Brenya would never speak the name of her friend and savior again. She would even lock up her thoughts and try never to think of him. The ruthlessness of her Alpha could not be forgotten or ignored. It was a true, hard fact that Jacques had countered her every move with far more finesse than she may ever possess. That to try to beat him at any kind of game was pointless. “Please, I just want to see Annette.”

  Grinding his teeth, jaw twitching, his nostrils flared. A moment later, he barked, “There is no need to look at me that way.”

  She could not be anything but honest; Brenya had never learned how to deceive. Eyes large, she let him see how much this hurt her, let him poke around their bond so her raw heart might be on display. Constructed from sorrow, from disappointment, from fear, from loss, her very soul was right there.

  Fragile, hopeless, on its proverbial knees before an incomprehensible masculine force. Before a king.

  “Please,” Brenya whispered.

  The terrible Alpha drew himself up, grew imposing, as if he sensed a threat and was ready to rip it apart. As if he did not recognize the true danger was himself. “Do not disappoint me.”

  Escorting her from his rooms, he guided her down magnificent halls, through a palace more beautiful than words, to a door guarded by no less than five Alpha soldiers. At his command, the portal parted, exposing a room boasting the gentle color of sunlight through a soft cloud. Ivory warmth. Brightly colored, beautiful things organized to impress.

  As she stepped into a dreamland, the door closed softly at Brenya’s back. Free of her mate’s physical presence, relieved he was no longer standing over her, did nothing to alleviate Jacques’s irritation where it scratched through their bond. It was as if he were still with her. Still pawing her person and making his unreasonable demands.

  But he had to be ignored.

  Just as the blood on her neck must be ignored.

  Annette awaited.

  A sense of unbelievable longing and extravagant relief to see Annette at last left Brenya rushing forward to embrace her suffering friend.

  7

  Annette returned the affection with restrained dignity.

  No complaint came from the Beta at the crushing hold of a desperate Omega, at the comfort Brenya sought and—unpracticed in the sport—even tried to return.

  She didn’t complain or coo. She didn’t pet or push away. Annette allowed unladylike clinging, gently patting a very troubled young woman’s back, while Brenya struggled to find words.

  Annette even spoke first, calm and even in tone. “It’s so good to see you, Brenya.”

  Was it?

  Unsure, Brenya puzzled out what good might even mean in these circumstances. How could a gnawing sense of terror be good? The frantic mishmash of bangs and pings colliding within the cage of her ribs felt… oppressive. Horrible. It felt no different than hanging upside down, face torn open, breathing unfiltered air, certain death was coming red and bloody to drown her in her own body’s fluids.

  Yet, just like when she’d fallen off the side of the Dome, Brenya felt that same spark that had stirred her to try to pull her damaged self to safety—and Annette was suddenly her tangled rope.

  Despite the awkward inability to steady her breath, Brenya held on to someone who had been horribly mistreated. A friend whom she had watched be unspeakably degraded before her peers. A woman who had eaten Beta rations willingly, knowing what it would mean to her future.

  A friend who had lost everything.

  Somehow thinking this was safe, that Annette’s embrace was safe. That Brenya might actually find herself free of the nightmare if she just held a little tighter, was madness.

  Insanity, she recognized yet Brenya felt deeply. Remorse, confusion, ineptitude, sorrow, powerlessness, and perhaps even an inadequate flicker of the only good she’d found in Central.

  A sliver of comfort in the companionship of a friend.

  A flutter of insupportable hope seemingly born from nothing.

  A thing so small no one could see it but her. A thing so big the Commodore would forcefully take it from her.

  That single thought of Jacques, and she tucked away that small fragment of joy before he might see it.

  Yet it died on its own.

  Hope became despair, because she might never get to see Annette again.

  Because Alpha arms could reach in at any moment and tear them apart.

  Because they were being watched by two Beta attendants.

  Because the door was so close, and the guards were right outside.

  Because Ancil was vicious and Jacques rapacious.

  Yet it didn’t seem as if Annette knew the same terror. She was comfortingly calm.

