The Alpha’s Woman

Carolyn Faulkner

Blushing Books

©2017 by Blushing Books® and Carolyn Faulkner

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Faulkner, Carolyn

The Alpha's Woman

Cover Design by ABCD Graphics

EBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-213-9

This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

Contents

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Carolyn Faulkner

EBook Offer

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Chapter 1

The first thing that hit her was the smell, and she knew immediately that things were not going to be good. It was that back of the throat, acrid, moldy aroma that arose from severe neglect, mixed with the unmistakable aroma of death.

Still, the door to her sealed chamber had popped open automatically for some reason, and she could no longer indulge in the lovely oblivion of the stasis into which she'd been put so long ago.

Before she pushed it open even further, she indulged herself in a full body stretch that was so pleasurable as to be nearly orgasmic. Nothing like, who knew how many, years of being in the same position to kink your muscles all to hell.

That, and finding something to wear, would be her first priority – determining exactly when she was. She couldn't imagine that the entire facility had been moved, so she was pretty sure where she was, but all of the supposedly built-in, fail-safe features that were supposed to have given her all of the pertinent information she would need to survive in another time had, of course, failed.

Your tax dollars at work.

Well, not hers, exactly, but everyone else's.

When she pushed the door open all the way, it protested arthritically, adding a second layer to what were rapidly becoming grave concerns about what this might mean for her possible survival.

And the condition of the room she stepped out into did nothing to assuage her worries – she had to look hard to find a place to put each foot that wasn't covered in shattered something – glass, maybe – mixed, as it was, with dirt and grime that was an inch or two thick on the floor.

But that was the least of it.

Standing, naked, outside the chamber, in her carefully choreographed three-sixty, she took in the wreckage of what had once been a state of the art stasis facility. The equipment obviously scavenged over time; what were supposed to have been sealed windows broken or missing entirely, and, worst of all, the two other chambers – and their contents – horribly defiled, one over on its back on the floor, the other in place as it should be, but with the door lying across the room.

Neither occupant was in any kind of shape to be joining her in this adventure, their bodies in the process of decomposition, but not enough so to spare her the sight of their ravaging.

She drew a long breath.

She was alone, more alone than she had ever been in her life. More alone even than she had been when she'd lost the man who had inspired this jaunt of hers, and she knew there was no guarantee that she'd make it even just one more day. There was no way for her to know whether the entities – please let them be people of some sort – who had destroyed this facility might be back, although there was little evidence that anyone had been here in a while, so she took some comfort in that thought.

No foot – or paw – prints beyond her own had disturbed the dust in quite some time, at least not in what had been this reasonably well-hidden chamber.

With a twinge of conscience about not having the intestinal fortitude to bury her...co-workers, in favor of preserving her own hide, although she tried to assuage her feelings of guilt by remembering the fact that they had not been her friends. They were merely acquaintances who were going to attempt the same journey into the future as she, she ventured out into the hallway just outside the door.

Still, they deserved to be buried, and she made a mental note to try to get back here – once she'd gotten the lay of the land – to do just that, eventually.

Further inspection of the rest of the facility revealed a tattered old lab coat in a locker she'd had to use a fire extinguisher to break open, but not much else. Whatever useful materials this place might once have held, vandals probably long since removed. It might act as a shelter to her in the very short term, but she doubted that it would provide much beyond that.

She would probably have to venture out in order to find food and water, if only to bring it back here, if this was even the best place to base herself.

And what she'd seen when she left the seclusion of what had been the well guarded, windowless room that housed the stasis chambers had chilled her to the bone, causing her to stand stark still and stare, blindly out the first window she encountered, wondering if there would be any safe place for her in this world at all.

Everett Labs was secluded in the rolling hills of Tennessee. Growing up in a little town nestled into the Green Mountains of Vermont, she'd liked the idea of slumbering away in her adopted home state, which she'd always considered to be Vermont with better weather.

Unrelenting verdance should have been what greeted her eyes – even the overgrown kind would not have been unexpected, considering the condition of the lab.

She was completely unprepared to encounter nothing of the sort.

Nothing of any sort, really.

If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn she was in a desert, despite the presence of the same hills with which she was familiar. The vista before her eyes reminded her much less of Vermont than of New Mexico or Arizona, both states in which she'd spent more than a few happy years with him.

