The Alpha's Woman Read online

  At first, she still had the presence of mind to try to fight him, however futile that might have been, but then she had yet to come to the realization of just how little control she really had in this new life.

  He brushed her tiny hands aside like so many annoying flies, until they apparently buzzed around him one too many times and he gathered them – along with the majority of her long hair – at the small of her back, causing her to have to arch her back to relieve the tension on her scalp.

  She had ignored his demand for her to admit something she vowed she never would, but somehow his actions – him restricting her movements even more than he already was – prompted Emmy to find her too long silent voice. "No – stop!" she panted breathlessly, "Please! I don't want this!"

  His chuckle rumbled against the starkly peaked nipple that proved her words false, easily deep and powerful enough to reverberate throughout her entire body as he nipped at it, pinching it tightly between his canines as he threatened, "If defying me earned you a spanking, what do you think lying to me will get you, little girl?"

  Her breath – and another degrading plea to stay him from his goal – caught in her suddenly parched throat, the tense way she was holding her body amplifying his every movement within her.

  And again, as before, soon after he'd anchored himself within her, as he expanded to a proportion that left her exposed clit nowhere to go as his girth rubbed relentlessly against it, he let fly his seed with such explosive power that she could actually feel it. She could feel herself being captively, helplessly bred to him, pumped full of him, wanting to weep despondently but unable to do so as she found herself in the throes of yet another frighteningly long, powerful orgasm. It only seemed to become increasingly, terrifyingly violent, as if the injection of his cum was some sort of aphrodisiac in and of itself.

  Of course, he held her fast throughout it all, his eyes never leaving a face that she tilted away from him as he watched her convulse helplessly around him. His flesh feeding off the pleasure it subjected hers to, until he was spent in every conceivable sense of the word, although not enough to let go of her, knowing she was even more weakened by the experience than he was, and that his hands on her were the only things keeping her from crumpling to the floor.

  Although, when he pulled out of her, he had been careful to lift her a little, off the barb at the end of his penis that inevitably sank each time into the most sensitive area within her to stimulate it. As well as providing another method of anchoring him inside her while he actively bred her – then the rest of him, she cried out each time, the second – more traumatic – dislodging causing her to dissolve into tears.

  As soon as those hands put her feet to the floor and let go of her hips, she ran for the bed, immediately curling herself into a small ball of misery, facing the wall and weeping piteously. He didn't join her there, and she fought down the feelings of neglect and abandonment that rose within her when she realized he wasn't going to, even though she didn't want him to, forcing herself to replace those emotions with pure, unadulterated anger.

  Where he had gone, she had no idea – to burn in hell, she hoped.

  But she couldn't be that lucky.

  Instead, she found her legs pried apart – gently but insistently, then pressed back and open so that he could get at the area he had just left off abusing – the one that least wanted him to continue his attentions.

  Or so she told herself, although, deep down she knew, that even now, even as horribly sore and achy as he had left her, her body would still welcome him – and ensure that she enjoyed it – even as their fluids mingled and pooled beneath her already.

  It wasn't his cock or his lips or his tongue that she felt pressed there, against her. Instead, he laid a cool, wet cloth onto her, not rubbing in any way, but adjusting carefully each time he moved it, pulling it entirely away then pressing it against her again.

  And it felt much better than she wanted it to, soothing and assuaging her overworked, overstretched, over-satisfied flesh, and she wailed when she felt herself contract hard each time his hands touched her intimately, even through the barrier of the fabric.

  When he finished one round, he rose and refreshed the cloth, then repeated his caring actions again – after prying her back out of her ball of misery again – addressing her from stem to stern before leaving the cloth in the bathroom and coming to stare down at her for a long moment. During which she forced herself to ignore him completely, even though she could feel his heated gaze on her flesh – then he stalked out of the room, finally.

  And, as she lay on her side again, hugging her legs up to her chest, every movement making her hurt somewhere, there was no mistaking the sound of a lock clicking into place before he walked away.

  She was asleep when he returned, not waking even when he sank down onto the bed, not until his hand began to rub her back lazily. Not thinking, Emmy stretched then stopped with a yelp as soon as her muscles – and elsewhere – began to protest, rolling carefully onto her back before she saw that there was someone else in the room with them. Sitting up suddenly, wishing she hadn't when she realized she had no way of protecting herself from his curious gaze.

  To her surprise, the man who had supposedly "bonded" with her – whatever that meant – didn't seem at all concerned that another man was looking at her naked, despite the fact that he'd killed three men who'd just tried to get near her when she was fully covered. In fact, he rose and took his seat – the only one in the room – while the other man came to stand before her.

  "I am Favus, ma'am," he began, executing a small bow.

  Well, apparently manners hadn't been lost to everyone in this era.

  As she filed away the fact that apparently not all men were damned near giants – which she found a comforting thought – Emmy automatically extended her hand to him. "I'm –"

  Only to be rudely interrupted by someone who didn't seem to have the same appreciation of courtesy as she did.

