The Alpha's Woman Read online

  That comment earned her what she came to think of as the first real smile she'd seen from him – and, even though it seemed genuine and showed no signs of the evilness of his first few attempts, he still looked foreboding at best.

  "What is your name, girl?"

  Did people still shake hands? She wondered. Regardless, did they shake hands while lying beneath someone who was slowly shrinking within them?

  Out of habit, she raised her hand, lowering it when he didn't seem as if he was going to offer his own.

  "Emmy – Emily Harding. And you?" she asked expectantly.

  Suddenly, she was alone, and feeling more bereft because of it than she wanted to admit – and also – amazingly – alarmingly – she could feel the stirring of desire again, on its way to becoming as deep and all encompassing as if what had just transpired between them as he stood in one surprisingly graceful, fluid motion for one so large.

  Emmy did her best to try not to watch him as he re-wrapped that little loincloth type covering over himself quickly and efficiently, watching the muscles ripple beneath his deeply tanned skin, noticing how his shoulder length black hair wanted to curl in some places. She found herself both appalled and even more turned on at the sheer number and variety of scars he bore.

  Then he reached a big paw down to take her hand and pull her up, clamping her tightly to his side.

  "Come."

  He began to walk, and she had no choice but to go with him. He was practically carrying her.

  "Wait – what about my clothes? And I don't want to go!"

  Her attempts to forestall him from carting her away from her cozy little nest were not a little laughable and quite worrisome, in fact. Nothing she did seemed to have any effect on him whatsoever. He wanted them to go, so they were going.

  Just outside the cave, he emitted a high-pitched whistle that echoed through the brown hills, and Emily could hear his horse galloping towards them, rushing to obey his summons. She decided to make a last stand, trying to twist out of his hold, to contort herself in any manner that would loosen his grip on her, but, in the end, the only thing she managed to accomplish was to tire herself out.

  Because she was so exhausted from lack of food and water, she lied blatantly to herself.

  When the beautiful stallion arrived, he stood docilely in front of his master, and Emmy had to crane her neck to see his withers. A massive horse for a massive man.

  Said massive man bent and offered his laced, cupped hands to her. Emmy knew exactly what he wanted her to do – to step into them so that he could lift her up onto the horse.

  But, realizing she was now free and immediately dismissing the idea of trying to run, which risked pissing him off, she instead crossed her arms over her chest and took three large – for her – deliberate steps away from him. "I'm not going anywhere until I'm dressed, you tell me your name and where you would like me to go with you. Then I'll decide whether or not I wish to go."

  One expressive eyebrow rose seconds before she realized that those steps hadn't gotten her anywhere near far enough away from him, and before she could so much as lean away from him, she found herself standing in his arms, facing the horse, her side against his stomach. But he didn't lift her onto the beast immediately, as she expected. Instead, he held her still as he delivered five powerful swats to her bare bottom that had her seriously reconsidering putting up any kind of resistance whatsoever, tears fresh in her eyes before he stopped, even after so few spanks.

  After that, he didn't give her a choice. He put her on the horse, then swung up himself, arms wrapping around her from behind, effectively trapping her there with him.

  Although she tried to pay attention to the position of the sun, she had no idea how long they spent on the horse, or really, in which direction they travelled.

  Not necessarily because she didn't know how to calculate either of those things, but more because – despite what he'd done to her in the cave and how thoroughly sated she'd been by the experience – more so than she wanted to admit, really – she was rapidly finding herself returning to the state she'd been in before he had taken her.

  She was sore, yes, and straddling the horse didn't help much, but then, it also served to keep those very intimate parts of her stimulated against the horse's surprisingly silky coat. To add insult to injury, her now very sore behind was fit tight up against that which his loincloth strained to contain as it reared up and curved almost into her from behind, widely separating her bottom cheeks around it, the rhythm of the horse making him move against her as if he was thrusting into her.

  And he wasn't any help, either. Emmy bravely tried to smack his roaming hands away from her, but she spent most of the trip with him cupping her breasts in his callused palms or pinching and then holding onto her nipples as he kicked the horse into a trot, which caused her breasts to bounce and pull her nipples – repeatedly – out of his tight grip.

  It hurt, yes, but that potent combination did nothing but fan the unquenchable fire between her legs – even his hearty chuckle at her squirming couldn't manage to dull the ache.

  When they finally stopped, it was outside a large gate. He slid off the horse then lifted her down to stand close in front of him, his back to the gate, hunching himself around her as if to conceal her.

  He whistled three long blasts, and she heard someone open it.

  Her captor said something she didn't recognize, and then the gate closed, only to open again quickly.

  This time, she got what he barked, although she didn't understand it.

  "Nike!"

  Suddenly, a very large garment of some kind, in a drab gray, enveloped her. It had long sleeves, fell to pool at her bare feet and had a hood that he brought up and tucked her hair into before pulling it forward so that it draped over her entire face. "Keep your head down," he growled to her before he began walking them towards the gate, but as they were standing in front of it, before they walked through, he yelled fiercely, again, his deep voice reverberating throughout the primitive camp, "Nike!"

