Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Were these elite soldiers?
Their features didn’t look like the other men. Cheekbones higher, brows harsh.
Foreign.
They looked rough, these men, rougher than their shined, vermilion armored counterparts. In comparison, they looked monstrous.
Sharp pain jarred her, Morgaine instinctively backing away until her welted and bruised back hit the glass. Her hiss went ignored, for the men were still too far down the gallery to hear her and those near seemed to have forgotten she existed.
The commandant was in conversation with a scowling, square-jawed male at the front of the cavalcade. Like the others, this one wore a weapon at his hip. It did not look like the blasters or knives of the Alphas Morgaine knew. In fact, she would not have thought it a weapon at all except that the commandant looked to it multiple times. When he did so, it was with the same disgust he had projected upon her the day before.
Under that disgust was concern.
It made Morgaine more nervous to see a man as hard and mean as he display veiled hesitation.
They were near enough now she could hear them speaking, but only one language Morgaine understood. With a low timbre and a scratchy grumble, the guest gave throaty responses an unseen male at his back translated.
This was a true foreigner.
Settlers told stories about alien peoples, about harsh cruelties that drove her kind to these new worlds. In the tales, the men described were just as coarse as those marching closer.
And closer, and closer.
Close enough now that several in his party had seen her, seen how she pulled her hair over her shoulders as if to hide behind it… how she only looked at them from the corner of her eye.
They stared as if confused by such a sight, grumbling between themselves in their rough language.
Worried she’d offended, that she had earned more than just another beating, Morgaine glanced to their leader and found him stopped dead in his tracks.
He was staring right at her, speaking quickly in a collection of growls and hisses.
Whatever the translation was, she couldn’t hear it over the beating of her heart in her ears.
The ferocity she’d leveled at the Alphas earlier had dried up, just like her mouth. It might as well have been full of sand.
Their eyes met.
The weighted stare of a demon held her in terrified thrall.
Morgaine forgot to breathe, to blink.
The foreign monster put a hand to the commandant’s chest when he tried to step between them and shoved him back. The old man sprawled, and heavy footfalls beat the ground, dark hair flying out behind the snarling Alpha as he charged her cage.
Others flew after him, trailing behind the male running full speed toward her cage. He reached the glass, gathered the dress she’d worn the day before, the one that had been left out to be pawed and sniffed by strangers. He held it to his nose, roared, and brought both fists to pound the clear barricade between them.
As he beat the glass, as cracks formed and the whole cage trembled, Morgaine screamed.
She screamed and screamed, backing away, curling up as if to hide no matter the welts or the pain.
If she could have made herself invisible, if she could have willed her soul away, she would have. Because the devil was roaring for it, and the cracks in the glass were growing.
Men fell upon him, men in vermilion armor and men in leather alike. It took an entire swarm to pull the bellowing beast away, even more to quell the growing rumble between the two groups. She saw him dragged from the room, saw the veins and muscles standing up in his neck, his snapping teeth, and the way his eyes were locked only on her.
What he shouted in his ugly tongue, whether they were curses or threats, Morgaine did not know. She’d pressed her hands over her ears, still screaming even as Sergeant Uriel entered to gather her up.
The mangled scents of the room hit her, the stink of furious musk, a cacophony of men, of sweat, of agitation, of fear… of hunger.
The instant she felt hands on her, she fought, biting and scratching just as she’d threatened the others. But one Alpha was much stronger than one traumatized Omega. The male ignored her thrashing, and rushed her away in the opposite direction.
Chapter 12
It was the nest she dove for the instant Morgaine was set free. The hated scraps of fur were burrowed under, Morgaine instinctively seeking cover no matter the orders any might snap or punishments that might be ordained.
No one tried to pull her out from where she hid, not even Sergeant Uriel barked an order. His hands were full dealing with several Alphas who’d entered the chamber behind them. Their voices could be heard arguing amongst themselves, meaning muffled by the hands she’d pressed over her ears.