  "There's no need to get chummy with her. You're here to examine her, not to claim her."

  Examine? She didn't like the sound of that word one bit, and she began to try to scramble across the bed, away from her new acquaintance, not that she would have anywhere to go once she made it there – the bed was up against a wall on that side.

  Her captor rose again – and every time she saw him do that, she couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of him – coming to stand at the end of the bed, blocking her last chance of escape – not that she'd had a real one to begin with.

  "Lie down on the bed and let the doctor examine you, girl," he ordered deceptively softly, pinning her with his gaze.

  "No." She stood, crouching as if she would leap past the both of them and sprint to the door, when the truth was that she was still so weak, she wasn't sure how much longer she was going to be able to remain upright.

  Emmy thought she heard the big man sigh. He acted so swiftly that she didn't have time to dwell on it. Leaning across the bed to sweep one big leg-sized arm across her legs, he dropped her quickly and efficiently to the bed without injury, joining her there, where he rolled her onto her back and held her as he reached down to catch her knees and crane them back towards her head, exposing her completely to this total stranger.

  His arm lay across her throat – not threatening her breathing in any way – yet – or she would have craned her head up and bitten whatever she could have reached.

  Instead, she had to lie there, while small, fat fingers felt her parted lips, pinched her clit so hard she shrieked, and then inserted at least one finger – perhaps two – inside her to root rudely around in there.

  "Get out! Get out! Get out!" she screamed, feeling a bit of satisfaction when the big man cringed a bit at her shrill pitch, which wasn't that surprising, considering his ear was mere inches from her mouth.

  But she couldn't keep it up, and the examination seemed to go on and on – and his fingers weren't the only thing he used on her. She knew the feeling of a speculum sl
iding into her – without the benefit of lubrication, not that she really needed it any more, she supposed – then ratcheted – it and her – loudly open.

  Click.

  Click.

  Click.

  As the man bent between legs spread and held open against her will, he asked, "You've had her already, obviously?"

  Her captor nodded.

  "My congratulations, on having found the rarest of the rare, milord. There is no doubt in my mind that she is exactly what you think she is – an Omega. And you've obviously already brought her into estrus. You've been able to hook her?"

  "Yes."

  "And she took it well?"

  "Very well," was his smug reply.

  She could see a light of some sort coming from where the supposed doctor was positioned. "She's still quite swollen there – which could be partly a result of the heat that she is most obviously in. Knotting occurred?"

  "Oh yes."

  "She's very tight, but I see no tears, and she's obviously producing more than enough natural lubrication to accept you without too much trouble – although you don't want to make it too easy on her. It's the combination of the two sensations – the pain and the pleasure – that brings her to orgasm, which then milks you, and the presence of your semen within her prolongs her bliss. The longer you can hold her in pleasure, the better your chances of breeding her are." The doctor rose and went to the bathroom to wash his hands, reappearing to say, "But then, I'm not telling you anything you didn't already know, milord. Keep at her as often as you like – it's your cock within her – and, to a lesser extent, your presence near her – that keeps her in heat – and she'll soon be caught."

  "She's been quite sore..."

  "And so she will be, until she becomes more used to being bred by a bull such as yourself, although that might never go away completely, considering how you will pierce her each time, not to mention the great disparities in your sizes. As long as you do not see any blood, there is no cause for concern. She may well remain tender, and thus somewhat reluctant because of it, I should imagine. I don't think I've ever seen a woman who was less built to accommodate a man such as yourself – she's much too tiny for you, although I trust you know how to overcome her objections."

  He still had not allowed her to get up – as they carried on this conversation, like she wasn't even there. She was still fully exposed to the both of them – still dripping juices onto the bed, around the instrument that was inside her. "But you don't see any problems with her in regards to carrying? Not even her age?"

  Emmy was automatically insulted at the idea that she was old, although she wisely said nothing. She was only twenty-three, for crying out loud! Well, granted, she'd been twenty-three for quite some time now...

  "We might have to consider a caesarian, but it would depend on the size of the baby. That's something we'll decide when it happens. But rest assured, barring disease, injury or another war, she'll have many years of fertility left for you to avail yourself of." The doctor removed the speculum, washed it and put it away, she did not know where.

  Finally, he got up, walking with the other man to the door. "Thank you, doctor," he said, clapping him on the shoulder in a manner that looked as if he was trying to be friendly, but nearly knocking him down anyway.

  The smaller man bowed low to him. "I appreciate your patronage, milord. May you get many strong sons off this one. And may I say how happy we all are that you have found your mate."

  The poor little man didn't get a chance to say anything else, because he found himself literally shoved out the door, the younger, stronger, much bigger man remaining on her side of it. Unfortunately for her, leaning back against the door, looking at her and tilting his head slowly back and forth as he did so, as if he was trying to consider her from all angles.

  He was making her uneasy – she nearly snorted at the thought. She'd never not be – couldn't imagine a time when she'd ever not be uneasy around him. And all that talk about breeding her – as if she was a horse or a dog or something – only added to her discomfort.