  As they entered the enclave, she saw that men, who, at the sound of his command, stopped whatever it was they were doing and stared down at their feet, populated it almost entirely. The majority of them weren't motionless, but some of them were.

  She could feel the tension in the air and was more terrified at that moment than she had been since she'd awoken.

  She kept her head down without having him tell her again, even when she heard the unmistakable sounds of feet running towards her, and she had the feeling she was in imminent danger.

  He only left her side for seconds. But that was all it took for him to confront whoever it was, deftly step behind him, put a hand on either side of the poor unfortunate's head and snap it, releasing the dead man immediately to let him fall to the ground with no more care than if he'd swatted a mosquito before joining her again.

  Emmy was stunned.

  It wasn't like it was in VR, or even old style movies or television.

  This was real.

  Neither the sight of an unnaturally bent neck nor the sounds of cracking bones and ripping flesh – the sounds of a man's death at the bare hands of her captor – were going to go away any time soon.

  If ever.

  Especially, since – even though they'd seen what had happened to the first man – two more men came at them.

  She wasn't sure exactly what it was they were after – she supposed it was her, but why? She was nothing special. She'd never been particularly beautiful. She was hardly someone who inspired men to commit suicide to get to her.

  And yet, they came anyway and he dropped them just as expediently as the first one.

  She felt a little better when they entered a big, industrial looking building, and she was hustled down long trails of hallways until, finally, he stopped and opened a door, pushing her into the room with a careful – guiding, rather than pushing – hand on her back. And despite that, she immediately – frantically – began to look for another door of
f the room.

  "Bathroom?" she got out, but not in time, neither seeing nor finding any sort of suitable target, she emptied what little was on her stomach onto the floor, but mostly ended up dry heaving.

  He surprised her by not jumping away from the mess she was creating – or her – but rather gathering her hair into one hand at her neck, holding it out of the way, cradling her as best he could with his body, and obviously wanting to provide what little comfort he could while she was sick.

  When she was finally through, spent and exhausted as she stood back up from her hunched position, he immediately wiped her mouth with a warm, damp towel.

  "Sorry," she breathed weakly.

  "It is I who is sorry that you had to see that. Such sights are not for one as tender as you, but I will never let any man have you, or even survive the attempt to do so."

  Have her? Emmy thought, wanting to question him further about his statement, but she was too tired to do it.

  Remaining close to her physically, as if he was worried she would be sick again, he continued, almost as if he was talking to himself, "I know you must be hungry, but I don't want to make you sick again."

  He turned, and she heard him pouring something, and suddenly there was cool water at her lips.

  When she would have grabbed the glass and drained it, he moved it away from her, warning, "Slow, small sips." He put it down, well out of her reach, on a table next to a big bed.

  How had she missed that enormous piece of furniture when she'd first come in? It was nearly as big as the entire room.

  Oh, yeah. Dead men all around her.

  She shivered at the thought, feeling his arms close instantly around her, supporting her, encouraging her to lean back against him as he removed the cloak he'd put on her only a few minutes ago.

  "Wait – I want to keep that and wear it!" she protested, making a feeble grab for it.

  He ignored her to turn and throw it outside the door before closing it again. Then he walked to the far end of the room and opened the door she'd missed in her cursory glance around the place before she began to heave.

  "Bathroom," was all he said.

  Emmy did not move.

  He sighed heavily, taking about two strides to commandeer her hand and pull her along with him back to the door, then pushing her inside. "Toothbrushes and toothpaste in the cabinet. Make your ablutions and come back out."

  Emmy took her time, thankful for the actual working facilities – even toilet paper – as well as the opportunity to brush her teeth and rid herself of that awful, fetid flavor that lingered in her mouth.

  Having already noted that there was no lock on the door, and therefore no real need to take a stand and bar herself in the small room, she finally opened the door. The half of her that could still think – barely – hoping that he wouldn't be there when she did so and the other – much less civilized half – elated when he was.

  He gave her a cursory glance and held out the glass again, taking it away from her when she made to gulp it all down at once. "Must I thrash your bottom every time I want you to obey me, girl?" he asked casually. "And do not make the mistake of doubting that – if that is what it takes, to get you to do as you are told, then that is what I will do."

  She ignored his blatant threat, stating as firmly as she was physically capable of doing, "I'm not a girl – I'm a woman."

  "Yes, yes you are," he said, his voice lowering dramatically as he crowded her away from him until she fell onto the bed on her back, watching him cage her in with his big body, already drowning in the vast, bottomless well of desire he could so easily inspire in her, already losing the ability – the will – to fight him.

  But he didn't take her this time. Instead, he removed his loincloth, spooned her into his arms and pulled the covers over the both of them, commanding, "Sleep."

  As much as she didn't want to obey him, her body seemed to enjoy doing exactly as he told her to do, and she was asleep in seconds.

  Chapter 3

  "Did Garron send you?" he asked for the thousandth time.

