1. Luken
1
LUKEN
I ri’s pleasure-filled cries fill my head as I rut into him, knot firmly locked in place.
His face is buried in the bed, back arched, ass sticking up with his knees spread far apart as I rapidly, and somewhat harshly, fuck into him.
Not that I’m moving.
My knot is locked firmly in place, which means the pleasure we’re feeling isn’t from deep, sweeping thrusts but electrified nerve endings.
The friction between our stuttered movements sends a fire through my body.
It’s not just my locked knot that does it for me.
Iri’s sweet caramel scent fills my head, my lungs, coats my throat and tongue.
His cries ignite my heart.
His hands gripping my hair send a sting of pain through my skull.
His whining mixes with his cries of pleasure.
The scent of his semi-continuous orgasm saturates the air.
His hole is squeezing my knot like a vise grip, getting tighter and tighter.
My teeth skim his neck, needing to bite.
Needing to mark and claim and bond him.
But I can’t.
Holding myself back has been absolutely trying my control these last nine months.
The only thing that keeps me in check is knowing that if I bite him, I lose him.
I can’t bite him until he’s bred and carrying my child.
The desperate need to breed him isn’t just fueled by my biology.
By his scent and his cries and his need.
It’s also driven by my frantic love for this man.
A love I’ve nurtured since we were kids.
A love that grows every single minute and becomes far more reckless with each day that passes without him conceiving.
Our time is almost up.
I close my eyes and lose myself in Iri’s heat.
In his body and in his grip.
In his love.
I fuck my lover until our bodies are satisfied before collapsing on the bed and taking him with me.
My cock is still locked in his tight hole, keeping me in position.
Keeping my seed inside him, facilitating the maximum effort for conception.
Iri sighs.
I brush the sweaty hair stuck to his face aside and kiss his neck, just below his ear.
He hums quietly.
Contentedly.
Completely satisfied.
My finger itches to touch his stomach.
I used to.
Months ago.
I used to rest my hand over his empty womb and beg the universe to put my child there.
I stopped because it was making him feel broken and like he was failing me.
He feels like it’s going to be his fault that we are torn apart.
It’s not his fault.
If anything, it’s mine.
My oldest brother works in the lab that studies our genetic codes and chooses the best possible match based on genetic compatibility for conception between a breeder and a breedable.
We have a year to conceive, and if it doesn’t happen within that time, the pair is split up and repaired.
My brother showed me how our genetics don’t align for conception.
He gave us less than a three percent success rate.
I begged him to lie and match us.
I begged him for my entire childhood.
My teenage years.
I begged him right until Iri reached his breedable maturity.
He agreed.
He’s convinced it’s going to end in heartache.
I was determined to prove him wrong.
We simply need to breed more.
Often.
Constantly.
It’s not like it’s a hardship.
Iri is just as determined as I am to make it happen.
He’s loved me for just as long.
We want to be together.
That should be an option.
The frustration of this situation has a constant growl lodged in my throat.
The only reason I’m not growling right now is because I’m purring.
Comforting my breedable.
My sweet, precious love.
I will lose my shit if someone takes him from me.
Hours pass, and I breed him once more before we get up for the day.
Iri has to go to work and I have plans to make.
As he showers and gets ready, I make his breakfast and lunch.
Then he’s in front of me with his arms around my neck and a beautiful smile.
I rest my forehead on his.
“I love you. Have a good day.”
His smile widens as he sighs.
“Love you too.”
There were days when we’d share that we thought this time was different.
We’d insist that we felt the difference.
That there was magic in the air this morning when we fucked.
Those words just hurt later when it wasn’t true.
We’ve stopped saying them.
I sit with Iri outside on the porch as we wait for his ride.
He tells me about his students and that he’s planning a pop quiz this morning.
He has some smart kids this year, so he’s sure they’ll do well.
Iri is a great teacher.
I’ve listened to his classes a few times through the parent portals, and he’s a very engaging, positive, fun teacher.
Every year, his students adore him.
Pru pulls up alongside our house, and Iri kisses me long and somewhat wild.
He’s worried.
He knows our time is nearly up.
I won’t let him see or feel how scared I am of that.
We won’t be split up.
I won’t allow it.
It’s not going to happen.
I already have a plan.
I watch Pru pull away and the taillights disappear down the road before stepping back inside.
I lift the basket on the table just inside the door and pick up the envelope from the Council for Breeding Initiative .
I don’t need to open it to know what I’m going to find.
I open it anyway.
Three-month notice .
There’s a short informational paragraph about what’s to come if Iri doesn’t conceive within the next three months.
Tips on how to divide our household.
How to begin separating our lives.
There’s a phone number to talk to a therapist who will guide us through the emotional toll of the separation process.
