Tonight is quiet. Too quiet. Glancing at all the tables in the left corner of Hungry Desires, I calculate what I might make tonight, if I’m lucky that is, and the answer is depressing. I reach down into the makeshift apron I slapped together and finger the few coins that lay in the recesses.
Panic infuses my body, sending a jolt through me. Though it motivates me to take action, it doesn’t mean it will make any difference. Plastering a bright smile on my face, a lame attempt at mimicking the servers that actually do well, I make my way over to a group of Alphas.
My stomach flips with every step closer. My vision distorts for a moment as their loud, boisterous laughs flow over my skin, making it pebble despite the fear flowing through my veins. Not the same Alphas. Not the same Alphas.
I repeat this thought in an endless refrain as I take their empty cups and endure their lecherous smiles. At least in Stanlion, they seem to be much better behaved. That, or the mark The Purveyor gave me is some sort of ward that makes them keep their distance.
Once I gather their mugs, balancing them on the small tray, I hazard a glance down at my wrist, my eyes following the graceful curves that mean nothing to me, but everything to these people. I must have made a correct choice in having him adorn me with a mark of their beta women, instead of the omega I know I am.
However, at this point, even I’m not sure what the truth is anymore. I was raised an omega, trained as an omega, and forced to endure the animalistic rituals of the Gundharian men, but nothing they tried made me go into a heat.
If scores of barbaric Alphas couldn’t make my hormones work, then perhaps I’m not really an omega after all? And wouldn’t that be a pleasant surprise? In Gundhar, the betas aren’t thought about, not really considered good for anything. As such, they can go about as they please, mostly unmolested.
But as an omega…
Forcing down a shudder, I bring my tray over to the back bar and unload the glasses into the sink, casting my glance back at the males. All I have to do is smile. That’s all the other betas do. And yet, somehow, they have more than enough to survive, whereas I’m grasping at every coin that passes from their fingertips.
Lady Marlana glances up from the doorway separating the major sections of the club and gives me a quick smile. However, the moment an Alpha approaches her, she’s back to business—shoulders back, lips turned down into a ferocious frown, and crackling with an energy that would make any omega quake with either fear or lust, depending on their proclivities.
Still, though, it has no effect on me. I can sense the energy, feel what she’s putting out, but nothing in me stirs. Nothing in me comes alive. Which means it’s me that’s broken. I’m the problem.
For years, I wondered if perhaps I just wasn’t attracted to the males, and that’s why my body never responded. And since we have no female Alphas, I was unable to test the theory that my body was made for a woman. But now, being in such close proximity, I know the truth. It’s one hundred percent me.
Tears gather in my eyes as I pull out a rag and wipe down the glasses. It’s stupid really. I should consider this a blessing and not a curse, but just once in my life, I want to feel something—something other than fear, that is.
Even the beta women that work here toss about stories and tales of conquests, each far more erotic than the other. I want to join in, to captivate them with my own stories of lust-fueled nights, but I have nothing. Again, I look down at the slashes of ink, at the designation I chose to put on.
Knowing nothing of this world, I endured The Purveyor’s long lectures about the dynamics and what each of the marks meant. I knew I had to choose the mark of beta. It would allow me the most freedom. It didn’t matter that he said the omegas were treated like royalty; I couldn’t trust him. Not with this. Not with me.
The only part I couldn’t choose was the sector I was in. With no parents, with no proof that I came from a higher plane, I had to reside in the muck and mire with the others. Besides, even if I tried to argue that I came from somewhere better, the darkness of my skin, compared to many of the Stanlionians, proved that I was used to being outside, working alongside the others that were desperate to make their way.
At least by choosing the designation of beta, I had somewhat of a voice. Some amount of freedom. To me, any freedom is worth not having the comforts of a higher sector. Being a beta means I slip in under the radar. It means no one wants me. No Alpha at least. And that’s a reward all on its own.
And so, I allowed The Purveyor to etch his mark into me, whatever he needed to do to ensure I assimilated in with these strangers. But even now, there is still so little I know. All I know is that Sector One is not where I want to stay.