  Tired to the point of exhaustion – even with a full belly – Emmy rubbed her temple then dragged her hand along her cheek, answering him for the thousand and first time. "I don't know who Garron is." She already knew what his next question was going to be, although he might phrase it a bit differently.

  He'd obviously been trained in interrogation techniques.

  "How did you come to be here? I've been watching you for days."

  That was an alarming statement.

  "There was no trail to the cave, except from that big building or from the cave to the big building."

  "That's all there would be, since I originated – for all intents and purposes – in the lab."

  He jumped on that, as he had previously. "But you were all alone? No one lets a female travel like that, with no protection."

  "Well, I didn't really travel, per se..."

  He did not appreciate her vagueness, considering it evasive, instead. His eyes narrowed. "You had no bond. What Alpha would allow his Omega to wander away from him at all, but unbonded? Was he stupid? Or careless? Or were you just that disobedient? You bear no marks at all, not even those of a serious punishment, which you are obviously in desperate need of as a runaway slave."

  At the Institute, before they'd put them into stasis, it had been recommended to them that – if it was not scientists who greeted them when they came out of stasis – that they stick as closely to the truth as they could for their own safety, not knowing what it was that they would be facing when they awoke.

  So, Emily had done that. She had explained to him – calmly and quietly – that she had gone to sleep in another time, and that she'd only just awakened in this one, but he seemed very suspicious of her story and considering what appeared to have happened to the planet, Emily really couldn't blame him. That kind of thing seemed well beyond current capabilities.

  She had tried to get him to tell her what year it was, but he seemed confused by that question, and mentioning things that he didn't understand only managed to irritate him.

  And considering what she'd seen him do to three different people – who were, granted, all men – didn't give her a warm fuzzy feeling about making this mountain of a man angry.

  Frankly, she was surprised that she was able to answer him at all, his presence so near to her as he stood, pacing occasionally around the plain, wooden chair that had obviously been built to accommodate someone of his stature. The chair in which she was sat – was far from conducive to thinking – as far as she was concerned – even though he was wearing more now than he had been when she'd met him.

  He seemed to be better at controlling his responses to her, although she could see the telltale signs that he was far from unaffected by her proximity to him.

  And, somehow, having his nakedness covered was even worse than it being there on display before her. She knew what lay beneath the way his shirt stretched nearly to the breaking point over the chiseled curves of his chest, the intimidating thickness of his biceps, not to mention how obscenely the thin cotton fabric of his pants outlined what she could see was his impressive – and distinctly intimidating – full blown erection.

  Perhaps that was why he didn't bother to control himself further, she mused. The blatant evidence of his desire would remind her, every time she looked at him, just how easily he could subdue her – with her body aiding and abetting him through the whole, humiliating process.

  "How do you know he didn't?" she shot back at him finally, triumphantly.

  That dangerous smile was back as he came to stand next to her, inclining his head while he looked down at her, causing both her stomach and her privates to contract painfully. "Because…" he answered. He reached down to lift her off the chair suddenly, stopping in the middle of his otherwise very smooth transition to stare down at the pool of feminine cream she had left on his chair. There was an annoyingly satisfied look on his face, which he maintained as he unflinchingly s
at himself down in the midst of her wetness, then positioned her astride him.

  She wondered just when he had managed to divest himself of his pants before realizing it was already too late to avoid the inevitable.

  As he lifted her once more – ignoring her laughable attempts to stop him – and placed her onto the imposing head of his cock.

  She shook her head. And as he then began to forcibly, if slowly, torturously, lower her onto it, he continued, "Within seconds of meeting you, you were knotted – and thus bonded – by and to me."

  And when Emmy was sure that her traitorous body, which had kept her continually prepared for just this – that which it seemed to crave beyond all else, she was mortified to discover – had taken all of him that she was physically capable of, he again proved her wrong. Caused by the fact that the chair was so tall that no matter how she pointed her toes, she couldn't make contact with the floor to save herself from his possession, he used her precarious balance against her. Locking his eyes with hers, while holding her still by one of those massive hands at the back of her neck, the other on her hip, he snapped his hips viciously upwards. Driving the already swelling knot of flesh past her body's natural resistance, he allowed himself to settle back just slightly to create a seal, as well as sinking his own body's natural hook into the flesh of the most sensitive internal spot she owned.

  He leaned forward, his hot, heavy breath puffing out over her face. "You are bonded to me. Your body craves the submission to mine that only I can bring it. We are physically attached to each other – me to you, you to me. No man will ever know you this way again besides me." Then he rumbled into her ear, "Tell me you are mine."

  She cried out at his painful invasion, her body still quite sore from their last encounter. Again, feeling her still tender flesh caught on him at one end and stretched to the breaking point at the other. Those sharp moans were still mere shams, each of them, because although they were certainly inspired by the discomfort of what he was forcing on her body, it was so fleeting and so indelibly mixed with the ultimate in ecstasy that both cries immediately blended into agonized moans of a very different kind.