Breeder (6 page)

Dak narrowed his eyes. “I conducted a thorough examination and determined she is healthy, albeit, as you say, scrawny. I suspect the BCF has not been feeding the breeders, and I have ordered an investigation. This one is quick in conversation, evincing no mental deficiency other than her femaleness. With respect to her ability to incubate offspring, she is superior to others because she has never been bred.

“I have instructed her to obey you. If she misbehaves, call it to my attention, and I shall discipline her.”

Corren’s gaze glanced off her bruises. “It appears she has already misbehaved.”

Alpha touched the sudon dangling from his belt. “I did have to punish her once, I admit. But another inflicted those bruises upon her.” He tightened his jaw. “I do not condone striking females in the face.” He gestured toward the door. “Let us enter so you may show her the domicile.”

When Omra followed the men inside, she gasped. While the upper surface of the dwelling had appeared nontransparent, from the inside, she could see clear through to the horizon. No wonder Corren had come out immediately; he’d watched them arrive, had seen her sleeping on Alpha’s shoulder. She tilted her head back and stared at the cerulean sky visible through the roof. At night, the purple moon would glow and the stars would shine. She pivoted, taking in the expanse, the rolling hills, the trees in the distance.

The Commander’s domicile was, she suspected, a fortress with a view. She had read of reinforced reflective matter impervious to projectiles and suspected such material composed the upper half of the abode. The sovereign Commander wielded tremendous power, but fools existed who might challenge his rule.

“I shall be in my office. When you have finished getting Omra settled, join me so we may catch up.” The Commander clapped his beta on the shoulder before disappearing down the corridor.

“Follow.” Corren snapped his fingers and took off in the opposite direction at a fast clip. He stopped at a door and pushed it open. “Formal sitting parlor.”

She peeked inside and spied tapestries gracing divans and chairs. Females who had expended their breeding capabilities sometimes were retired to textile-weaving facilities.

“We entertain dignitaries and other officials of importance here. You are not to linger in this room except to clean it or to serve guests.”

“Yes, beta.”

“With the exception of a few, which I shall point out, you will not set foot in any of the rooms other than to maintain them.”

“I understand.”

Next he showed her the adjacent chamber. “There is a smaller, private hall for every day, but this is used for formal dining when we have dignitaries in residence.”

A massive table spanned the length of the room, and she gulped when she counted seating for sixteen. A host shared more than food with his guests. He closed the door and strode down the hall. He pointed to a portal he did not bother to open.

“The library.” A dismissive smile curled his lips. “You will have little use of that. But keep it clean.”

He waved his hand at a corridor. “Guest sleeping chambers,” he said and continued on.

She recognized the food preparation room by its gleaming metal tables, storage units, and cooking appliances. A wave of nostalgia swept over Omra as she remembered standing at her mother’s side while she prepared meals for her alpha. Though females did not eat until the men had had their fill, her mother would sneak her little tidbits as she cooked and had permitted her to lick the spoon she’d used to stir the batter of the sweetcakes, a favorite of Omra’s sire.

“Can you cook?” Corren asked.

“A little,” she said. Her mother had taught her everything she knew about food preparation, but that did not mean the Commander and his beta would approve of what she made. And her skills were rusty, since she hadn’t cooked since she’d entered the BCF.

“Your first task is to prepare the evening meal. It should be served at sunset. Do not disappoint Alpha.” He pointed to a small table in the corner. “When you have finished serving, you may take your meals there.”

He showed her several bathing chambers and singled out the tiniest. “You may use this one.”

“How often may I bathe?” she asked.

His nostrils flared. “I would suggest as often as possible.” Corren started to leave, but then leaned so close that his breath stirred the strands of hair on her face. She had to force herself not to flinch. “For reasons I cannot discern, the Commander views you with favor. I do not. You would do well to heed my instruction and see that you do not provoke my ire.”

* * * *

Omra’s stomach growled as she used heat-impervious gloves to remove the tray of meat and golden tubers from the oven. After the idleness of the BCF, working filled her with satisfaction. She set the roaster on the metal counter and popped in the next pan. She’d had to improvise, since she’d discovered the food prep facility was stocked with only basic ingredients, but she’d whipped up a sweetcake of sorts. She hoped Alpha liked it; she wanted to please him. And Corren. If she could. She could not say that his pronouncement surprised her; she’d sensed his dislike upon arrival.

