Chapter 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. ”
There. She’d said it.
“I know.” Those strange eyes did not glance up from the page, but the corners of his mouth did hint at a smile. “Still, it’s done.”
No, it wasn’t! Nothing had been done as it should have been done.
Why didn’t anyone see that? How could a woman like Lucia possibly think Brenya could handle these men?
“When I stole your ship, when I got sick… you could have taken me to Greth. But you disabled the ship! You wanted Jacques to come for me! You risked my life for—”
That shifted Jules’s gaze just a touch to the right, blue eyes dragging over the page a hair closer to her, his voice offered at the perfect pitch. Crafted. “You’d locked the door to the cockpit. I couldn’t get in.”
Yes. “No. You could have explained things about Thólos. You used me, knowing Jacques would hurt me… and you. He hurt you too. And now he’s in a cage and you cut off his fingers and took away his eye!”
The book was closed, set aside, Jules meeting her furious glare, the backs of his fingers running down her scarred cheek as if he adored this. As if her emotions were fine wine. “I wasn’t wrong.”
It wasn’t exactly revulsion that made her shake him off, and that disturbed her. The Beta’s touch felt good. Welcome.
Wrong considering all she’d heard that afternoon.
Pushing away from the couch, standing in her wrinkled, soiled jumpsuit, Brenya pursed her lips, glared like she was working up the courage to do something that would only end badly.
Only to become a total coward and stutter out a pathetic, “I’m leaving.
I’m… I’m going to go work on my clock. I don’t want to be here when they start. ”
They being Lucia and Jacques. Fucking.
At seven o’clock they were scheduled to fuck.
Half an hour from that moment, Brenya’s skin crawling from the thought of it.
Brenya did not like that woman.
The foreign Omega was a self-serving, manipulative, glittering, bravado-laced beast of ambition who had cornered her with her nausea and lies. The prattling bitch with a chip on her shoulder and the meanest glares Brenya had ever received… had needed fresh air.
Saved her from Jacques’s stares.
Shown her too much.
And they had not even left the palace.
There had been no walk in Beta Sector.
Their entire confrontation had taken place in Annette’s old apartments before Jules’s guards, the room stuffed with Grethentine Omegas: pregnant, miserable, happy, strange. Loud. All gathered in what was now Lucia’s quarters.
An ambush.
Every female had been noisy in their boisterous greetings to the great, grinning Lucia, physical in their handling and embraces. The chatter in Spanish had been animated, the women looking to Brenya, seemingly complaining to Lucia, back to Brenya.
And full of unspoken complaints. Many of them looked like they wanted to slap her even harder than Lucia had.
Yet it was Lucia who kept it civil.
“Ladies, this is our Commodorina, Brenya Havel. And we are here to serve her. Aren’t we, ladies?
All queens need their court.” Spoken as the taller, far more social female pulled Brenya under her wing.
“So we will start anew. After all, if we fight, they win. We cannot let them win,” said with a smirk, a knowing one.
And Brenya did not understand, nor did she grasp just why looking at the blonde who’d flirted with Jacques before they were even mated made her want to rip the woman’s hair out. “Them?”
“Jacques. Commodore Havel.” Explained without her regular disdain, blunt and a little threatening as Lucia narrowed her eyes.
“Females organize and run society, Commodorina. Males see to the administration of it. Central grew so broken because Beta females cannot rule Alpha males. I’m not saying it’s not unfair; I’m merely stating facts.
You cannot let the man walk all over you.
We stand together, and they learn their place.
Then… families thrive. Babies live. Everyone enjoys great sex.
We are going to teach you this. No, don’t look at his creepy guards.
They can tattle all they want. It won’t make a difference.
And you will make Commodore Havel listen to you today. Yes?”
The black-clad guards who had been glued to her since she’d been dragged from the Red Room all stared forward as if deaf. But they were there. They were armed. And they were definitely listening.
And Brenya might have been inexperienced in a world of Lucias, but she was not stupid enough to fall for this. “No, Lucia.”
Jules would not take orders from her, and if Lucia thought he would, she was wrong.
A perfect black eyebrow arched, playful and inviting, challenge flashing as Lucia dipped her lashes.
“Do you not enjoy sex, Brenya? I can teach you that too. I might as well, since I’m teaching Jacques.
” A flirtatious shrug. “Why do you think I was the one chosen to partner your Alpha? Commodorina, I excel at sex. You do not.”
It hit a nerve, Jacques’s disappointed voice in her head. Face hot, Brenya shook her head, a silent refusal of the lesson. And then came a wave of such sadness Brenya thought she might cry.
Pretty Lucia would know how to do those things…. She would like what Jacques did…. She would earn his praise when she performed up to expectation.
“Brenya, there is power in embracing what you are,” said much more softly, as if Lucia had not meant the blow to land so hard.
Brenya slumped into the nearest chair, head in her hands, as her foot jittered against the floor. “No. I’m not like you.”
“No, you’re not like me. I had Ancil eating out of the palm of my hand after one night.”