That depressingly familiar, unbearably painful twinge in her chest was still there, even after Lord knew how long. She'd hoped that the distance time would create might have lessened her sense of loss, but she couldn't be that lucky, it appeared.

She'd just brought it with her.

He was gone then, and he was still gone now. Why she'd thought this might help her deal with the loss of the love of her life – of the only man she'd ever loved, since she'd laid on him in high school at the ripe old age of fifteen – and with whom she'd had five years of a truly blissful marriage from the moment they could legally be hitched.

Now, she stared despondently out the window, at what had been a largely virgin paradise of old growth forest. At what had, somehow, become a very desert like – deserted – landscape, she felt the same sense of desolation that she had sought to avoid, wrapping itself around her with frightening familiarity; fitting her again with the emotional equivalent of a hair shirt.

* * *

A little more than a week later, she had more thoroughly scouted the area around the facility and was now dwelling in a cave that wasn't too far from the lab, although the facility's use was now very limited for her. Since she'd scavenged pretty much everything she could from it – everything she thought might come in handy, everything she thought might be of value, pickin's were mighty slim.

In the surprising – and suspicious – absence of any form of transportation – there weren't even any abandoned cars as far as she could see – a few hand trucks and carts had come in handy in getting her booty to her cozy – if somewhat damp – new home. Creature comforts were reasonably readily available. She'd made a makeshift bed from the plump cushions of the couch someone'd had in their office, and further – more careful – exploration had yielded a small cache of clothing of various styles and sizes.

Food and water, however, were in scarce supply.

Very scarce supply.

The vending machines had long since been raided, as had the break room as well as peoples' desks. Her sharp eye caught the bright red of a wrapper that shone against the dingy white ceiling, leading her to do what the previous owner of said energy bars had obviously done, which was to stand on the desk in order to move the tile away. This revealed a stash of about ten bars. Some of which had obvious signs of having been nibbled on by tiny rodent teeth.

As distasteful as she might have found the idea of eating that which a mouse or rat had decided not to for some reason, she was in no position to be a chooser.

She'd also stumbled on one of those big water cooler bottles – its seal still intact. Despite what must've been its age, she trusted its contents more so than any faucet or ground water she might have encountered.

Considering how heavy it was, and the fact that whenever her boss asked her to change one when she'd worked in an office that had one of those water coolers, she only ever managed to spill most of it on the floor around the cooler. That was one of the times she blessed the various carts she'd found, or she never would have been able to get it – or much of what she'd collected – back to the cave.

She'd quickly rejected the idea of staying put in the lab. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the landscape, which meant it could be a magnet to scavengers of all sorts. There was no telling when someone might come knocking at the front door.

Although she had an inkling they weren't likely to display such manners.

Along with provisions to address her immediate needs, she scoured the place for anything she could apply to the next concern on her mental list – security.

But if there ever had been guns within these walls, they were long gone. The closest thing she found to a weapon was a lowly butter knife, although she brought with her the tools necessary to begin sharpening what pieces of metal she could find into something that might actually manage to cause someone some harm – she hoped.

She'd also scarfed every bit of reading material – which was about as hard to find as food and water – she could find in order to try to bring herself up to date, but print journalism had gone out of style long before her time, much less whenever now was. So she wasn't able to lay hands to much beyond a copy of the Bible, someone's recipe collection, an old stash of porn magazines that dated back to the twentieth century, and a copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People that was copy written in her great-great-grandmother's era.

And even now, nearly ten days later, she'd yet to see another human being – or any evidence that there was anyone left on Earth besides her. Wondering what had happened was a full time occupation, when she wasn't worrying about her own survival – or what was likely to be the distinct lack thereof if she didn't find more food and water shortly.

She'd never envisioned waking up as she had – totally alone – but apparently, things had gone terribly, terribly wrong with the world while she'd been playing Sleeping Beauty.

She didn't think her environment had the look of a nuclear winter – no toxic clouds obscured the sun – and not that she was an expert on such things by any means. There hadn't been any rain – and she kind of thought there might not have been for quite some time, considering the landscape. If there had been a shower or two, they might have been a source of water, but then again, not. If what had happened to deforest the area was chemical in origin, those chemicals would have been in the rain, too, and she was in no hurry to expose herself to any more of them than she probably already had done.