Before Corren left to join the Commander, he had shoved a small pile of clothing into her arms. She’d unfolded them and found a couple of new shifts and some hair-care implements. She’d checked the time, seasoned the meat and, after placing it in the oven to bake, scurried to the bathing chamber.

Oh how glorious! Without fear of being scalded or jolted by an icy blast, she luxuriated in the water. She recognized the scent of the cleansing gel; it had clung to Commander. Her stomach quivered. Would he notice the scent on her the way she had noticed it on him? She’d lathered her body and hair, rinsed off the suds, and repeated the washing because she could. Afterward, she brushed her hair until it draped down to her waist. She’d donned a clean shift, the beige fabric crisp and new, and hurried to complete the evening meal.

The men were waiting in the smaller dining room when she arrived, carrying a platter laden with meat and tubers. “I will bring the rest,” she said and placed her load on the table. She returned with a bowl of fresh vegetables and a tureen of gravy.

“I baked a sweetcake to finish the meal,” she said.

Under the scrutiny of both men, her hands shook with nerves as she dished out the food, serving Alpha first. She prayed she wouldn’t spill hot gravy on his lap. After she had doled out Corren’s portion, she stood by the wall with hands folded, ready to respond to further needs. Her stomach growled. She hoped the noise wasn’t audible and that she had passed her first test by providing an adequate meal.

She bowed her head and watched from underneath her lashes to gauge their reaction. After Alpha forked a bit into his mouth, Corren picked up his utensil, cut into his meat with a knife, and took a bite. His eyes hardened, and he moved as if to shove the plate away. Her rumbling stomach plunged. From his glowering expression, she could tell she’d failed.

But Alpha spoke. “Excellent.” The Commander nodded at her. He glanced at Corren, whose features went smooth. “She cooks well,” Alpha commented.

“She does,” Corren said without inflection, but his hand tightened on his fork. He ate only half of what she’d put on his plate and rejected the after-meal finish. Alpha ate everything and helped himself to a second slice of sweetcake.

She cleared the table of the dirty plates, and as she scooted behind Corren’s chair, he pushed back from the table, and his elbow bumped the pile of crockery in her arms. She grappled with the dishes, nearly dropping the lot, but managed to prevent them from crashing to the stone floor where for sure they would have broken.

She rushed from the room, her heart thundering with fear.

“Her clumsiness should be punished.” Corren’s displeasure filtered into the corridor.

“Let it pass. This is new to her. She is nervous,” Alpha responded. She did not hear Corren’s reply.

* * * *

She’d been correct about the windowed ceiling permitting a view of the night sky. A panorama of beauty stretched above her sleeping pallet: a bedazzling array of fiery stars, bright artificial satellites traveling at a dizzying speed, and the beautiful Parseon moon. It was the palest lavender she’d ever seen, appearing as an orb. A Trey Moon. An ominous omen when rarity and beauty combined. Ancient primitives believed that when a third full moon appeared in a month, it portended troubled times.

She’d never given credence to the lore, but it caused her to shiver now. She’d left the BCF with an optimistic outlook, but new worries had arisen like a Trey Moon. On the positive side, she tallied the physical comforts she enjoyed as a servant of Alpha’s domicile. She’d been able to eat her fill after serving dinner, she’d bathed, and her pallet, located on the floor beside Alpha’s large round sleeping platform, was cushioned and insect-free.

But the negative overshadowed the positive: Corren didn’t dislike her. He
hated
her. She could tell from his glowering glances, his refusal to partake of the sweetcake, the way he had tried to cause her to break the dishes so Alpha would have reason to punish her. When he’d come to the food-prep facility to tell her where she would sleep, she read the enmity on his face. She would do well to avoid him as much as possible.

She wished she did not have to bed down in the same room as the Commander and Corren, but she had expected it. What was the point of owning a breeder if she wasn’t readily available? Fortunately, both men were oblivious to her presence.

She couldn’t help but notice
them
, lit by a moonbeam from the sky above.