I ball it up and toss it in the fireplace.
It’s not a cold day, but I start a fire anyway.
Just to see it burn.
No one will take my breedable.
Fuck that.
Fuck them.
I’ll burn the entire fucking city down to keep him.
Pulling out my phone, I give the guys a quick text.
I received the three-month notice today.
Immediately, three small circle avatars drop below the message as they read it.
Dots dance as they respond.
Hakan
We’re almost finished with the paperwork.
Rhydian
You’ll be long gone before your three-month deadline.
Daunt
Have you told Iri yet?
Rhydian
Take a breath, Luken.
It’s going to work out exactly as it should.
Hakan, Rhydian, and Daunt live almost 800 miles away in Imari.
A city very different from Alyra, where Iri and I live.
All over the world, the cities are different.
They’re run very differently, giving their citizens different freedoms and different lifestyles.
I know it sounds as if Alyra has far too much control over its citizens, and maybe they do.
It’s the price you pay for absolute safety.
Iri is safe here.
He can live a life with a job and friends, and wander around the streets at night.
He’s a commodity in the world, so in most places, the freedoms he has here aren’t an option.
The underground trafficking markets for breedables are something that’ve endured for centuries.
It doesn’t matter what wars are fought or what militias try to interfere, nothing has been able to wipe them out.
In fact, I think they’ve gotten stronger, more prevalent now than they were a decade ago.
There’s a reason cities like Alyra exist.
For whatever reason, the trafficking markets don’t touch us.
They can’t penetrate our borders.
There’s no way in or out of the city without going through security.
Not in the air, not on the ground, not underground.
We’re protected.
Iri and the breedables like him are safe.
That’s why the city’s population expands constantly with the migration of other breedables and breeders alike.
This city is also unique in that we’re a single-gendered city.
There are only men here.
Twenty miles to our east is our sister city, Aryla, where all the female breeders and breedables live.
This isn’t segregation by force.
It’s by choice.
To the east, we also have a mother city with all genders, Yrlaa.
These cities were set up as an experiment.
Because the population is so skewed in breeders and breedables, there’s been a concentrated effort to bring more breedables into the world.
Not just as a means to preserve our species, but also, if they weren’t so uncommon, they wouldn’t be such a target for the trafficking trade.
That’s where the genetics labs come in.
They determined which markers promise the best results for a successful breed.
The breedable is presented with half a dozen options upon maturity, and they’re allowed to choose their first attempt.
But if that attempt fails, they have to choose someone else and try again.
If a breedable doesn’t want to be part of this program, they’re allowed to leave Alyra.
Same goes for the breeders.
No one is forced to stay.
Neither Iri nor I want to leave.
Our families and friends are here.
We love our life.
We love Alyra.
We don’t take the safety Iri has for granted, either.
But we love each other more.
Alyra has a relatively slow population growth rate as far as births are concerned.
Even with all the genetic testing and compatibility, it’s still not an exact science.
There are some male breedables who never conceive.
Female breedables conceive readily and with very few obstacles in their way.
The problem—and it’s not really a problem—is that they’re able to conceive breedables and breeders, and it’s far more likely that they’re going to conceive a breeder.
Arguably, their genes are stronger.
But a male breedable only conceives male breedables.
That’s why Alyra is such an important city.
In a world where breedables are less than a quarter of the population, male breedables are less than a quarter of the entire breedable population.
No one wants this new genetic evolution to die out.
Especially not our breedables.
They’re some of the most active scientists in genetic research, tirelessly trying to find a solution to ensure their survival.
Taking a breath, I look back down at my phone.
Leaving Alyra and its family cities is the only way to keep Iri.
That means we leave the safety Iri has had his entire life.
I knew it would come to this when I was a teenager.
When my brother showed me just how incompatible our genetics were when it came to breeding.
I started searching for a solution right away.
If I can’t successfully breed the man who owns my heart, then I need to find us a Plan B so we can stay together.
That plan came two years later.
I met a pack online.
Yes, I know.
Only bad things came from this, especially since I was just a teenager.
I’d like to say I vetted them thoroughly, but in reality, I met them while playing video games.
They live in Imari.
They’re a few years older than us, and as I got to know them, I also became convinced they’d be a perfect pack for us.
Iri was going to adore them.
They already loved my breedable, even having never spoken to him.
This was our pack.
This was where we were headed.
We’ve spent the last ten years working up to this point.
We’re about ready.
I’m not even mad about it.
I’m excited to be with our pack finally.
It’s going to be a happy life, and I’m confident that at least one of these men will be able to breed with Iri.
Maybe our child won’t come from my body, but it’ll still come from my mate.
I’ll live happily with that.
I finally answer Daunt’s question.
The same question he asks weekly.
Not yet.
Soon.