No warning was offered to brace for the pain; Lucia pinched the flesh of Brenya’s throat until an audible pop preceded a stinking flow of puss. Despite the short-lived agony, instant relief followed, whatever needed purging drained, damaged skin sinking in on itself.

  “Green.” Shaking her head as if blood and gore were nothing but another inconvenience, Lucia swabbed up and sanitized the mess. Next came unguent, followed by a large gauze patch, taped down so quickly it was obvious the beautiful Omega had training in such things. “It was poor taste for the Commodore to bite you twice, when the first one was well-placed and in proportion to your neck and shoulder—exactly where gowns could be cut to highlight the claiming mark. For such a glamourous city, the men are a bit savage, aren’t they? That is what happens when there are no proper women available to tame their urges and keep them in line.”

  Keep them in line? With what, a cattle prod?

  Despite the tangle of her insides, the hurt of her outsides, and the sure feeling that all of this was a waste of time, Brenya found it in her to offer a single dry chuckle.

  Knowing glow in her eye, Lucia said, “You will see.”

  Doubtful. After all, she was going to be judged for trying to free Jules. And she already judged herself deeply for failing Annette again.

  George would die.

  And Jacques Bernard would keep her alive to torment all the rest of his days.

  The dread of knowing it was all completely her fault was already eating her alive.

  As if to distract Brenya from her obvious anxiety, Lucia kept up a constant vocal stream of her every last thought, while simultaneously bandaging and dressing a woman who had no interest in responding.

  But the work had been done, and done quickly—another heavy, uncomfortable dress hung from aching shoulders. White lace encircled a throat that oozed infection into a bandage it would eventually soak through to stain the collar. Jewels sparkled, and her lips had been painted.

  Stepping back to assess her work, Lucia shouted, “She’s ready!”

  In response to the loud squawk, guards swarmed the room. Surrounded by no less than eight prime Alphas, the two Omega females were encased in their ranks and quickly ushered from the room. At her side, Lucia had no trouble managing her skirts in the hurried gait. She didn’t struggle as Brenya did to keep all the fabric from twisting around her feet. She looked regal, bright-eyed.

  While Brenya was panting with exhaustion at the pace. She could hardly breathe for the stiffness of the fabric at her neck and the added weight of a diamond collar that dripped like starlight over her shoulders and chest.

  She needed to catch her breath, already snapped at for wiping sweat from her forehead and mussing the twisted configuration of her hair.

  “You don’t have time to be sluggish, Commodorina. Curl up and complain later,” Lucia hissed under her breath.

  The statement was so far off base that it was almost impossible for Brenya not to tear at her hair and set her stinging roots free.

  She’d had enough!

  If Jacques wanted to punish her for doing what was best for the Dome, then he could come do so right there in the hall! What was coming for her didn’t require such fuss or pretension.

  Why dress her up at all? Was she supposed to cry and beg more beautifully by looking like a Centrist fool?

  Digging in her heels, Brenya forced the entire party surrounding her to stop so abruptly Lucia stumbled, catching herself on the nearest Alpha guard.

  Brown eyes instantly cut her way, Lucia shifting from exacerbated to nervous. “What are you doing? I told you there is no time.”

  “Be quiet!” Brenya had never spoken to another person in such a way, with such overwhelming contempt. “What could you possibly understand about any of this? All you care about is comfort and personal gain. I have slaved for this Dome my entire life. I know what’s waiting for me, but I deserve to walk toward it without your grating voice in my ear!”

  Sucking in a deep breath, unsure if the rage spewing from her mouth was even her own, Brenya found her attention stolen by a worrying scent.

  The smell… was that ozone?

  Smoke?

  The very quintessential signs of an electrical fire. Come to think of it, why were there so many guards and workers shuffling around the halls?

  Sniffing the air, Brenya found the source of the stink. Not a meter away from where she stood, char marks had ruined an overly ornate wall.

  Brushing away the woman’s beckoning touch, Brenya grabbed a handful of her skirt, hefting it high so she could more easily move in the ugly dress, and went straight to the site of the extinguished electric fire.

  Whispering to herself, she traced the burn marks with a light touch, “This should not be here.”

  In her scurry to free Jules, she had not even come this way. Furthermore, sorting through the memories of the night, Brenya could recall no action that would have triggered a voltage surge. She had purposefully avoided all electrical conduits so as not to trigger any alarms.

  Having been intimate with several of the palace’s maintenance shafts, Brenya was positive that the well-maintained circuitry did not experience random surges of this nature. Even the shafts themselves were spotless—worthy of Palo Corps’ mark of excellence.

  Reaching for her arm again, Lucia tried to pull her away. “There is no time for you to stop and look at the scenery, Commodorina.”

  Ignoring the incessant tugs on her arm, studying the pattern of the char marks circling the light fixture before her, Brenya said, “Commodorina is not a word in our language. I understand you are attempting to give me a designation, but I do not have one anymore. And I hate the sound of it.”

  “You need a title.” Exasperated, the beautiful Omega threw up her hands. “What else would I call you? Brenya? That is too familiar for the mate of a king. Next, you’d expect me to allow servants to call me Lucia.”

