An Omega's Awakening (Alpha's Woman Book 4)

by Carolyn Faulkner

  She started a bit at his touch there, but there was nothing she could do to stop him, so she continued caterwauling.

  She was deliciously wet, having been leaking onto the bed since he'd put her there, even while she was knocked out. And even though he knew he was hurting her terribly, her body knew that this was just one somewhat unpleasant part of a larger incredibleness, and it was doing its best to render her even sloppier than she already was. Experimentally, he tested the spot where he had joined them together, and she was seeping sluggishly out around him, too, although he couldn't imagine that he had ever been more tightly sealed to any woman.

  Even Moia.

  Zerk violently divorced himself from that thought as soon as it entered his head, forcing himself, instead, to concentrate on the woman beneath him, who seemed determined to relieve him of the ability to hear.

  He wet two fingers generously in her honey, then began to run them up between lips that were already forced apart because of how widely he was stretching her, easily finding by feel exactly what he wanted as he began to move slowly within her.

  Very suddenly, silence rained as he heard her teeth click together loudly again.

  She found her voice again, though, a few short seconds later, and he wasn't quite sure if it was him moving that barb within her that she was protesting or the way he was gently brushing and occasionally pinching a clit that he could literally feel growing and swelling beneath his fingertips.

  "Don't! No! Stop!" She must've been very innocent—a thought that he found bizarrely tantalizing in this day and age—not realizing that her incessant wiggling and squirming was only making him want to abandon his attempts to ease her way a bit and simply take her for himself alone.

  He wished he had more time with her, especially this first time—wished it more than he wanted to think about. But he knew that the remnants of whatever was left of the pseudo-army he had cobbled together would be gathering in the command room, and that they were expecting him to be there, on time. He'd kept them together by the skin of his teeth over the past ten or so years, and he wasn't about to lose control because he'd decided to unexpectedly bring an omega in Alpha's clothing into his inner circle.

  No, he couldn't bother with the niceties. She'd be here when he returned—if his men hadn't killed him by then—and he hoped, for her sake, that they hadn't—and he would force himself to spend more time doing all of the things he knew were more likely to result in her conceiving.

  His body would make certain that was what he wanted to do, as hers would make her want him to do exactly that.

  His mind, on the other hand, was already reluctant—as he was sure hers would be, too. But not enough to stop him from taking advantage of the rather unique situation that had presented itself to him.

  Still, he left his fingers where they were as he began to drive into her more purposefully than before, garnering a few more groans from her at the strength and power with which he was claiming her.

  And he was surprised as hell when he heard them turn into distinct moans. She was panting beneath him, head thrashing, chanting "No!" as her body—and his fingers—forced her to join the fray.

  Zerk would swear that she went so far as to lift herself up to him, to offer herself to him—at least, that was, until his knot began to form just barely within her entrance, and her little cunt was forced to accommodate more of him than she probably imagined there was.

  "Ow! You're hurting me! Stop!"

  "No, little one. That pain, too, is yours to bear every time I breed you. But there are other compensations." He wiggled his fingers just slightly, and her hips slammed mindlessly up to greet his.

  "No! No, stop! Don't do that to me!

  He was astonished to realize that she protested much more loudly at the pleasure he was giving her. He half expected her to beg him for the pain, instead!

  But he couldn't puzzle that out for long, nor did he bother to continue fondling her as the driving need overtook him, and he gave a low, growling groan as he began to release himself into her in big, splashy waves of come that slowly—very slowly—drained the swelling at the base of him.

  It had been a while, granted, since he'd indulged himself, but Zerk was amazed at just how satisfying it felt to have an omega beneath him again. He remained stretched out on top of her longer than he should have, actually having to force himself to get up—although not before he secured her to the bed, tying her hands first, then her ankles, once he'd levered himself out of her.

  She fought him, of course, and she was in superb physical condition. But she'd expended a lot of energy trying not to let him rape her, and her body wanted her to try to entice him into staying, so she was fighting the both of them as she tried to retain some semblance of freedom.

  But she'd lost. She'd known it was a losing battle the moment she'd begun it, but she couldn't just lie there and let him bind her to the bed. She didn't dwell on the fact that he apparently did this often enough that he kept leather ties at the four points of his bed. That was a piece of information she could have lived without knowing about him.

  He armored up before he left, pausing at the door to look back at her and teasing her cruelly at the same time by saying, "Be good, little girl."

  As she frowned fiercely at that horrendous nickname he insisted on calling her, she heard him lock the door from the outside in several different manners, which was another discovery she hadn't wanted to make about him. She'd never been to his room, and she could understand an abundance of locks on the inside—which there didn't seem to be—but the outside?

  She shivered. That did not bode well for her.

  It smacked of the idea that there had likely been others like her.

  And as far as she understood, and she'd at least known of him for quite a few years, he'd never had a mate.

