Progenitor

by Cassandra Chandler

  Brock could hear Vaughn hit something wherever he was hiding.

  “God dammit, Megan.” Vaughn bit out each word. “What were you thinking?”

  Brock growled. No one spoke to Meg that way.

  But he was mad at her. Furious. He couldn’t remember why.

  “Meg?” Eli said. He looked back at the empty bed, then to Brock. “Brock? Oh my God. Is that you?”

  Eli dared to take a step closer—even smiled. “Son.”

  Brock roared at him. Eli froze.

  None of this made sense. Brock flexed his hand and heard the woman make a choking sound. He dropped her to the ground.

  That was Meg. He was Brock. Eli was his dad, and the men on the beds were his brothers.

  Then why did he still want to kill them all?

  Brock grabbed his hospital bed and lifted it over his head. Alarms sounded from the machines.

  He threw the bed at the wall, delighting at the crashing sounds it made as it flew to pieces.

  Better.

  He grabbed the monitor that had been next to the bed and tore it off the wall, then smashed it on the floor.

  Someone tackled him around his waist. He struck them, feeling his elbow connect with a strong, furred body. Meg.

  Was she betraying him after all?

  She grabbed his leg and pulled, knocking him off his feet with her ridiculous move. Brock almost laughed. She was still holding on to his calf, leaving herself wide open for the kick he launched at her shoulder.

  She flew across the room, yelping as she slammed into the wall. The moment her feet hit the ground, she leapt back up, keeping herself between Brock and the others with her arms outstretched.

  She was protecting them. But she’d bitten Brock. Turned him, without his permission.

  I was unconscious. How could she have asked?

  He shook his head again. If she’d been sent to kill him, they might at least have taught her how to fight. Her attacks were ludicrous.

  “Get them out,” Meg yelled, her voice raspier, deeper than usual. “I’ll handle Brock.”

  She thought she could handle him? He let out a rumbling laugh.

  “Meg, I can’t—” Eli said.

  “Just do it!” she roared.

  Eli flinched, then grabbed the nearest bed and started pushing it out of the room.

  Meg’s lips peeled back from her teeth. She snarled, running forward and grabbing Brock around his waist again. This time, she lifted him from the ground.

  He was surprised by her strength for long enough that she’d made it into the small side room before he recovered enough to react. He struck her shoulders just hard enough to force her to release him.

  She hit the ground and rolled to the side, scrambling for the door. She slammed it shut and locked it, then turned to face him.

  “Alone at last,” he growled.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Brock.”

  He laughed. “I don’t want to hurt you, either. But I do want to hurt them.”

  “You’ll learn to handle it,” she said. “I can help you.”

  “I’ve had enough of your help.”

  He took a step forward, and she moved to block the door. He could hear Eli in the other room, the sound of wheels squeaking against the floor.

  Vaughn’s voice was muffled through the door. “I’m locking down the infirmary.”

  Brock heard a distant beep, and knew he was trapped. They both were.

  Meg must have understood as well, because she loosened her stance, standing straighter. Did she think this meant she was safe?

  She’s just relieved that they are.

  Brock let out a low growl. He was tired of being trapped. He wanted to be free.

  Even more, he wanted to break something. The only thing in the room was a puny bed. And her.

  He grabbed her arms, pinning them to her sides as he lifted her from the ground. She didn’t try to escape, didn’t try to defend herself in any way. Pathetic omega.

  No.

  He shook his head again. The movement made the room spin. He stumbled to the wall, slamming her against it.

  “Please, Brock,” she said.

  Blue light swept over her, consuming her fur as her face and limbs shrank back to their normal size and shape.

  What was she doing? He could hurt her so much more easily in her human form. Without even meaning to.

  Shit, have I been trying to hurt her?

  No. He’d pulled all of his hits, lessened every strike, but still…

  “I know the violence you feel,” she said. “The urges. Being mindblind doesn’t make me stupid. But it’s okay.”

  She swallowed hard, but her voice still broke. “I’m here now.”

  He’d heard those words before. Meg had said the same thing to Tessa when Meg had offered herself up to appease Tessa’s uncontrollable rage.

  He wouldn’t use Meg that way. Ever.

  The fact that her pack had taken her reassurance as an invitation to hurt her made his skin crawl. He wanted to make them all pay, but Dexter had already taken care of that. The only one left was Roy.

  Roy would pay soon enough.

  Brock’s hands flexed at the thought, and Meg winced. He quickly released her, but couldn’t bring himself to move away. Brock could feel his chest vibrating with a growl that wouldn’t stop.

  Meg reached between them, gently running her trembling fingertips over the scars on his face. Her touch sent a jolt of energy through him—this gentle touch on a place that had been ravaged by madness.

  There had to be another way.

  He pressed his hands against the wall on either side of her head, raking his claws along the metal. Not enough.

  He punched the smooth surface, sending pain lancing through his fist and all the way up into his shoulder. Better.

  Meg grabbed him, hugging his arm. “Don’t.”

  She didn’t betray me. She saved me.

  She transformed. For the first time, she transformed. And she pushed herself to do so for him. Because she loved him.