  Distracted, calculating the why of what was before her, Brenya muttered to the distraction, “He’s not a king.”

  Speaking of the not king….

  “Brenya!” The name was shouted with a bite, sailing down the halls as if Jacques had cracked a whip toward the entire party for insolence. Alpha guards snapped to attention, Lucia looked as if she had been struck, and Brenya? She felt her guts fall right out through her toes.

  Her end was at hand. How she would survive watching whatever the Alpha had planned for George, she didn’t know.

  Raging as he rushed toward them, looming large, eyes threatening murder, the Commodore roared, “You were ordered to escort my mate immediately to me, under the highest level of security! And I find you loitering in the halls!”

  The lead guard responded at once. “Sir, our orders expressly state that we may not touch or speak to Brenya Perin unless her life is in imminent peril.”

  “It is!” Viciously, Jacques Bernard shoved the armed Alpha aside. As the guard careened off the wall, the Commodore made a rough grab at Brenya’s arm.

  She had witnessed Jacques in various terrifying states, had felt how he twisted up his end of the link, how he’d yanked at her… but she had never seen him like this.

  Nostrils flaring, reeking of ferocious Alpha musk, eyes wide as he glared… in that gaze was alarm.

  A brief flash of true panic flashed in his eyes, but before she might sort out why, he towed her forward. So tight was his grip on her arm that each time she tripped in his mad rush down the hall, her feet dragged, but her body did not fall.

  More Alpha guards waited at their destination. Standing en masse outside the room where she would be judged, weapons drawn, and watching the halls as if enemies were expected any moment.

  Not one of them looked toward her when Jacques finally let her catch her breath.

  When they came to an abrupt halt, her wrenched shoulder knew a stabbing pain that left Brenya involuntarily yelping, as she pressed her hand against the ache.

  It was only then—when Brenya began to rub at her screaming joint—it seemed to occur to Jacques that he was hurting her. That she was struggling to catch her breath.

  His grip on her arm altered from cruel to gently kneading. As if he might chase away what smarted. As if he wanted to offer her comfort.

  Drinking down her wide-eyed expression, sniffing the air as if tasting her terror, he quickly smoothed Brenya’s hair into place with an expertise that outweighed that of Lucia. “I am sorry, mon chou. I could not come for you myself.”

  Winded, Brenya felt his rage, felt it acutely, but his actions were suddenly gentle. His eyes beseeching.

  That anger burning him up within, infecting their bond and crackling in her chest… it was not directed at her. “I don’t understand.”

  Accent heavy, Lucia caught up to say, “Great Commodore, I have prepared Brenya Perin for you, as ordered.”

  Snarling at the interruption, the Commodore turned his attention from Brenya to the supplicating Omega.

  One in a deep curtsey, regal and beautiful, even as she panted from the rush.

  He measured the woman with her eyes demurely turned to the floor, her head at a subtle bow. “You have done well enough, Lucia.” Addressing the guard at Lucia’s side, Jacques barked an order. “Escort this woman to the security chief’s residence. Lock her in.”

  If there was any disappointment in having her short-lived freedom stripped away, Lucia did not betray it. She nodded in deference, and she obeyed.

  In a much softer tone, Jacques blended a purr into his words and forced a smile, all his attention on his mate. “Brenya, I need you to catch your breath for me. When you walk into this room, you will walk in as a queen. Remember that you represent every life under this Dome. That you have made an oath to them. I caution you to choose your words well, and think of how much you love…” It seemed as if he was going to say “me,” but the Alpha hesitated and offered, “your people,” instead.

  Nothing was as she thought, and her obvious lack of knowledge led to fresh confusion. Was not Jacques going to judge her for trying to free the Beta? Had he not brought her here to force her to suffer? To harm George? Maybe even smother Annette's baby in front of her?

  What on earth scared Jacques Bernard?

  The way he was petting and fretting, how he obsessively touched her face. His anxiety. It pinged about her throat, weaving itself into her bewilderment.

  The Alpha was afraid for her.

  Concerned.

  And he was still fidgeting with her clothing and organizing her hair just so, tucking loose strands behind her unpierced ears—forcing her necklace to lay flat where prongs had snagged the lace across her chest.

  Blotting away her sweat.

  “Jacques, what is going on?” And why had she suddenly noticed Jules fluttering the edges of his darkness? Laying soft strokes along her psyche as if he knew she were on the cusp of something horrible, and he was looking forward to what was about to take place.

  Cupping her cheeks, Jacques urged her to meet his gaze and failed to answer her question. “You look like a queen. Beautiful. Everything any man might desire in a mate. Know that I love you, and all will be set right.”

  Blinking, unsure what to say, because none of this made sense, Brenya felt him place a soft kiss on her mouth. It lingered, followed by another on her forehead, before he tucked her arm into his elbow and ordered the doors to be opened.

  Inside was nothing more than a small, unadorned COM room. Not a throne room, not a gallery. Dark walls boasted no art or expensive decoration. Instead, there was a great deal of machines and control panels, one wall nothing but screens.

  It stank, crowded with Centrist Alphas waiting in heavy, expectant silence.