  This time, when he took her, it was much quicker, as if he'd just been waiting for the doctor to leave them alone to get at her – not that it was any less devastatingly blissful. He wasn't nearly as careful as he had been of her, either, and she was sure that she had the good doctor to thank for that, too.

  There was no slow advance, no mouth on her clit. He had stood there next to the bed, where she had wrapped herself into a bedclothes cocoon, needing to feel less exposed than she had been for so long while the doctor examined her, sniffing the air loudly, and with increasingly heavy breaths.

  Emmy tried to ignore the way her body was already responding to his actions, already preparing her to receive him, trying to will herself to ignore him as much as possible.

  Or perhaps, instead, distract him.

  "Why did you allow the doctor to see me like that when you killed those men who were running towards me when we came in?" she asked.

  He reached down, grabbed the edge of the sheet and began to tug. "Why do you care?"

  "I'm just curious."

  "Because he's a breeding doctor."

  "Doctors don't want women?"

  He frowned down at her as if she was touched for having asked that.

  "Of course not – he's a eunuch, like all of his kind. Else wise, no Alpha in his right mind would trust him to treat his woman."

  Emmy couldn't suppress a surprised chuckle. "Of course? In my time, there were almost no eunuchs."

  This time, his face revealed that he thought she was a lying imbecile, and she was surprised – albeit thankful – that it didn't result in some sort of a punishment. She guessed that as long as it didn't involve something to do with him, he didn't care about the truth.

  Or maybe he thought she was crazy, and thus expected a certain amount of ranting from her.

  It didn't really matter what he thought of her. It mattered what he did to her – fast, hard, breathtaking, and completely overpowering. One minute, she was her own person, on her own, empty, and the next she was weeping at both ends at how ripped open she felt as he settled first the unusual catch at the tip of himself into her, causing Emmy to squirm and try to avoid the pain of it, to no avail. Then, immediately afterwards, he hammered the already quite swollen, throbbing base of his penis up into her reluctant body. The vehemence with which he did so dislodging the catch so that he had to do it again until she was well and truly caught – quite literally hung up on him as he watched her trying – and losing – the fight against her baser nature that this position always seemed to force her into.

  "Relax," he whispered as she jerked and strained beneath him. "There is no escape. I don't care if the fairy tales you spin are the truth. They are of no consequence to you, regardless. This is what you want, what you need. It is who and what you are now. Make it easier on yourself and accept it." His eyes caught her tear-filled ones. "Tell me you are mine."

  "Never!" She envisioned spitting the word into his face, but that was not at all how it came out. He had mastered her again, so humiliatingly easily, that the force of her unwanted orgasm diminished it until it simply blended into the cries of ecstasy he wrung from her unwilling body. Coercing her flesh into compliance with him, into joining the war against her, enticing it with unbelievable, unrelenting bliss, until, when he finally disconnected them, she was already unconscious beneath him from sheer exhaustion.

  Chapter 4

  As much as she had been eager to establish some sort of routine for herself, once she'd come to in this world, the one she was being required to follow was definitely not what she had in mind. She couldn't seem to make heads or tails of her new surroundings, because of an acute lack of information, as well as a hampering of her ability to acquire such knowledge. Far from being able to explore what her country had become, she was, instead, just as cloistered as she had been when she was in stasis. But at least then, she hadn't known – and thus chafed – against the restrictions he i
mposed on her.

  This situation was quite different from that.

  At first, she tried to keep herself busy. She got up when he did – which was early in the morning – she could see the pale light peeping in through the slats of the boarded up windows of his room. Sometimes, she awoke with him already locked deep inside her, sometimes he took her while they showered, but he always had her at least once before breakfast, and the longer she knew him, the more she wondered if he wasn't just as much at the mercy of his own primitive desires as she was. If she couldn't get enough of him, he seemed to be, genuinely, in the same boat.

  Either that or he was simply taking the doctor's advice to heart – he was at her nearly constantly.

  A woman, whom she could only describe as a crone, which was the only reason Emily didn't run for the covers when she appeared, delivered breakfast to them. She was old enough that there was no venturing just how old she was and just that rail thin and stooped, too – the embodiment of the woman the wicked queen turned herself into in order to give Snow White a poisoned apple. Her hair was stark white and shoulder length, and it looked as if it had never seen the touch of a comb or a brush, eyes just as starkly white from the ravages of cataracts, not that it seemed to impede her in the least. Her face was lined and leathery, betraying a lifetime spent in the unrelenting sun, and her dress – as Emmy generously termed it – was a shapeless affair tied around the waist with a plain rope, her sandals thin as tissue paper beneath the soles of her feet.

  But she was spry enough that she appeared and disappeared within seconds, having neither spoken nor looked at either one of them, and giving him – who she remembered the doctor had referred to several times as milord – the most cursory of bows before leaving.

  Not a chatter, that one, although if she could just get her alone sometime, Emmy thought that she might be her best chance at escape, although she never seemed to come in when he wasn't there, and she wasn't sure whether or not that was by design.