  The Beta rocked Brenya gently—hushed her like the wind that had blown her body back and forth against the Dome after she had fallen. Tangled in those ropes, no matter the pain or the hopelessness of the situation, there had been white flowers and fresh air… and that gentle sway in the wind.

  All of it had smelled sweet.

  Annette smelled sweet, and it wasn’t just the poison of Beta pharmaceuticals.

  Annette was her white flowers.

  In that poignant moment, Brenya fully understood what good might mean in Central. Swallowing the final sob, she took a steadying breath and met her friend’s pretty blue eyes. “Yes, Annette. It is good to see you.”

  Physical space grew between them as Annette untangled herself from Brenya’s flagging grasp, her full attention sweeping once again over the quieting Omega in white lace.

  Her eyes went back to the bit of fresh blood dotting the fabric at Brenya’s throat. “Estrous went well?”

  More tears welled and spilled, yet Brenya was able to hold back a sob to reply, “No.”

  A simple statement full of so much shame. What Jacques had subjected her to had been wrong, degrading. Horrible. And worse, Annette had once confessed her envy of Omegas and the bond an Alpha might impose on them.

  There was no way the Beta might comprehend a weight too heavy to bear. One that moved uninvited within, invasive and unclean.

  One that could make her body perform acts her rational mind abhorred.

  “Jacques was cruel. He did things....” How does one even tell their only friend about begging for fluids while writhing on a dirty floor? About her audience. About Ambassador Havel’s cock up her ass and his teeth tearing at her throat, all for Jacques’s pleasure and design? “He hurt me.”

  Implacable, yet with a gentle squeeze of Brenya’s hand, Annette said, “You still don’t understand. An escape attempt, Brenya, must be punished. The Commodore’s duty is to correct his mate. Your duty—the duty of all women, Omega or Beta, within Central—is to accept Alpha authority without complaint. As I have tried to teach you, we must work within the confines of our station and situation. Running from an Alpha, your Commodore at that, was incredibly unwise. Promise me you won’t do it again.”

  No soul who had not endured it could possibly understand what had taken place on that ship. Lowering her eyes at the reprimand, Brenya shared the ugly truth. “There is nowhere to go, Annette. I understand that now. There is nothing but this.”

  Not even death. If she killed herself, George would suffer; of that, she had no doubt.

  And she would never betray him.

  A starburst of anguish flared with the open confession. George was a prisoner, Annette was a prisoner, Ambassador Havel was a prisoner… and every last citizen of Bernard Dome was trapped under the authority of corrupt Alphas, whether each slave was medicated to comply, coerced, or physically contained.

  Brenya would stand for them for as long as she could.

  There would be no fresh start. It didn’t matter if Tholos stood or if the Antarctic Dome had truly fallen. Jules had warned her that going there would start a war with a powerful and well-armed tyrant. Jacques had confirmed it. Furthermore, the prideful Commodore—an arrogant, haughty, egotistical Alpha with all the power under the Dome—had stated it was a war Bernard Dome could not win.

  “You will learn to accept your place here,” Annette said with gentleness and grace. “Not every situation will be easy to swallow; that’s true. The role of wife is the most unrewarding and perilous assignment under the Dome. Therefore, we females must find our joy in motherhood.”

  Swallow. A particularly heartbreaking choice of words, considering Annette’s new situation.

  Annette had swallowed Beta rations without question. She had been cast aside and reduced to a simple cot tucked in a corner of her child’s light-drenched nursery. The Beta’s sleeping place pointedly unadorned, with nothing but a thin blanket and a small pillow, half hidden behind a screen. A sad corner that paled in comparison to the grandeur of the glittering nursery with its cheerful ivory walls and clean, perfect furnishings.

  Yet, which of them was more miserable?

  Not the drugged Beta who had accepted the poison and even told Brenya not to interfere when she’d spoken up before the Alphas in power.

  Brenya was trickling blood from her throat, hanging on by a thread, and Annette was… surviving.

  In the confines of her station and new situation.