  For her.

  A strange location for judgment and pomp.

  Ancil stood at the forefront of the Alphas, scowling. The set of his ticking jaw a clear threat that, should she so much as blink wrong, he would end her. Other familiar faces stood at his back, powerful men Brenya had met the night of the state dinner, when Annette had been forced to eat Beta rations.

  In their embroidered coats, their heads caught in matching tight braids in the standard Centrist fashion, clumped, tethered, and trying to seem unflappable, they looked even more ridiculous than she.

  And they reeked of anxiety.

  Depositing her at the center of the room, Jacques began again to stroke her hair, purring loudly as the back of his fingers ran down the side of her jaw.

  Until someone loudly cleared their throat.

  Jacques tensed in response.

  Odd.

  Not once had she seen Jacques respond to the whims of another, seen him stiffen as if preparing for a reprimand.

  It was then Brenya felt him, the gulping maw of Jules's darkness sucking all the light out of the room. The unexpected pull so strong, enveloping the link to such a degree, it may as well have been his hands all over her.

  “Good evening, Brenya.”

  That voice did not belong in this place with these people.

  Tossing her head toward the sound, Brenya found the Beta standing in the shadows. A free man.

  Dead eyes above smirking lips, Ambassador Jules Havel waited… for her. Drinking her down, fire came to that stare, a long, promising look that he had come to fulfill his vow.

  He was going to hurt her.

  And she was going to let him.

  Brenya was going to do anything he wished. Because if he was free of his own accord, something far worse than just the death of George, Annette, and her child waited for her.

  She had learned exactly what such a man was capable of.

  After all, he’d murdered millions of men, women, even children in Thólos.

  19

  Blood running cold at the sight of Ambassador Jules Havel’s deadly smirk, Brenya whispered, “It is not a good evening.”

  It had been one of the worst evenings.

  How he had gone from starved, unwashed prisoner with nothing but a bucket to relieve himself in, to a polished and finely dressed free man who commanded the room—who commanded Jacques Bernard—scraped her insides raw in a way Jacques never could.

  He hollowed her out, scooping out every last bit of insecurity, each twitching anxiety, the terror living in her belly, and dropped it all at her proverbial feet.

  There would be no mercy for her people, no matter what she might say or do.

  Knowing that he did not forgive, that his bitterness cost Annette and her child a chance for life, that George was still going to die at his hand, that her people would suffer for her mistakes, she saw nothing but a living amalgamation of her disappointment with the world.

  Honey eyes held shocking blue, and Brenya let him see all of her in return: her scarred face, every last insignificant wisp of her psyche. Every feeling, every thought. Everything their link might offer.

  Demanding he endure it.

  That he understand just who he refused to forgive.

  After all, she was at his mercy, vulnerable and shaken, surrounded by his beckoning emptiness… totally open to him.

  Imploring in the only way she had left, she showed him how much she loved her people.

  How willing she was to suffer anything he might ask, if only he might forgive.

  She had offered this man her life, and she would give it willingly.

  “Do you want me to beg?” That was what he had commanded earlier when he had touched her and held her close enough she could feel the length of his body pressed to hers.

  With a dip of his head, as if accepting every last thing she silently offered, as if he were looking forward to having her on her knees, Jules mentally opened up just as wide.

  Rooted, she felt the yawning abyss, seeing all the way right into the emptiness of such a man.

  Easing from the shadows, Jules came into the light, came to her, as if Jacques was not bristling in warning for him to stay away. Yet, when the Alpha thought to shield his mate from such a man, Jules Havel put his hand to the Commodore’s chest and pushed him away as if he were an insignificant fly.

  And Jacques acquiesced. He stepped back, stepped away, and left Brenya abandoned to another’s power.

  Abandoned to the whims of a dangerous man.

  “Nothing can spare you this moment, Brenya. Not one soul under this Dome can prevent it.” Offering his hand to her, palm up, Jules's silken voice filled her ears with poison. “I demand what I was promised, and I will have it. All of it.”

  She had promised him everything.

  In collecting the debt, Jules expected her to touch him, to freely put her fingers into his control—when really what he demanded was her life. At her moment’s hesitation, the darkness inside him called out that she must obey. It spread its comforting shade inside her, slowed her racing heart, and stroked her from the inside out.

  When all was said and done, it was almost as easy as breathing to concede to such a force.

  Tentative female fingertips landed atop his waiting palm, a diabolical grin growing on Jules’s face. Closing his grip around hers, the Beta drew her away from an Alpha so enraged his threatening growls reverberated through every last corner of the room.

  It was from that place of infinite superiority that Jules spoke, honest in his evil. “Witness. She came to me willingly, just as I said she would. It is a pity you could never claim the same, Jacques Bernard.”

  “That is enough, Ambassador!” Jacques snarled, not three paces away and stinking of aggression. “Brenya Perin has been delivered as requested. Now you must fulfill your end of the arrangement.”

  “Silence.” With the authoritative tone in which his order was delivered, the Beta wielded an ungodly presence that left Jacques Bernard and every other Alpha in the room jerking away from the force of it.