Breeder (21 page)

Typical. Betas lacked strategic vision, the confidence required for leadership. Corren, on the other hand, had not wavered from certainty. That was why he had taken control of the operation to capture Omra.

“Either Alpha or one of his guards was with her all the time,” Veya said. “The Commander is cautious. I wonder why she was alone today.”

“Because he has become weak, unable to manage even a breeder,” Corren said. “She makes him so.” He suspected the female had factored into Dak’s sympathies toward the Enclave. Evidence suggested the Alpha of the fifth province of Parseon hid a secret, deviant nature.

Dak disgusted him. In a way, it had been fortunate the Commander had transferred his physical attention to the breeder instead of him, but that also had led to Corren’s abasement in front of the other Alphas and to the reduction of his status when Dak had their anointment annulled. For that the breeder would pay.

“There are many females available. I am not convinced this is the best course of action,” Veya said. “I fear her disappearance may strengthen Commander Dak by arousing his vengeance. He has already hampered the plans of my Alpha. Commander Tarbek will not be pleased with further impediments.”

“That is how you and I differ.” Corren stifled a sneer. “I fear nothing.” He glanced at the two men. They were classic betas, destined to serve rather than lead. “It is insufficient to merely conquer one’s enemy. One must ensure his foe feel his loss with every breath.”

Chapter Fourteen

Dak vented his emotion on an android pugilist at the Physical Conditioning Facility near his command center. Designed with the strength of three men, the AP 3010 was the stoutest sparring bot ever built, but Dak broke two of them before he called it quits. Destroying PCF property could not eliminate his rage and despair. He had no good options. A bleak future stretched before him. He could not imagine ever smiling or laughing again without Omra. But he would do anything to keep her alive. Even disown her.

She would view his actions as censure, disapproval, when nothing could be further from the truth.

He paid for the destruction of the bots, added a generous tip, and exited the PCF. The sun shone, and everything sparkled after the cleansing of a heavy overnight rainfall, but he saw only darkness on the horizon.

He could not delay any longer.

Via the sky tram, the trip to the BCF would be over in minutes. Quick. Easy. But a light-year from painless. He had rejected transport via conveyance for the memories it would evoke of their companionable ride when he’d brought her home from the BCF.

After cutting through the glen, he emerged on the lane that led to his domicile. At first he attributed his unease to his aversion to his task. But the foreboding worsened when his abode appeared around the bend, so cold and…empty. Though he told himself his imagination had conjured his apprehension, he picked up the pace.

“Omra?” he called as he entered.

Silence.

“Omra!”

No answer.

Dread curled into panic. “OMRA! Come here, now!”

Shouting her name, he ran through the domicile. He checked the food preparation room, the dining and sitting halls, the library, their sleeping chamber, the guest quarters. Empty, every room. He doubled back and searched again.

Through the wide windows, he scanned the perimeter of his compound. The land stretched vacant and deserted, except for the outbuilding. The stables! Of course. Omra had grown attached to animals and often wandered out there to sneak them treats they weren’t supposed to have. That was where she must be.

Please be there
. He charged for the stables. A beta grooming a beast jumped when he barged in.

“Where is Omra?” he demanded.

“I have not seen her, Commander,” the stable hand replied.

“Not at all today?”

“No, Commander.”

“Has anyone visited today?”

“Not that I’ve noticed, Alpha.”

Dak strode through the stable, peering into each stall. He approached the one where Omra had intended to sleep after Corren had exiled her. He stared into the empty pen, picturing her standing there as she’d looked that night. The evening of their first mating.
“It was not unpleasant.”
Her words of reassurance had changed everything.

He spun around. “If you see her, contact me immediately,” he ordered, though he was certain at this point Omra would not turn up at the stable.

“Certainly, Commander.”

Dak headed back to the domicile. Omra’s bodyguard, patrolling the environs, appeared around the corner. “Where is Omra?” Dak demanded.

Kumar blinked. “She is not inside, Commander?”

Dak would have flogged the man for dereliction of duty except that he deserved it more. He was responsible for keeping Omra safe, and he had failed. “Who has been here today?”

“No one, Commander.”

“Deploy a full guard detail, now! Locate Omra. Search everywhere.”

Talons of fear clawed at him. This was his fault. Because he couldn’t face her, he had left her alone. If only this had been a normal Saturday, and they’d gone to the Market—

His blood froze in his arteries. Surely she would not have ventured there alone. He knew she had been disappointed, but she would not have disobeyed his wishes.