Boredom was a definite problem. None of the electronic equipment that surrounded her in the building seemed to work, although she supposed that whatever advances had been made after she'd been put into stasis, and before whatever catastrophe befell the planet, could have resulted in her standing next to something that might have allowed her to communicate, but that she wouldn't have recognized as such.

She did her best to keep herself occupied and on a schedule, spending time foraging through the facility, even when there wasn't anything left that she wanted. She made scouting forays into the surrounding area and sat in the entrance to the cave, scanning, with a pair of reasonably good binoculars, some enterprising amateur ornithologist had left behind in his desk, for signs of life.

Any kind of life.

She would have been happy to see a field mouse scampering across the sand – a cat or dog would have been wonderful for companionship. No matter how hungry she got, she didn't think she'd be able to consider either one of them as a food source, and something goat sized or bigger might have become dinner, if she could have managed to catch it.

Nothing but nothing out there moved but the occasional clump of scrub brush in the wind.

* * *

Her supplies dwindled rapidly, despite her strict rationing; forcing her to abandon attempts to do much that was physical in favor of saving the calories. This reduced her to being a sentry at the mouth of the cave, which she'd done her best to conceal with brush, for hours on end.

She was just beginning to enjoy her one meager meal a day – while still scanning the horizon for signs of life – when she saw him.

One second, nothing, and then, on the return sweep, there he was, not bothering to conceal himself in the least, sitting, bold as brass, on a big horse.

And staring right back, directly into her eyes, without the benefit of binoculars.

His appearance so startled her – and what she could see was his bold assessment of her – that she dropped her binoculars and scrambled a few feet away, into the cave.

Not because she was scared of him, necessarily, although she knew she ought not to assume that he would be friendly.

No, it wasn't fear that had driven her back into the false safety of her cave.

It was the way her body had reacted to that stare. The man was a good half mile away, at least, and yet her body trembled, her breathing was shallow and sharp, as if she'd just been jogging, nipples hardening against her will beneath the baggy shirt she was wearing as she felt a longing rise within her that was unlike anything else she'd ever experienced.

Her sex life with her love had been amazing, and she had wanted him all day, every day, since the moment she'd met him.

But this was not that.

This was quite...uncivilized.

Primitive in the extreme.

Animalistic.

And much less controllable – completely overwhelming and undeniable.

She had to ball her hands into fists to keep them from plunging beneath her shirt and cupping her own breasts, pinching her nipples the way she knew she wanted him to. Then slipping further down to delve into what she knew would be the wet heat of her desire, horrified at the same time to realize that she could already feel her own juices dripping down the insides of her thighs.

She shook her head so rapidly that it made her stumble dizzily, hoping to clear it enough to make preparations in case he decided to storm the cave. She should have been scrambling around making things as secure as she could – however pitiful though her attempt might be.

Instead, she found herself rooted to the spot, head down, gasping for breath, the struggle to tamp down the urge to writhe where she stood taking every bit of her concentration.

When she'd finally beaten it back some, she lifted her head and looked up again at where he'd been.

Only he was no longer there.

She briefly wondered if lack of food and water had caused her to hallucinate, and he was the result, but then she dismissed the thought, knowing that decision, too, could have been because she was losing her mind.

As she searched for him frantically, while remaining – hopefully – as secluded from his eyes as she could, full blown panic set in at the idea that he was, indeed, a reality. That thought succeeded in doing what she'd been wholly unable to—overwhelming—if just barely, those primitive sexual urges goosing her into nervous action.

She'd already hidden anything she thought was of value well inside the cave, and what she ended up doing was much less preparing for an attack by him than doing things that would have been more in keeping with the idea that she was cleaning her apartment in anticipation of having a date see it. She straightened her almost bed, folded her clothes and put them neatly in the small bookcase she'd procured, wishing randomly that she had a hairbrush.

Then she stopped short when she realized where her thoughts were going. This was not a date. It was much more likely to be a very short, ignominious fight to her death, if he was as big up close as he already looked from a considerable distance.

But her supplies were so meager that there was truly little she could do to prepare herself for him, besides make mental peace with the fact that this was probably going to be how and where she died – at this man's hands.