  For a long moment, she wrestled with herself, which seemed to be something that she was doing a lot of lately when she never had before. This time, she had to keep herself from dissolving into tears, which was the last thing she wanted to do. She had cried as little as possible in her life, having discovered the hard way that some people enjoyed making little girls—or women—cry, and she didn't intend to start now.

  Unfortunately, her newly rebellious body seemed to have other ideas, and over the past forty-eight hours, she'd come close to dissolving into tears more times than she ever had in her entire lifespan, prior. But she did not intend to allow herself to fall into that weak-willed habit.

  So, instead, she forced herself to concentrate on taking inventory. No broken bones, no cuts, probably some bruises, mostly between her legs, an area that was still both incredibly tender and, at the same time, incredibly sensitive and inflamed, as if it had been denied something that she couldn't even name.

  She shrugged it off, though, as best she could, and began to look around the room for anything within reach that would cut through the leather that kept her there, but, of course, nothing presented itself. What she did notice was that, for the man who ran this whole place as well as its army and who had to be quite wealthy, he apparently had very simple tastes. There was the big bed she was in—the largest one she'd ever seen, not that she'd seen a lot of them—and there were several floor-to-ceiling bookcases crammed with more books than she'd ever seen before in one place against two of the walls. She noticed only one other door, which she assumed led to a lavatory of some sort. There was a small, basic table and two chairs, as well as a bureau, but no more than that. There were no decorations on the walls, no banners, no reminders from all of his triumphs.

  Well, there was the fact that he wore a necklace of what was rumored to be the eyeteeth of his enemies beneath his armor, but she had been too busy being unconscious and then fighting to preserve the sanctity of her body once she awoke to try to substantiate that.

  She'd lost—badly—and her body reminded her of that fact with every attempt she made at moving.

  He hadn't had it on when he'd raped her, but then he'd been na
ked and busily subduing her—which he'd really accomplished merely by his enormous presence above her, much to her great shame.

  But she couldn't allow herself to dwell on that. She had to get the fuck out of here, one way or the other!

  So. No weapon on her, no weapon available nearby. She'd have to do it the hard way. No one except the enemies she had then dispatched had gotten close enough to her—in a very long time—to notice that she kept one fingernail on each hand that was longer than the others, which were kept trimmed. She certainly hoped that she'd be able to free herself before he returned, although she had no idea when that would be, but regardless of how long it took, she would work on it diligently whenever she had the chance to without giving herself away.

  She was both delighted and disturbed to realize that someone else had gotten there before her and had done a lot of the work for her already. Within minutes, she had her right hand free—as that was her dominant hand—and seconds later, she was free.

  Naked, but free. She hadn't noticed till then that the mo-fo had left with her clothes. Ah well. If she had to bust out of there naked, then so be it—that simply made it even more likely that she would die in the attempt, but that was a better fate than being held here, held captive to him, as well as her own needs and desires, raped at his whim and forced to give birth to his children, with no hope of retaining any of the autonomy she valued above all else.

  She ignored her clamoring loins that claimed that, if he'd just been at it a bit longer, there was something more in it for her, at least within the act itself, anyway. She didn't want to know what might be in it for her. Every bit of her either hurt outright or ached in ways and places—inside and out—that she never expected to, which only seemed to make her even angrier. The entire disgusting experience had been a terribly painful pursuit—as she'd always thought it probably would be even before her body went crazy on her, lying to her and tantalizing her with the possibility of something ephemeral but ecstatic that had been proven to be a lie.

  He'd certainly enjoyed it—there was no denying that. But there was only more agony and anguish waiting for her as long she remained here, under his thumb. Every step she took away from him—away from his scent that was entirely too comforting and alluring to her already—was painful in a new and different way that she was eager to put aside, although it became harder and harder to do.

  She forced herself to concentrate on small goals—getting herself out of the room, out of the secret passageways, out of the headquarters, out of the city, eventually, she hoped, although she was a realist about her chances of accomplishing any of those things.

  At least, in doing this, she would die with honor—fighting for her life. It was no more than she had expected for the majority of her existence. She wouldn't—couldn't—be reduced to some sort of mindless animal who only wanted to fuck, and because of that weakness, allowed her Alpha to control her life.

  She couldn't be that way—she wouldn't!

  Chapter 3

  It was much later than he had intended when he finally made his way back to his chambers, as what he had imagined had happened amongst his men had been worse than he'd thought. He was down an entire cohort—the one she had risen from—and most of another. The plans he'd intended to undertake, that were absolutely vital for the survival of this place, were going to have to be put on hold, at least until he could recruit—press gang—and train some more men.

  In truth, he had been distracted all day, at a time when he could least afford it, and she was at fault in both cases.

  All he could think about all afternoon was sinking himself into her again—and this time, he intended to bring her to her full pleasure. He wanted to hear her scream for an entirely different reason than she had before, not that he deluded himself into thinking that she was simply going to lie back and accept what he intended to do to her.

  No, she was a fighter, and Zerk was surprised to realize that he liked that. She was so different from his sweet, biddable Moia. This one was much more of a challenge.

