breath. By the time he raised his head, people were staring. A flush tinted his cheeks. “Say my name,” he whispered.
Omra smiled. “Dak.” Her voice rang out loud and clear. “Dak!”
He kissed her again.
Chapter Nineteen
Fourteen months later
Starlight glanced off her pale glowing skin and her shiny mass of hair, black like heating stones. Her eyes, as violet as the Parseon moon, were closed in slumber after dancing with mischief all day.
Regard ballooned in his chest, filling him with sweetness and pain, the ache that if anything should ever happen to her, his life would not be worth living.
“For you,” Dak whispered.
He would surrender his command. He would die for her. He would change the world.
Silken arms encircled his waist; then Omra pressed her soft body against his back. “I did not hear Miri cry.” She peered around his shoulder into the cradle at their female child.
“She did not. I awakened and just wanted to look at her.” He had slipped into the nursery to marvel at her perfect number of fingers and toes and the massive amount of hair she’d had right from the beginning, and to ponder how such a quantum of energy could appear so peaceful when in repose.
He eyed the tiny bow-shaped mouth curved with a slight smile. “She dreams of mischief,” Dak said.
“No doubt,” Omra agreed.
“Sep! Sep!”
“She called me Seppa today, did I tell you?”
“Uh-huh.” Omra shifted to press against his side. “You might have mentioned it once or twice.”
Or five or six. Miri had called him Seppa! It was an archaic, affectionate term for male parent, stricken from usage when Parseon had established Protocol. He and Omra had resurrected the word because sire did little to describe what he felt for Miri, for what he wanted for her.
“What weighs on your mind that you cannot sleep?” Omra rubbed his back in a slow circle. Tendrils of heat licked lower.
Dak glanced at her in surprise. “What makes you ask that?”
“You always watch Miri when your nights are troubled.”
Dak shook his head. “She puts everything into perspective.”
Not so long ago, he’d operated with the idea that his personal feelings should have no bearing on his command decisions, but then he’d acquired Omra, and Miri had been born. The answer to the question, what kind of a world did he want for the females in his life, had become the measuring stick for all decisions. “Miri will be no man’s breeder.” Dak scowled.
Once he had thought reform would be sufficient, but he had since abolished the Breeder Containment Facilities, though they still remained in provinces controlled by other Alphas.
“And what if she wants to bear offspring?”
Dak clicked his tongue impatiently. He curved his arm around Omra to shift her in front of him, her back pressed to his front. He covered the slight swell of her abdomen. She insisted this baby she carried was a male. “You know that is not what I am saying.”
“Nor did you say what keeps you from your slumber.” She persisted in her questioning but relaxed against him. She tilted her head and sought his gaze. “Is it the Enclave? Have there been more demonstrations?”
“There are always protests, growing with the size of the Enclave.” No longer a mere settlement, the collective had become an actual village, attracting more and more people every day, a testament that for many, Protocol had outlived its purpose. And rising protests indicated that for many, it was rock solid. A combustible impasse.
“Parseon is changing for the better,” she said softly. “Thanks to you.”
He shrugged. “I am doing my best.” To support the change. To quell the violence. For Miri. For Omra. He turned her in his arms. With a little tug, the robe she’d sewn from a vivid swath of pale purple Terran silk fell open. “Do we need to talk politics now?” He filled his hands with her breasts, rubbed his thumbs over her nipples.
“No, Alpha, we do not. That was my poi—” He cut off her sass with a kiss, and she twined her arms around his neck. He lifted her and
carried her down the corridor to their chamber.
After depositing her on the platform, he shucked off his own robe and crawled over her to kiss her. She smiled against his mouth. “Isn’t this better?” she asked, unrepentantly impudent. She’d grown cheeky, this female of his. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
He trailed his lips along her jaw, nuzzled her ear. “I believe I must reiterate who is in charge of this domicile,” he whispered.
Before she could do more than widen her eyes, he upended her over his lap, positioning her buttocks that were as sassy as her mouth. He cupped his hand and swatted, delivering more sound than heat. Their union had altered, and he rarely used the sudon anymore, but he still liked to make her saucy cheeks blush on occasion. Liked the sight of her splayed across his knees, her kicks, her whimpers and moans. And the wetness. Oh yes, the wetness.
“Dak!” She laughed and splayed her hands over her posterior.
“Dak? Never heard of him.” He grabbed her wrists in a gentle grip and imprisoned them against her lower back. He spanked. She bucked and ground her hips against his hardening manhood. He peppered her bottom with whisperfly kisses.
“Alpha, Alpha,” she cried.
“That is correct. And who’s your Alpha?” He lightly stung her bottom. His cock, fully rigid now, wept. He slipped his fingers between her legs to find her as wet as he was hard.
“You are!” Her legs had fallen open to reveal glistening pinkness, swollen folds secured by his lock-ring. His. She was his.
Her moisture prevented him from gaining purchase on the device, and it resisted his efforts to open it. “You do not need to wear this thing,” he groused as if removing it were an inconvenience and not a pleasure that never failed to send a heated zing through his cock. And another zing when he reattached it. The ring popped open. He tugged it loose and dropped it on the floor, where it landed with a thunk.
“I wear it because I choose to belong to you,” she said. “It is a symbol of my regard.”
It was a symbol of his regard that he no longer commanded her to. But he loved that she wore it. He no longer tried to untangle the knot of possessive pride and humility the lock-ring evoked. He just accepted it.
She rolled off his lap, straddled him, and sank onto his turgid member. All the way down. He was enveloped in wet fire, and he groaned. He ducked his head and sucked on her nipples until both were red and ripe; then he stretched out on the platform.
“Ride me, Omra,” he said in Terran.
“Yes, Alpha,” she answered pertly, bumping and grinding, squeezing her channel.
He homed in on her clitoris and stroked it, watching through lowered lids as her eyes darkened from lavender to violet. They reached the peak of ecstasy together, and though he loved to watch her face contort with her pleasure, when orgasm shuddered through him, he could not prevent his eyes from closing. He filled his mind with pictures of her face, her breasts, her sex.
Of her.
Mine. At peace, he sighed.
Loose Id Titles by Cara Bristol
Breeder
Destiny’s Chance
Reckless in Moonlight
* * * *
The ROD AND CANE Series
Unexpected Consequences
False Pretences
Body Politics
* * * *
Disciplinary Measures
(a Rod and Cane Society Spring Fling)
Cara Bristol
Cara Bristol has written everything from mainstream long and short fiction to nonfiction magazine and newspaper articles. She sold her first erotic romance in 2009 and never looked back. Now multi-published, she has ten erotic romances and two anthologies to her name. The author of the popular Rod and Cane Society domestic discipline series, Cara writes spanking fiction most often, but her published works also include contemporary and paranormal erotic romances. Breeder is her first science fiction novel, which she is intends to be a series. She lives in the Midwest United States with her husband. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, traveling, and watching reality TV shows.
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