She was already wearing the one weapon she owned, such as it was. Her attempts at making more had been pitiful at best, and she had soon abandoned that idea.

So, she stood in the entrance to the cave and waited for the inevitable. He was on horseback, so she should be able to hear him approaching, she thought.

But he proved her wrong about that, seconds later, when he swooped down from above and landed dead in front of her, a long, wicked blade in one hand as he assumed a defensive posture.

For the second time in less than ten minutes, she found herself reeling backwards, away from him, only this time she managed to overbalance herself – partly by looking up – and up – and up some more at him – and was in danger of ending up flat on her backside.

Quick as a snake, his eyes never leaving hers, he caught her wrist in his free hand and pulled her upright. She would have sworn he was smiling down at her as if she was a brainless dolt, although, staring into those obsidian eyes of his, she realized that she could also have no problems at all believing that he had never smiled – not once – in his life.

Under normal circumstances, she might have smiled up at him and thanked him for keeping her from falling, but things were far from normal. Instead, she began to struggle to reclaim her hand immediately, her fierce and frantic actions the result of those unwanted feelings she'd only just begun to be able to get under control roaring back to life within her as a direct result of his proximity, to say nothing of his touch.

He remained rock still as she tugged and pulled and tried to twist her arm from a grip that wasn't painful in the least, but also seemed to be completely unbreakable, even against all of the self-defense tricks her husband had taught her. No matter what she did, he simply stood there like a mountain, staring down at her, never having moved so much as a muscle, despite her efforts.

And not only was she having to fight him, but also, she was still deep in the midst of that struggle with her baser self.

She could already tell she wasn't likely to win either altercation.

Her feeble attempts at breaking his hold quickly dwindled down to what was nothing more than her trembling and occasionally jerking violently as she fought to maintain command of her own body and continue to fight against his hold.

She'd never felt anything like this, a neediness – a desire – so insidious that it was agony to deny it in any way, that had already worked its way into her brain, shutting down her centers of reason, subduing her intelligence in favor of convincing her to offer herself to the man who stood – unmoving and immovable – in front of her. Until the only thing she could think about was the fact she wanted to strip off her clothes and present herself to him as if she was a bitch in heat, bottom high, head down, legs spread so that she was completely open to him, body weeping copiously for want of him.

She knew she was moments away from begging him to mount her.

Nothing else – not finding out what kind of catastrophe had befallen the area, not discovering who he was, not even maintaining the illusion of her own safety and security – mattered to her in the least. She rapidly reduced herself to her lowest common denominator, to her carnal, animal essence.

As he watched her, his face darkened, then – lightening quick – he gave a small tug on her wrist, which sent her crashing into him. The impact jarred her small body as he strode forward at the same time, plowing her back until she could go no further. Trapped, as she was, between the rock wall of the cave and the rock wall that was him towering over her, reaching out to tear her shirt to shreds with one sharp jerk to lift her into the air by her armpits and hold her there.

Her bare, seeping crotch dangled inches from his face.

She could feel the warmth of his breath on the parts of her that were overflowing with their welcome to him. She knew she should have been ashamed and embarrassed about the pool of her own moisture that had already begun collecting at her feet, but she couldn't think enough to do so.

Suddenly, she felt herself being hitched even higher, watching in disbelief as he draped her thighs over his shoulders, opening her to him whether she wanted to be or not. Pausing for a long second, closing his eyes and deeply – ritualistically – he inhaled a huge lungful of nothing but her scent on a deep growl that rumbled almost tangibly between them before raising his head. And only then, opening his eyes, those full, sensual lips quirking just slightly upwards – top lip moving just enough to give her a glimpse of frighteningly impressive canines – in a smile that had nothing whatever to do with amusement, and everything to do with raw, primitive male pride and possessiveness, that she heartily wished she hadn't seen.

Chapter 2

She should have been protesting. She should have been screaming, although she knew there was no one around to hear her, no one to come to her aid in any way. Still, she should have been doing anything necessary to extract herself from his hold.

In the back of her mind—in the miniscule part of it that still retained the ability to reason—she knew all of that. But she had already found that she could act on none of it. She had completely lost the ability to deny herself what this man was so obviously offering. She didn't know why, and at this moment, she didn't really care.