  He frowned again as he worked all of the locks. She never had told him her name. Tonight, he would wrestle it out of her, one way or the other, he promised himself.

  But as soon as he opened the door, he knew that all of these plans would have to be put on hold, too. She was gone.

  His body shuddered once, hard, with a feeling he hadn't experienced very often in his life—fear. It wasn't as if she was a babe in the woods out there—he knew she could defend herself. But she was uneducated about what she had become, and he knew it was very likely that every man she met would attack and try to have her, especially since he hadn't succeeded in creating the kind of bond with her that he wanted to. That he needed to, if it came right down to it.

  Zerk shed those uncomfortable thoughts and feelings with a shrug, turning his attention to what was important—getting her back. Since he knew there was only one other way out of his flat, she had to have found the secret behind the bookcases, for which he silently applauded her. Either that, or she had been faking being unconscious, but he was pretty sure it was the former.

  Considering how long he'd been gone, he knew he had to act fast. Grimacing, he acknowledged baldly to himself that it was quite likely she was dead by now. Or wishing she was. Neither situation was acceptable.

  As he gathered more weapons than he usually carried from his closet, tucking them into the hidden pockets in the long duster he didn't wear very often any more, he realized that one of his sets of uniforms was missing. Not that they were what anyone in the much more civilized eras gone by used to think of as a uniform, he knew, but in this world, it was often better to blend in as much as possible, although he'd still needed a way to easily recognize his own men in a crowd, sometimes, on more covert missions. So, they were all issued the exact same outfit, no matter what their rank—well-worn black work pants and black short sleeved t-shirts with a thin gray stripe, no bigger than a quarter inch, on the hem at the biceps. Easy to ignore when looking, but if you knew what you were looking for, hard to miss. Even the armor they'd all made for themselves had that small stripe over the bicep.

  Hence, the nicknames the civvies had given them—Gray Stripes. Zerk sewed them on himself, handing each new man his clothing when he was brought into the fold. No one got into his own private little army without him having vetted him, in his own way. Those closest to him could recommend candidates, but he had the final say about who was allowed to join.

  His smart girl had taken his clothes, even though she must've been swimming in them. Not only would they cover her nakedness—several times over—but they might well provide her the protection of his scent, too. She hadn't taken a clean set, but rather had disturbed the ones he'd put together in order to take specific pants and shirt—the ones that smelled the most like him.

  And, he noticed, she'd not left any trace of the bindings he'd used on her, either. He wondered if she'd chewed them off or what, shaking his head at her ingenuity—not that his grudging admiration was going to get her out of a severe punishment once he had her back—as he headed out down the labyrinth of what he generously referred to as hallways, some barely wide enough for him to get through.

  He shook his head at himself as he set off. It was his fault she'd gotten away. He should have made sure she was much better secured. She was not Moia; that gentle woman had made him soft. Before he'd lost her, she'd had the run of the place, rarely misbehaving, but sometimes still getting punished, because—although he knew she'd never admit it—she enjoyed it at least as much as he did. Or perhaps it was more the way he soothed her afterwards that she craved. He hoped it was both.

  In some ways, his new omega would have the advantage of him in this rabbit warren of a place. Zerk knew for a fact that there were some he couldn't get through and hadn't gotten around to widening, as he would have had to do the work himself. He hadn't let even his top men know about the existence of these tunnels, which had long since been forgotten. Some of the older folks in t
own knew about them, too, but they were no more interested in anyone else finding them—or being found in them, especially by him—than he was. Thus, he could count the number of times he'd run into anyone else back there on one hand. And it had never been anyone he didn't think he could easily take, if he had to.

  Expanding the tunnels had had to wait. He hadn't been able to tear himself away from either the administration side of running a small, highly dysfunctional military-camp-wanna-be-city or riding herd on a band of men who were just as likely to use their weapons on each other—or him, if they thought they could replace him and wanted to die that day—as themselves, especially if there was a woman involved. And a highly prized omega, to boot. He was frankly amazed that he'd had any men left at all when he'd gotten to the meeting.

  As he moved, he scanned the floor for any kind of clue she might have left as to what direction she'd taken but found none. Not a scrape of blood on the rough walls, not a scrap of pants material that had to be dragging on the ground with every one of her steps, not even the body of some unfortunate who had happened upon her. There was reasonable chance that she was still in there somewhere, considering how much of a maze this place was. But she was too intelligent for her own good, and he thought she probably had gotten out. So, as he stalked through, he tried to determine where she'd go, once she made it out. And he tried not to think about what might have happened to her when she did.

  He only hoped that not looking or, in her case, the more important—not smelling—like an omega would have allowed her to survive long enough for him to find her.

  But where?

  Perhaps it was because he'd bonded with her, but he was relieved to realize that he was able to—just barely—catch a whiff of her scent, and he allowed his nose to guide him when he'd made it out what he thought was the same door she had taken. Perhaps it also helped that it was his own smell she was using to cover hers, which he couldn't smell. He didn't much care what it was—he was just glad to have some kind of clue that would bring him to her.