Would she?

He prayed she
had
been disobedient, because the other option—that she’d been taken hostage— was much worse.

“Dispatch a unit to search the Market and the Terran bazaar,” he ordered.

Dak entered the domicile to search once more. Perhaps she’d returned while he was in the stables. “OMRA!” he bellowed. Her name echoed.

SHE’D SCREAMED HER throat raw to no avail.

The heaviness of the tarp, the racket of the beasts’ hooves clopping on the road, the jangle of their bridles, drowned her pleas for help. She’d beaten her fists against the tarp but hadn’t budged it.

Trapped in the bed of the conveyance, she bounced around the rough-hewn interior. When the conveyance had left the village and entered the countryside, the jostling had worsened, and she had been tossed about the wagon. The sun heated the stale air under the tarp, causing sleepiness to descend, but every time she’d nod off, the conveyance would hit a pothole and jolt her awake. Her bruised body, sticky with perspiration, ached.

After what seemed like hours on the road, the conveyance ascended a steep hill, and she slid half the length of the bed to slam into the back wall. Splinters embedded in her flesh. As the grade steepened, she remained in a huddled heap, half on the wooden side and half on the tarp covering the top.

How far from home would she end up before the driver stopped and discovered her presence?

The road leveled out, and she hit the floorboards.

A sob of pain and frustration rose in her throat.

And then a breeze whispered across her face. Her gaze flew to a spot of light seeping through a gap in the tarp. The pressure of her body had stretched the heavy cloth. Hope galvanized her into action, and she rolled to her knees. Wiggling her hand, she forced her wrist through the tight aperture. Her fingers found a tie-down.

She dug her nails into the knotted hemp and clawed. Her fingers, slickened by perspiration, couldn’t get a solid grip. Her shoulder twisted at a painful angle, and she had to stop several times to flex aching muscles, but she persisted. The roughness of the hemp abraded her fingers, and they bled. The knot held fast.

She had dissolved into tears of frustration when she felt a give. With renewed determination, she manipulated the hemp. Once she freed one small loop, the knot loosened, and she was able to untie it. With one fastener undone, the gap in the tarp increased. With more space, she had more flexibility, and she set to work on the second tie-down. It too was very tight, and her bloodied fingers hurt, but her success with the first knot energized her. The second fastening came undone in half the time. With an opening not quite wide enough to squeeze her head through, she launched into the third knot, her mind working as fast as her fingers.

She’d assumed getting trapped in the conveyance had been an accident. The beasts’ hooves created quite a din, but were they louder than her screams? Why had the driver not heard her cries for help? And if the bed was empty, why secure the tarp so tightly? Since they were leaving the Market, shouldn’t the conveyance have been loaded with supplies?

The beasts had been bridled, the transport readied for departure as if it had awaited a passenger. Had she been lured into a trap? Veya had materialized at the right moment to “save” her. He had vetoed her plan to seek refuge at the Terran bazaar and instead urged her into the conveyance. If not for him, she would not be in her position.

She recalled too the murmur of voices, her feeling he had contacted someone via his PCD.

But he’d lured the director away. She’d listened to the conversation. Heard them leave. While Sival had a reason for his animosity, Tarbek’s beta had no motive to kidnap her. He’d met her only once. His manner then and now had radiated compassion, not animus.

Except for the viselike hold on her arm. And betas were infamous for employing subterfuge. Lacking overt power, they exercised influence in subtle, sneaky ways.

Who was driving the conveyance, she wondered.

Silently she cheered when the third knot came loose. She could wiggle through the space if she tried, but she didn’t want to risk getting stuck and being dragged behind the conveyance—or alerting the driver. When she escaped, she wanted a clean, quick break.

Close to freedom, she fumbled with a fourth knot, whimpering with frustration when it resisted her efforts. Her nails were broken, and the hemp was stained with her blood. At last, she got the fastening loose.

She was grateful for the noise of the hooves as she wiggled through the opening. A slow mode of travel, the conveyance now seemed to be moving at a great rate of speed as she stared at the ground. Fear rising like bile in her throat, she twisted to see who drove the transport.

Not Sival or Veya as she’d half expected. She could only see the man’s back, but she didn’t recognize him. But that didn’t deem the stranger trustworthy. Dak had emphasized caution. Why hadn’t she obeyed what she knew to be his wishes and stayed at the domicile? By now he would know she had left, and he would be so very angry with her. He would punish her, but Omra did not care. She would kiss the sudon if she could arrive home safely.

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.