Especially since he was nuzzling his nose with unerring accuracy between her dripping folds as she felt him, literally, lower her onto – and into – his waiting mouth.

It certainly wasn't the desire to get away from him that had her grinding and writhing against him. It wasn't even the roughness of the rock behind her that she could feel scratching her skin. It wasn't even the prickly hairs of his beard against her pristine lips. In fact, if anything, that only served to heighten her desire. The contrast of the uncontrollable bliss he was inflicting on her, occasionally backed down from combustibility by the rough hairs being, deliberately, she suspected, dragged along that over-sensitized, over stimulated flesh, making it almost itchy, then both soothing and driving her relentlessly back to a fever pitch while doing so. Carefully never sending her over the edge, which only seemed to make her leak even more copiously – knowing in the back of her mind that she should be mortified at her body's reaction to him, although wishing desperately that she could be, did not make it so.

She was surprised he wasn't drowning, knowing she was drenching him in her fluids, but he seemed to revel in them, literally burying his face in her cunt, wetting the entirety of it with her, and worrying even the hair on his head over her exposed bits.

Nothing she had ever experienced in her life before stasis had prepared her for how this man was making her feel. She would have sworn that she had experienced the absolute heights of her own pleasure, but that was a pale imitation in comparison to this. She felt as if her entire body had the sensitivity of the area his mouth and tongue were devouring, and it was at once exhilarating and devastating – to be so exposed, so raw, so totally out of control.

And so completely controlled by someone else, someone she couldn't be sure wouldn't just kill her when he had taken what he wanted from her, someone who was more than big enough to snap her neck on a whim.

Or even accidentally.

Before she could try to marshal what little was left of her thought processes to worry about this, he moved, shifting them away from the wall – never breaking the seal of his mouth over her, never disturbing the rhythm of his talented tongue as it alternately coaxed and demanded a response from her – which it always received.

She didn't even realize that he had moved them until she felt the couch cushions of her makeshift bed at her back. Until she realized – belatedly – that he was crouched over her like a lion over his prey, looking down at her and catching her eye as his hand found where his tongue had so recently been, sluicing down that juicy cleft until he found what he was looking for and began to press a big finger inside her.

It was too much. Too much stimulation and not nearly enough release. She couldn't take any more, but was powerless to convey that to him. It was much too advanced a concept for what had become her tiny pea brain.

Her mind latched onto one word as her body tried to convince him to give her what she needed in other ways – writhing, arching her hips towards him – blatantly offering herself to him.

"Please!" she whispered fervently, demandingly. But her only reward for her efforts was another one of those evil almost-smiles that made her shiver fearfully, although she was obviously not nearly afraid enough to have it dampen her rampant desires in any way. In fact, if anything, it increased them even further, making her wish she could stop herself but the word was out of her mouth before she could even begin to recall the impulse. "Please?"

That big finger began to move, and at first, she thought that was going to help her, to soothe her, but seconds later she realized that it, too, was only making things worse.

Much, much worse.

She was so far gone, so deep within her own suffering needs, that, at first, she hadn't noticed that he'd removed the cloth wrapped around his waist and hips, covering his maleness.

But when he grabbed her hand and brought it to him, her head snapped up as her fingers sought – and failed – to wrap themselves around his tumescence.

It seemed that everything about him was formidably large. In truth, she wasn't even sure she could take him. She had only had the one lover, and she'd never even owned a dildo that was this big.

But it wasn't as if he was going to give her a choice, because, seconds later, it wasn't his finger she felt filling her.

At least, he wasn't simply ramming himself into her. He was surprisingly slow and gentle, even though she would have sworn that he was at least as gone as she was, watching her avidly, adjusting her legs and the position of his hips as he advanced himself into her, reaching down between them to pull open first one side of both her inner and outer lips a bit. Then, as he advanced incrementally forward, moving to the other, ignoring her wordless protests and breathless moans as he laid claim to more and more of her while chanting fervently, "So tight – so tight – so tight!" under his breath.

Her mind certainly couldn't deal with what was happening to her, but her body welcomed it – even though she felt as if – with every tiny advance – she was losing more and more of herself to him, to the painful – but undeniably – unbelievably – pleasurable sensations he was conjuring so effortlessly within her.