  Brock let out a breath, releasing as much of the new energy as he could. He felt the strength and power coil within him, even as his new form evaporated like a weight falling away.

  Meg’s eyes were huge as she stared at him, her breath coming fast. He could hear her heart pounding in her chest.

  She still looked afraid. He wasn’t sure she shouldn’t be.

  “Brock…”

  He grabbed the nape of her neck and pulled her against him, crushing his lips to hers.

  Chapter Twenty

  Brock’s fingers twined in her hair as he pinned Meg to the wall. The metal was cold, but the heat he was putting off more than warmed her.

  He drove his tongue into her mouth, demanding, dominating. She did her best to match him, wanting…

  Wanting him. This. Nothing else mattered.

  He grabbed her thigh, lifting it to wrap her leg around his waist, pulling her head to the side at the same time so he could latch on to her neck.

  He shifted his mouth to her shoulder and raked his teeth over her skin, hard. She gasped, her belly filling with molten need.

  The night before, he’d been passionate as they made love. This… This was something more.

  He released her hair, but only so he could grab her breast, kneading it, rubbing his palm over her nipple until she cried out. Her core ached for him, arcs of pleasure already speeding along her nerves in anticipation of feeling him inside of her.

  Her cry caught his attention, bringing his lips back to hers, where he could swallow her moans as he ground his dick against her.

  He reached down for her other leg and lifted her from the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him tight against her, not holding back as she’d had to last night.

  He was as strong as she was now. Stronger.

  He was healthy and…intense, but he would adjust.

  We can be together.

  She burrowed her fingers in his hair,
grabbing a fistful and deepening their kiss, pouring all of her passion into him. He paused for a moment, then let out a growl, thrusting his tongue into her mouth more forcefully.

  He rocked his hips back, centering his dick at her core and pressing against her. The ache between her legs intensified, a steady stream of tingling energy spreading from deep in her belly.

  She wriggled her hips, trying to pull him in, desperate to feel him part her flesh. Her pussy was already pulsing, all of her senses focused on his hot skin pressing so close to where she wanted him.

  He shifted his lips to her neck, his grip on her thighs tightening, holding her still. Then he plunged into her, burying himself deep.

  She screamed from the pleasure of it. Her nerves pulsed, her skin felt electrified as the climax tore through her.

  Brock didn’t pause. He kept her pinned to the wall, pounding into her, lips latched onto her neck, hands tight on her legs.

  The throbbing in her pussy kept on, squeezing against the impossible hardness of his shaft. Each thrust drew out more pleasure, saturating her body with his heat, with his need for her.

  “Meg!” He shouted her name, throwing his head back as his eyes pinched shut and his hands gripped her even harder.

  She felt him pulsing deep inside, spilling himself into her. Finally, his thrusts slowed. With one final stroke, he buried himself as deep as he could.

  His chest pressed against hers, their hips joined, her arms around his shoulders. He kept kissing her neck, his breath quick and hot against her skin. He rocked against her slowly, even though she could feel him softening inside of her.

  “I need more,” he said.

  “Yes.” She did, too. Needed him, wanted him.

  She dropped one hand as far as she could reach down his back, then raked her nails up along his spine. He sucked in a breath, pushing against her harder.

  “You love me.” He said the words right next to her ear. Somehow, it sounded like a question and a command at once.

  “I do,” she said. “I love you.”

  A tremor swept through him. He nuzzled the side of her head.

  “I love you, too.” He leaned back, gazing at her with one eye that gleamed gold and one that was still white, with bits of fragmented brilliant blue sparking from its pupil.

  She rested her hand against his cheeks, wondering if there were any more surprises in store from his transformation.

  His demeanor was different. There was a current of danger surrounding him that she hadn’t felt before.

  “Brock…”

  He gripped her wrist and pulled her hand away from the right side of his face, but only to press a kiss against her palm. That loving gesture hadn’t changed.

  “Mate,” he said.

  Her heart started to pound.

  He was claiming her. As his mate.

  She’d always longed for a mate. Having it be Brock seemed beyond anything she’d dreamed.

  “This doesn’t feel real,” she whispered.

  He pulled her legs from around his waist. Her knees were weak. She wondered if they would even hold her up. He steered her toward the small bed, helping her sit, then he knelt in front of her.

  “Does this feel real?” He leaned forward and took one of her breasts into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it in firm circles.

  Her back arched away from the wall as she gasped. He grasped her other breast, flicking the tip of his thumb over her nipple. His touch was gentler—and more maddening—than when he’d grabbed her against the wall.

  He looked up at her, smirking, just long enough to say, “Answer me,” before bending his head to her other breast.

  Heat was pooling between her legs again. This time, her entire body thrummed with it, as if he’d primed her senses for what was to come.

  He ran his nails along her ribs, fingers curled like claws. “Answer me.”

  “What?” She couldn’t remember his question. “Answer what?”

  “Does this feel real?”

  This time, he dropped his head between her legs, his tongue sliding between the folds of her flesh. She gasped, burying her fingers in his hair.

  With his elbow, he pinned her right thigh to the bed. He pushed her other leg aside and held it there with his broad shoulders, spreading her before him. He slid his fingers into her, deep.