It affords me safety, yes. Anonymity, definitely. But I cannot breathe here. I cannot thrive here. At first, I was satisfied with just being safe, but now that I know safety also means a lack of means, it’s becoming more of a prison than a sanctuary.
But how can I move forward? How can I better myself when the money I make here is barely enough to cover the one-room hovel I have to call a house? There has to be another way. I need to get away from this place. I need to find Hathana Port.
Perhaps then I can get off this godsforsaken planet and find somewhere far away that my demons will never catch up to me. Even now, I feel their breath down the back of my neck. I feel their dark intentions as I bustle about, desperate to make whatever money I can. I covered my tracks, made sure I couldn’t be followed, and yet, I know they’ll find a way. They always find a way.
I will never be free, never be safe. Not until I’m far enough away that the Gundhardian Alphas have no hope of finding me or following. With that renewed thought in my mind, I grab a few more clean glasses, fill them with the dark, strange liquid that passes for alcohol here, and walk them back over to the awaiting Alphas.
As I approach them, a cloud of anger slams into me, nearly stealing my breath. The scent is sour, like a thick coating of mold or mildew. I gag on it, nearly dropping the glasses as fear takes hold.
Strong hands grab me from behind, and my vision whites out until I can see nothing. All I know is terror. The tray slips from my hands, clattering to the ground in a crash of glass and liquid. It pools at my feet as pinpricks of impact from the shards of glass lash into my shins. It should hurt. My brain tells me this, but my body does not comply.
But I feel everything else. I hear everything. I know what is happening, but I cannot put a name to any of the sensations crawling over my skin. The only thing I can pinpoint is the pair of powerful hands dragging me away while shouts from the other Alphas flood my ears.
The hands shake me, jostling me from side to side. I want so desperately to break out of my cocoon of fear, but it’s not releasing me. Nothing does. I cry out, my hands moving, shoving, anything to break the hold of the Alpha clinging to me, but he doesn’t budge.
Desperation claws at my throat, but I can’t tell if I’m making any sounds or not. Everything is garbled, as if I’m hearing it all from underwater. What sounds are my screams, and what sounds are the Alphas around me, bellowing, shouting, preparing to rend me limb from limb?
“You will unhand her now.”
That voice. The one thing that cuts through the fog. I focus on the deep timbre, the easy cadence, so unlike the other sounds around me. It covers me up, hides me away. My body sags in relief as the other sounds start to fade.
Another set of hands holds me now, far gentler, and without the bite of recrimination. I turn towards the owner of those hands, burying my face into his chest as he brings me closer, purring until my body is loose against him. Who is this being of mercy?
I know I’ve heard his voice before, and yet, I cannot seem to grasp it. I cannot conjure an image in my mind. That means I have to force my eyes open, to see the Alpha that my body allows to hold me, granting him the one thing I could never do on my own.
Blinking up, I stare into his deep brown eyes, taking in the dark hue of his skin. It’s as if my mind is latching onto anything and everything, something to distract it from the terror threatening to short-circuit my senses. He’s huge. That’s the first thing that pummels itself into me.
Honestly, he’s the first Alpha I could see actually being able to stand toe-to-toe with the Gundharian warlords. That knowledge should frighten me, should drive me screaming from his arms, but I’m transfixed. All desire to flee drains out of me as his chest rumbles against me.
Is it the purr? Is that what’s causing me to buck up against the rational part of my brain yet leaving me unable—unwilling—to move? No other Alpha has used this on me, and the only way I know that it’s this illusive gift is from hearing the others speak of it. I thought they were lying, spinning tales to make the Alphas seem more approachable, but it seems that the truth is far stranger than fiction.
Unable to help myself, I reach up, touching his cheek as I marvel at his smooth, dark skin, so unlike any man I’ve ever seen. It’s not quite as dark as the ebony trees we harvest every planetary cycle, but somewhere between that and the mighty dark oaks that give us shelter. And he’s just as big, just as strong, a shelter, a haven to rest in.
