Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Which is why I’m ordering you to go to her. Guadalupe has to figure out for herself if she wants to live or die, and you are an absolute bitch, and I hate you, but you’re good at your job.”
Cocking an eyebrow, the old woman gave a pretentious scoff. “I don’t have time to—”
“I didn’t ask you,” Claire said, standing from the couch, smoothing her colorful skirt, and letting out a shaky breath. “After all, I’m the fucking queen, aren’t I?” Voice breaking, she felt her lips shiver, her chest constrict. “You’re going to do what I tell you to do. Or I will have Shepherd find me someone who will.”
15
Bernard Dome
In a dim room, with the light of one nearby lamp, Jules read to Brenya in a language that sounded nothing like her native French. Crispy and singed static, ugly on the ear, but the Beta made it something more with cadence and measure and intention.
Brenya did not understand a word of it.
Understanding wasn’t the point of this exercise.
Her husband had asked to do this with her, lounging on a large couch in their Red Room, directing her where and how to position herself at his side. Cuddled up. Stiff at the start, Brenya leaned into his arm just like he wanted and waited for further instruction from the man who had cut out Jacques’s eye.
And forced her into the Alpha’s presence at breakfast.
Set her into the influence of Lucia for the remainder of the day.
And asked for her to try… to sit with him and relax.
But she didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want her Beta husband in the room.
She didn’t want to talk or listen or breathe his air.
Because she’d been given an important task, and it was not going to go well.
Confrontation was not a skill Brenya had been born with, though in Jacques’s care, Brenya had learned that deep down she had something of a temper.
That led to violence and her pain.
Punishment.
Jules had not punished her once.
But he had physically dominated her only that morning, forced her into clothing and one hard scenario after another.
Nor had he been forgiven.
And she had far more to be angry about now.
He was a bad man.
Lucia was a bad woman.
Jacques was a criminal.
Brenya was their favorite plaything.
And the lives of millions of people rested on her shoulders. Including some new citizens that had arrived in terrified mass that morning.
The frame of her husband pressed to her side, Brenya’s muscles failed to fully go lax as she leaned into him harder and only grew more angry. She couldn’t help it, not with the constant thought of the pink nubs where Jacques’s fingers had been twitching in her mind.
Or his glass eye remaining a bit too still while his living eyeball slid about as he’d looked her over.
Or all the responsibility Lucia had heaped upon her.
Central.
The virus.
The Omegas.
Jules had not changed his bloodied shirt, and it was crusty under her cheek, the skin where she’d bitten him feverishly hot.
It had to hurt, the pressure of her skull on his wound.
Her claiming marks had been agony; the one on her neck—the one Jules had given her—had grown infected all those months ago.
Had the Beta cleaned and bandaged it? Jacques had at least done that for her.
Was she supposed to do that for him?
“Claiming marks are supposed to scar. Like the rest of you, they are beautiful.” It felt like another lifetime when Jacques had spoken those words with so much excitement while Brenya had been horrified and suffering.
It was not a fond memory. Yet the wounded skin separated from her cheek by one crusted layer of cloth held center stage in her thoughts.
Not knowing, wanting to know, wishing she didn’t care… but she did.
Drifting in and out of the meter of Jules’s unhurried voice as he read Gods knew what. It could have been an instruction manual on street paving. It could have been a medical dictionary.
Yet he kept reading as if it were music.
And her ears loved it. Which she hated.
Because he was terrible for doing nothing. For being with her when he should have been leading the city. He was the new Commodore, wasn’t he?
Soothed, furious, disgusted, deeply sad, wary, frightened, dealing with thoughts best left undisturbed… all in a mind that was finally functioning optimally.
The horrible breakfast with Jacques had ended the hallucinations, though Brenya did not fully understand why.
No longer was her tormentor hovering in her periphery. She didn’t hear Jacques whispering in her ear. He wasn’t there… yet he was. The pair-bond was solid. Humming.
Jules read to her, but Jacques sang.
And Brenya wanted them both to shut up, her voice sharp when she finally blurted out, “I didn’t bite you with the intention of… giving you something Lucia says you wanted. There wasn’t any special meaning behind it, Jules. I was just panicked. And you were… awful. And you scare me! And your wound is getting infected.”