  After stroking her cheek with a gentle touch, Annette carefully tucked a fallen wisp of Brenya’s hair behind her ear. “I had an entire lifetime of training to assume the role of wife. I had a loving mother to guide me. You were farmed and trained to work without question. You are utterly at a disadvantage socially. I doubt you even realize that you are now the most powerful female in Bernard Dome.”

  It was difficult to hold such a direct gaze from such a sweet Beta. More difficult still to inform Annette that she was wrong. “I have no power, Annette.”

  Kind in her touch, Annette cupped her cheek and said, “Submit to Jacques, and you may be surprised at how quickly your perception might alter. You’ll never be an Alpha, but you could be the Omega of Bernard Dome… or someone else will be.”

  And that someone else, most likely Lucia, would have no consideration or care for Annette.

  Her friend smiled. “Think of all the good you could do with a satisfied Alpha eager to gratify your every whim.”

  So, where Brenya thought Annette might be her lifeline, it was entirely the opposite.

  Annette’s very life might be in Brenya’s hands.

  But the Beta could not possibly understand what Jacques was truly like when it came to his Omega. How, even in that moment, his bond was insatiable, devouring every last part of Brenya it could reach. Tasting each of her emotions and sucking them dry. “I don’t know how.”

  “You will learn.” Abrupt, Annette gestured to the extravagant table set for tea.

  Leading Brenya to a beautiful chair prepared with many soft pillows, the Beta helped her find a comfortable seat despite her tangle of skirts and badly bruised body. She helped accommodate Brenya as if she were already the Omega of Bernard Dome.

  As with their prior meetings, every exchange between them seemed a lesson—Annette coaching, while Brenya stared at her with longing, trying not to take their precious time for granted.

  Yet try as she might, Brenya grew distracted when even the soft cushions between her and the chair could not hold back the aching throb growing where flesh was pulped and damaged.

  “You fidget and wince. Do not let others see that you are in pain. Everyone will take note.” With perfectly manicured nails tipping soft hands that had never seen hard labor, Annette lifted a silver teapot. Steaming mahogany-colored liquid filled each cup, the movement of the hostess practiced, effortless, and… lacking her stolen luster. “Have your tailors slit your skirts until you learn how to properly arrange them. And smile. You don’t have to mean it.”

  Stiff, Brenya offered Annette the very smile the sweet Beta had taught Brenya only weeks before. It faded quickly, the muscles of her cheeks twitching at the effort to maintain the dishonest expression.

  Their eyes met as Annette passed her the saucer and cup, their gazes held. On a blink, the Beta spilled a single tear. One she ignored as if it had never happened. And then she beamed her dazzling, practiced grin… and it almost felt real. “Your tea will get cold, Brenya.”

  The Omega sipped, finding the hot beverage overly sweet.

  “You taste honey.” Annette took a delicate draw from her cup. “An extra spoonful should always be added for when the Alphas are rough.”

  Rough was not near enough to describe what Centrist Alphas were.

  Brenya took another, deeper swallow.

  “This blend was specially prepared to soothe your aches and lighten your spirits. Rosehip, turmeric, ginger... my mother’s recipe. She made it for me the morning after my wedding night.”

  “What is a wedding night?”

  “It’s when the transfer of your ownership moves from your parents to your husband. It’s the moment past the contracts and negotiations and physical pleasure, where you bear the true weight of an Alpha for the first time. Tradition demands that, the following morning, there is a breakfast only married women might attend. Usually, it’s a pleasant affair of comfort, congratulations, advice, and sweet stories.”

  “And when it’s unusual?”

  Another practiced smile, this time accompanied by a small plate of square foodstuffs. “When it is unusual, extra honey is added to the tea. On the rare occasion, a ranking male relative might petition parliament for marital negotiations on behalf of their kin. An appeal for recompense. A minuscule proceeding, filed once, and usually forgotten. In Central, it is bad manners to formally interfere with another’s wife, so long as the marriage contracts are upheld and she is not permanently disfigured.”