  “Brock,” she cried. Pleasure radiated out from her pussy, pulsing through her body.

  “Answer me.”

  “Yes.” It felt real and amazing and—

  He lowered his lips to her again, sucking her clitoris, flicking his tongue over it as his fingers kept pumping in and out.

  “Yes,” she repeated, she wasn’t sure how many times. Her nerves were on fire, heat building where he touched her. “Please.”

  He spread his fingers, stretching her as he thrust them in and out, faster and faster. He increased the pressure on her clit until the pleasure he was stoking built to a white-hot explosion of bliss.

  Her back arched, her fingers pulled on his hair as her hips bucked against him.

  She screamed his name as he held her down, relentless in his stimulation, tongue still swirling, fingers pumping. Her core clenched against him, a steady beat that slowed along with his movements as her body settled back to the bed.

  He smirked up at her as he backed away, eyebrows dark over those mesmerizing eyes.

  She ran her hand along his cheek, and said, “Mate.”

  If anything, his expression darkened, the possessiveness there sending another thrill through her body.

  “Yes,” he said.

  He pulled her to her feet and spun her around. He reached in front of her and grabbed the bed, flinging it out of the way as if it weighed nothing. Grabbing her wrists, he brought her hands up to the wall, his chest flush against her back.

  “I’m going to be demanding as a mate,” he said, his lips against her ear.

  “What—” She gasped as he nipped her ear. “What will you want?”

  He dropped his grip to her hips, lifting her to the balls of her feet. His dick pressed her core, lighting sparks along nerves she’d thought couldn’t take or give any more.

  “This,” he said. He buried himself deep in one smooth stroke.

  Hands firm on her hips, he slammed into her, over and over, his hips hitting her ass each time he landed.

  Her fingers curled against the wall, clawing at its smooth surface. She’d never felt so alive, so desired, so…free.

  He slid one hand around her belly, helping her balance as the force of his strokes nearly lifted her from her feet. His other hand found her clit, his fingers running over it in deft circles.

  The stimulation turned the sparks to lightning, crackling through her in sharp bursts, arcing out through her skin. Her muscles felt electrified with a pleasure so intense she thought she might black out.

  She cried out again, pussy throbbing around his dick, coaxing him to join her. She felt him hesitate for a fraction of a breath, and then he grabbed her hips again, pummeling into her. His dick pulsed within her, filling her with his seed.

  He thrust in deep and held himself there, pulling her hips against his, fingers tight against her skin. She listened to their heavy breath, their hearts beating in sync.

  The throbbing in her pussy ebbed as he slid from her. He kept his arms around her, holding her against his chest, gently stroking her breast as he nuzzled her neck.

  “If that’s what you’re going to demand, I’m more than willing to—” Her sentence was cut off by a distant explosion.

  The ground shook beneath them and alarms sounded. A flashing light cast everything in an orange glow.

  “What’s happening?” she said.

  “I don’t know.” Brock stepped away from her, looking all around. He pointed at the pile of her clothes that she’d tucked into the corner of the room when she’d snuck in to transform. “Get dressed.”

  She grabbed her shirt and pulled it on. Brock picked up her pants, taking her hand in h
is and leading her into the infirmary. He tossed the clothes to her and started picking through the wreckage of his hospital bed, finally pulling out the gown he’d been wearing.

  It looked more like a robe than the hospital gowns she was used to seeing. The charcoal gray fabric opened in the front and was thicker and held together with a belt. It was also long enough to reach his knees.

  “We have to find the others,” he said.

  “Where would they go?” Meg finished fastening her pants, then followed him to the door.

  “The safest place is the ship. There’s no way into it except the hatch. Most of it is buried under rock from the crash. That’s where the stasis pods are, as well. Ops is two rooms down. We can check it on the way.”

  She glanced up at the lights above the door, both relieved and further terrified that they were dark. Meg’s heart caught in her throat when they stepped into the hallway.

  The four beds that had held Dexter, Porter, Jon, and Nathan were crammed together at the end of the hall in front of the elevator, empty. Two of them were on their sides. A line of blood streaked across the wall, heading toward the ops room.

  “Shit,” Brock said. “Dad. Dad!”

  She followed Brock as he ran toward ops. The scanner let out a strangled beep and flashed red when he touched it.

  He lifted his hand. His palm was covered in blood.

  “No…” Brock pressed the keys, entering code after code, but each time, the scanner reacted the same.

  Meg rested her hand on his shoulder, trying to give him what comfort she could. There was nothing else she could do. She hated feeling so helpless.

  “No. No,” he yelled. He slammed his palm against the door. “Dad.”

  “It doesn’t recognize you.”

  They both turned at the smooth, low voice coming from down the hall. Dexter stood in front of the open door to Porter’s lab.

  Brock let out a laugh. “Dexter, you’re okay.”

  “I guess that’s a matter of perspective.” Dexter glared at Meg.

  Meg’s stomach sank. Dexter was using “I”. She’d thought he only did that when Brock was borrowing one of his bodies. She could feel Brock tense beside her.