It felt so good to be truly, unutterably full of him. By the time she could feel him drive himself fully into her, she knew that he was stretching every single millimeter of her femininity to capacity – and beyond – to accommodate him. And it was the first time since she'd first seen him that she couldn't feel herself leaking any longer, because there was literally no room for her to do so – the fit was just that tight.

The sensation of him taking her so completely and utterly was unbearable. She could feel herself right on the brink – right at that edge, at that point where it should have been inevitable that she would begin to contract uncontrollably – in what would inevitably be another potent mix of pain and pleasure – around him.

But – for whatever reason – she couldn't. He left her with an unattended, exposed aching need.

Because she was well beyond coherent thought, she didn't become alarmed when he reached down to gather her wrists in his hand, stretching her arms so far above her head that she had to arch even further into him – to offer herself up to him helplessly – so that her muscles wouldn't hurt.

And at that exact moment, he snapped his hips forward, and – unbelievably – there seemed to be even more of him that was much wider than the rest, that seemed to lock into her and grow even further as the imposing head of his cock nestled tightly against her cervix...

Dan had – on rare, vigorous occasions – nudged her cervix, which she had not found uncomfortable.

And neither was this.

This...and the rocking – pumping – the still stretching tightness he was subjecting her to that seemed to have drawn her clit down to the point that every breath he took rubbed her there, too...

It was wickedly evil.

It had to be to feel this good.

The slight stab of pain she felt deep within her when he pulled just slightly out – as if his cock was barbed and he was setting himself into her g-spot – she quickly forgot as, somehow, that pain mutated into unbearable, searing desire. And the waiting ended at that exact moment, as he laid full claim to her at last, and the interminable waiting was over.

At the exact moment he began to spew his cum directly into her womb, his body naturally held hers helpless to receive his seed. Leaning further over her, filling her eyes, her mind, and her body with his overwhelming presence, pressing her legs back just the slightest bit further, increasing the helplessness of her position he very deliberately unleashed the apocalyptic pleasure that had been building within her.

In that moment of confluence – where every single bit of her femininity was engulfed in a bliss so strong it could not be imagined – could not be withstood – could not be survived – she thought she might die of it, and somehow that would have been all right with her.

Her body acted entirely on its own, under his stern command, surging upwards in perfect rhythm with the spurting of his cream within her, her contractions milking him, adding mightily to both of their pleasures.

And that bliss seemed to be never ending. Those wondrous sensations had always begun to die off rather quickly – not that she wasn't capable of more, she was, but that was another hill to climb – however small.

But this showed absolutely no signs of stopping. As he rocked himself gently against her, tugging both at the barb he had sunken into her tender flesh as well as the swollen knot within her, the euphoria she felt was constantly renewed and continued. Maintaining its peak, even deepening as her body followed his dictates automatically, needing no help from her to do as he wanted, while she found herself helplessly caught up in that maelstrom of paradise from which she felt she could never recover.

She had no idea how long he labored over her, keeping her orgasm alive for much longer than she would ever have thought possible, until, with a last cry, she finally felt him expend the last of himself into her, and both the barb and the bulge at the base of his penis began to subside.

And she realized immediately that it was not just her now leaking around him and out of her. In fact, she didn't think she was contributing anything at the moment – every bit of it was him, leaving her in great globs as her body continued to contract gently around him.

As she felt him shrink within her, she thought he would leave her and was surprised to realize that she didn't much like that idea. She wanted him near her – preferably, inside of her – and that the thought of being separated from him was troubling – which made it just that much more troubling, since she had always prided herself on being an independent woman.

While they were still somewhat joined, he looked up at her, reaching up to catch her chin.

"Tell me that you are mine," he demanded.

She raised her eyebrow. Not what she would have hoped for his first words to her. But then – as reason slowly returned to her – she hadn't given him much cause to think she might balk at that idea.

Nevertheless, she wasn't about to do so – fantastic sex or not.

"How could I possibly say that to someone I've never met?"

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 off 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 sat 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.

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 sliding 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 imposed 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.

Food had become very important to her – even after such a short time of deprivation – and she could still remember her first meal with him, when he'd figured her stomach had settled from the sickness the trauma had caused her.