  Brenya—who had been taught her whole life that Bernard Dome was a society of equality and freedom, where all who lived under the glass worked in harmony for the greater good—let out a troubled sigh. Tens of millions of citizens believed that lie; they even enjoyed their ignorance. It seemed, despite their current circumstances, Annette’s life had been far uglier than Brenya had assumed… and would get uglier still.

  As the Beta rations affected her nervous system, her friend would grow to feel almost nothing. Simultaneously, Brenya would feel entirely too much.

  And there was nothing to be done for it but sip tea and drink in the moment before it was gone forever.

  Out of her depth in every way, Brenya confessed, “I don’t know what it means to be the most powerful woman in Bernard Dome.”

  Because surely she was powerless. Commodore ignored her pleading and only allowed her outside of his rooms in exchange for degrading sexual acts.

  Annette set down her empty teacup. “It means, sweet Brenya, that you can have as much honey as you want. The other women will envy you for it; they will want you to share.”

  “Annette…” Voice catching, Brenya tried so hard not to fall apart. “I’m sorry.”

  Blue eyes as pretty as the sky outside the Dome did not glitter with amusement, playfulness, or energy for life. They did not glitter at all. “I understand now why you begged for Beta rations. Honey only goes so far.”

  Throat bobbing from a nervous swallow, Brenya set down her too-sweet tea, silently agreeing that the honey would never be enough… for any of them. “Annette, everything you’re saying to me, he will hear. I’m sure he’s even watching.”

  “The Commodore? Of course he is watching. He sent the honey.”

  It was hard to even speak his name. “Ancil, Annette. Your husband.”

  “No.” She shook her head, eyes closed. “Ancil is not watching. There is nothing in this room of worth to him.” A feminine wave gestured toward the two silent Beta attendants in their matching dresses and pinafores. “Not that they won’t report to him later. But if he has any questions, they will center on your behavior today, not mine.”

  Failing to glance at the attendants, Brenya drank in the blue eyes of her friend. Eyes that seemed much wiser than she had ever shown herself to be. “And what will they say?”

  “That, though you acknowledged Estrous, you have failed to mention your new pair-bond. That you appeared emotionally unstable. That you ate and drank all you were given. That you squirmed in your seat and picked at your cuticles. This will please him. He will not want you to outshine his new Omega. Lucia’s performance in a social situation would have been flawless.”

  It wasn’t flippant. It wasn’t rude. It wasn’t bitter. Annette was simply matter of fact.

  Brenya had missed the honesty of Beta conversation, so much so that the soft smile on her mouth was genuine. “Then they can tell him that I didn’t mention the pair-bond, because I didn’t come here to talk about Jacques. Jacques talks about himself enough.”

  Reaching for the teapot to refill their cups, Annette offered a simple, “I know why the Commodore fell in love with you.”

  “The concept of ‘in love’….” Was unfathomable to Brenya. “Annette, whatever it is you felt for Ancil, that is not what the Commodore feels for me.” She needed her friend to understand that what Jacques exerted over her was dangerous and cruel. That, in that very moment, Brenya could sense the thrashing of his needs, his gnawing, unwelcome savagery. “It’s a hunger that will never be satisfied. It has no consideration for my life. I’m nothing more than the trough where it feeds. And it hurts, Annette, far more than falling from the Dome ever could.”

  “And to think I desired to be an Omega more than anything else in the world.” There it was, another brief flash of grief that no amount of Beta rations would ever fully quell. “Maybe Ancil would have loved me back if I was.”

  “I’ll love you instead.” Just as she loved the Dome and the good people laboring within it. “I’ll love you, even if he never lets me see you again.”

  “The Commodore won’t.” There was no emotion in Annette as she confirmed what Brenya felt echo as true through the pair-bond. “You made a grave mistake when you walked through the door. You forgot that you were here to hold my baby.”

  A wash of cold dread chilled Brenya to the bone. She stumbled for an explanation, because he was watching, and he was calculating, and she had poorly tried to manipulate and failed. She made herself look at the child in the cradle. One conveniently positioned right beside her. Rosy, chubby cheeks, the tiny nose, and puckered lips. “Your son… is asleep.”