Corren crouched before the Commander, who braced himself on his knees, his posture rigid. Strength and power burgeoned in the muscles of his arms, his wide shoulders, his toned abdomen. And between his stout thighs? Omra gulped. Pure Alpha. She had been disinclined to study the manhoods of the males who had used her. She had averted her face and hoped for the painful experience to end as quickly as possible.

But she could not look away from Alpha’s erection. Its massive girth, a length that reached almost to his umbilicus, and the straightness fascinated her almost as much as the fact that his foreskin had been removed to reveal the bulbous head in all its glory. It might have been the moon that cast the knob with a purple hue, but she doubted it. The blood that coursed through his veins colored his manhood. Whisperflies fluttered in her stomach, and in her sex, which had grown wet.

Her mouth, however, had dried. One day soon, Alpha would force that massiveness inside her and eject his seed. The pain would be tremendous—and impregnation might require several attempts. And how many sons would he want?

Corren drew the Commander’s hardened member into his mouth. Alpha closed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides. The beta rested one hand on the Commander’s hip while stroking his own manhood with the other. Corren’s penis was modest in comparison to Alpha’s. But small didn’t necessarily alleviate pain, which she knew from frequent experiences with the director, who had a stubby member. Would Corren take advantage of his rights as Sival had done? She clenched her buttocks. Alpha had granted him full permission.

The Commander’s head fell back, and the muscles of his face tautened. His nostrils flared. Corren’s head bobbed like a domesticated fowl, and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked. The beta groaned with pleasure; he did not gag like she had done when Sival had shoved his erection into her throat.

“Now,” the Commander said hoarsely.

Corren released Alpha and spun around; he pressed his face to the platform and raised his hips, bracing himself on one arm while continuing to sheath his erection in his fist. The Commander flattened his hand on the wall, and a drawer extended out of the stone. He removed a small disk, and her eyes widened as he rolled it onto his turgid member. An elasticene covering. Next he extracted a tube and smeared a thick gel onto his shaft.

Her eyes widened even more as the Commander pulled a silvery metal object from Corren’s rectum. He set it aside on a cloth he’d also removed from the drawer. He guided his erection to his beta’s anus and, with a rocking motion, inserted his manhood.

He paused about halfway in. “All right?” Alpha asked.

Corren emitted a long, rumbling groan. “Yes, Dak, more. All the way.”

After seating himself, Alpha moved slowly, and Corren’s breathing turned raspy and frantic.

The two male bodies synchronized their movements. Alpha never uttered a sound as his member invaded Corren’s rectum, but his beta emitted growls of pleasure and jerked his manhood at a rapid speed. She wondered how Corren was able to take enjoyment from an act that caused her excruciating pain, until she recalled how Alpha had examined her. He’d donned an elasticene glove, which had been covered with a slippery substance. There had been pressure but little discomfort. With Corren, Alpha had coated his manhood and eased it in, not forced it. And prior to penetration, Corren had had the metal object inside him. Perhaps that made a difference.

In the gleam of the moon, she saw Alpha’s face contort, his body shudder. Moments later, Corren cried out and ejaculated over his hand.

Alpha opened his eyes, and his gaze riveted on her. Silvery blue blazed white, melting her insides so that more moisture pooled between her legs. She ached, not in a painful way, but in a yearning, almost pleasurable manner. Alphas anointed to betas rarely debased themselves to seek pleasure from females, so it was unlikely that Dak would ever want her the way he wanted Corren, but in that moment, she wished to take the beta’s place, despite the intense pain it would cause her.

Alpha averted his gaze and stared down at Corren almost in surprise. With a shake of his head, he disengaged.

Chapter Five

To an observer, Dak would have appeared in full command, maintaining an unbroken posture, but inside, turmoil weighed on him. He exited the sky tram one stop short to permit time to clear his head of unsettled business and disturbing questions.

The moon ascended, its purple face reminding him of Omra. What large, striking eyes she had. Dak found her overall countenance quite agreeable. Despite her initial unruliness at the BCF, she’d turned out to be malleable and capable. His hunch about her trainability had been correct, although he’d erred by assuming she would please Corren. His beta continued to find her lacking, though he attempted to mask his disapproval. However, one could not survive as Alpha without honing the skill of reading people. Violent emotion roiled beneath a facade of calm. One risked great peril to ignore what lurked beneath the surface.