They'd sat down to a simple repast of some kind of meat, a little cheese and some bread, which he had arranged on a plate for her to eat, taking some of it for himself as they sat at the table together.

She had reached for the bread immediately, but a sudden thought had stayed her hand mid-grab, and it remained there, hovering over that big piece of bread while her mouth literally watered for it.

He had given her a questioning look, but said nothing as he devoured his own food.

But what if it's poisoned? she wondered, biting her lip.

"I'm eating it, too," he mentioned, startling her.

"Oh, fuck, did I say that out loud?"

"You did," he answered, surprisingly without rancor. But he did clear his throat and put his food down to consider her carefully. "Eat. You're skin and bones, and I like my women plump and healthy."

She managed not to point out to him that it seemed he wanted her quite enough now, despite how thin she was.

And, although she didn't want to make him angry, Emmy couldn't quite bring herself to do as he said.

With an exasperated sigh, he reached over to her plate and tore off a corner of the cheese, stuffing it into his mouth. "See? No poison."

Emmy scoffed. "That doesn't mean anything. A good poisoner will have been taking minute amounts of various kinds of poisons in order to become immune to them."

The stillness her words inspired in him made her instantaneously nervous.

"And what do you know about poisons?"

"Nothing," she hastened to reassure him. "I just remembered something I'd read about them – probably in a murder mystery."

He had looked dumbfounded and considered her carefully for a long moment. "You read?"

"I do."

Another long silence before he ordered again, "Eat. Your food is not poisoned, and you need to regain your strength."

Figuring that if she resisted much longer, he was just going to hold her and shove it down her throat, she did as he ordered, although only taking crumbs at first, and dreading what she imagined would be the horrible deadly cramps she was half certain would result from her folly.

But they didn't, and it didn't take long before crumbs weren't enough for her – poisoned or not, frankly.

She had thought nothing more of their exchange – except that she hoped that it hadn't become a rarity in this world that females were taught to read – until he had arrived back to her one day with a piece of paper in his hand.

"Read this to me."

Emmy couldn't keep the amazement out of her tone as she looked up at him. "You can't read it yourself?"

The mountain of a man rose so quickly, scowling so deeply down at her as he did so that she knocked over her chair trying to get away from him. Except for the occasional spanking, he had yet to raise his hand to her in anger, but she was in no hurry to prompt him to do that, either. The spankings were bad enough. If this man actually decided to punch her, she doubted she'd survive it.

And he did move towards her, but only to snatch the piece of paper away from her and storm out the door, leaving her standing there, her hand still clutching what she no longer possessed, dumbfounded by what had just transpired.

Unlike the rest of their time together, he hadn't come home for dinner that night. The concept of a midday meal of any sort had apparently fallen by the wayside, which she attributed to what was probably a lack of food.

The old servant woman delivered her dinner, slamming things down onto the table from her tray, not because she couldn't see the table, Emmy was convinced, but more because she knew she could get away with doing so, ignoring her attempts at conversation until she asked the one question one was never supposed to ask of a woman. "How old are you, anyway?"

Emmy tried to conceal her glee when the old woman paused on her way out the door with her tray, the keys to the room in her small, arthritic hand.

She watched her slip them into a pocket of her dress.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked, not turning around to face her.

Em shrugged. "Just curious."

The crone turned to face her sightlessly. "I have seen the rise and fall of four Lords since I was born. My mother before me saw six, but things were easier then."

"That is not a measurement of time to me. What does that convert to in years?"

The tray she'd been carrying hit the floor in front of the old woman with a loud clang, and she rushed to gather it up and come back inside the room before it drew anyone's attention.

And although she suddenly wanted nothing more than to shrink away from her – as she had the man – Emmy forced herself to be still.

She got terrifyingly close, close enough that Emmy could smell her fetid breath. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

Her questions were very close to the same ones he'd been asking her all along – although the interrogations had become less frequent than they had been – she surmised because of the consistency of her answers – and Emmy was very aware of the fact that anything she said would probably get back to his ears. But, if she was ever going to escape from here – which she definitely planned to do – she needed information, and she wasn't going to be too picky about the source, especially at first.

So she told the other woman exactly what she'd told the man, watching those sightless eyes growing bigger with every word.