Against his skin, my tanned hand looks almost pale—a marvel that I cannot stop turning about in my mind. Though the warlords of Gundhar are slightly darker, tanned from years out in the blistering suns, they never looked like this. But then, I’ve only ever known the breeding camps. Perhaps there is more like him, and I just don’t know it.
Seeing this Alpha harkens back to shadows that move in the night, silent and deadly. Would he be just as swift? Moving about like wisps of smoke with a gracefulness I doubt I’ll ever see again? Or is he more like the embers of the fires themselves, burning all in their path? A shudder racks my body as the very real terror of being held in this colossal Alpha’s arms penetrates my brain.
But then he shifts, clutching me to him like the most precious, fragile thing he’s ever touched. It’s beautiful, bringing tears to my eyes. The movement jostles my hand until my fingertip grazes against his lips. As if I’ve been burned, I pull back, waiting for a recrimination that never seems to come.
My lips move, to offer some apology for sullying someone so high above me, but nothing comes out. Nothing seems to work right as he looks at me, staring me down as if those eyes can see all my secrets, stripping me bare with just a flick of his gaze. His chiseled jaw clenches as I study him, and again, I fear as if I’ve committed some mortal sin.
After a moment or two, he looks back over to the group of Alphas, his lips thinning as he stares them down. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” one of the group spits out, his voice raking across my body like skin skidding across rough sand.
Despite the man holding me close, I shudder, turning back into him for shelter. His broad shoulders hunch, enclosing me further, shutting out the terror that waits for me.
“Her reaction says otherwise,” my protector snarls. “I will have the truth.”
“You have to believe us,” another Alpha chimes in. “She walked over to give us our drinks and then froze. When Jasoroth went to touch her, to see if she was okay, she freaked out.”
Is that what happened? Was it something so innocuous as all that? It didn’t feel that innocent. It didn’t feel that simple. Either they are lying, or my body is once more betraying me.
I turn up to stare at the Alpha holding me, imploring him with my eyes since my lips no longer seem to want to work. There’s no anger in his glance, no ferocity made to make me cower. Instead, his eyes are warm, friendly even. But how is that possible?
As an Alpha, he should be furious that he’s having to waste his time with a lowly beta, but even more so, I’ve caused havoc among the customers. I brace, waiting for the tongue lashing, or worse, that’s sure to come.
No Alpha in Gundhar would abide such a scene or display. They would deal with it quickly, efficiently, and painfully. My back seizes for a moment as phantom sensations crawl over my body.
“Look at me.” His rich voice ripples over my skin, drawing some nameless emotion from my depths.
How is it that his voice alone compels me when none of the others have been able to draw so much as a smile from my lips? Body trembling, I look up at him, waiting for the verbal volley, but it never happens. Again, this Alpha forces me to question my sanity as he studies my face.
“Are you hurt? Did any of these men cause you harm?” Around me, they all freeze, the pungent scent of anger and fear wafting through the air.
“Please,” I manage to whisper before burrowing into him.
For some reason, his scent is a calm, steady, masculine heat and cooling breeze in one glorious package. Inhaling deeply, I draw it into my body, using him to steady myself. Smelling him is like a drug, like the few times the Gundharian Alphas allowed me to stand by their celebratory fires while they burnt leaves and mushrooms.
I want to bathe in it, to roll around in the safety of that smell, but I know it won’t last. I know I can’t allow myself to become dependent on this stranger, this Alpha that’s turned my world upside down in a matter of minutes. Taking in another fortifying breath, I shake my head against his chest.
“No, My Lord Alpha,” I rasp out against the firm muscle. “I- I had a moment, but I am far better now. Please, if you will just allow me to continue with my work. I-”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” he growls out as he scoops me into his arms, carrying me away. Once more, pinpricks of awareness thrums through my body, setting me on edge. “I’m taking you to my office.”
This is it. This is the time he unleashes hell upon me. Closing my eyes, I force every thought out of my body, making myself limp against him. It will be better to let him punish me and get it over with than to fight and have him cause further injury.