Finally, the woman sat heavily back on that big chair of his as if she didn't think she was going to end up on the floor.

"That's – that's quite a story."

"Every word of it is true."

Then she said something that Emily never expected to hear.

"I don't doubt it."

"You don't?"

"Lower your voice," she whispered hoarsely. "Vaudt's walls have ears, and then those ears have ears. He knows everything that goes on around here for five hundred or so miles."

Emmy frowned. "Who's Vaudt?" she asked, figuring it was some kind of deity.

It was the crone's turn to look blindly incredulous. "You don't know the name of the man you're bonded to? Not to mention that he's the fiercest warlord in the area – he's the Lord – the Tarq – of the Known County, for Heaven's sake. He and his fierce cohorts – whom he fights right alongside – have saved us all from the likes of the Skorges – men who will kill you slowly, over days as they sell off parts of you while you're dying..." Her voice faded at the horrible truth of her own words. "Time and again, he's kept us safe," she stated with no small amount of pride. "His father found this place, built it up, secured it as best he could, and now his son does the same."

Emily raised her eyebrow. "None of that really means anything to me."

The old woman laughed, but it was more of a dry cough than a chuckle. "You might not care much about his status, but you can't help but care about the man who sinks himself into you every night, who fills your cunt to overflowing with his seed, making you writhe in pleasure beneath him whether you want to or not, each time hoping to get you pregnant –"

"Enough," Emmy interrupted firmly. "I know exactly what he's doing to me. I don't need you to recount it with such eerie – and disgusting – accuracy." She leveled her gaze at the woman. "How is it that you seem to know – and accept – what I'm talking about so easily when he can't? That you don't look at me as if I need to be committed, like he does?"

Her smile was just about as inviting as Vaudt's was, if it could be called a smile at all. "Because I remember the stories my mother used to tell me as a young girl. I thought they were all fairytales, but I loved them. I memorized every single one of them. She was there – she lived when you lived. Before the End. She, too, talked of 'years'. And seasons, and dancing and music and trees and rain...whatever all of those things were...they sounded a fair bit more pleasant than struggling through life as we do now."

"And what did she say the End was?"

"Gummint. She railed against the Gummint, something they had done changed everything – even us. Making things worse by trying to make them better, she used to say." Her eyes narrowed. "Were you always an Omega, even before?"

Emmy nodded. Things had begun crumbling in her time, so she was not at all surprised to hear that the powers that had been at that point had done something catastrophic. That was another reason – besides her loss – to become a volunteer, as she had. She'd had a feeling things were going to come to a no good end, but she'd hoped to sleep through the harsh years and come out at the other – hopefully better – end.

"My question is going to give you my answer: everyone is calling me an Omega, but I have no idea what that is. Would you tell me?"

The crone fidgeted in her chair. "Omega is priceless. Omega is the counterpart to the Alpha, as you are to him. Alphas are strong, dominant, protective, and fierce – they are always male. Omegas are small, delicate, and weak. They make the Alphas become who they really are, once they've bonded."

"So society has now been forever divided into the dominant and the submissive? There is nothing else?"

"There are Betas – males and females, some dominant, some submissive. And although they can mate – with other Betas and Alphas – they cannot produce offspring."

"Do Betas mate with Omegas?"

She cackled again. "As if any Alpha would allow a Beta to do that. Why, when no child would result?" She drew a deep breath, venturing the question, "Things were not so where you came from?"

Emmy didn't bother to correct her about where she'd come from, since it was here, allowing a small smile to play about her face. "In my time, there were no such things. Men and women were none of those things – or very rarely – and they did what they wanted to. Men were lawyers, doctors, warriors, and leaders, and so were women. I was a nurse. Food was abundant, as was entertainment and children and animals and..."

"It was better," the crone sighed.

"Much better."

After a moment of silence between the two of them, Emmy put her hand on the old woman's hand where it lay on the table. "Thank you for talking to me, for giving me so much information about this new world I'm in. I appreciate it. Is there anything I can do for you – not that I could do much, but I would return the favor if I could."

She watched the old woman bite her lip and knew she wanted to ask for something.

"Go ahead. If I can do it or get it for you, I will."

"Could you…no."

"Please. Let me help you as you have helped me."

"Might you be able to spare...some..." She paused, her thin shoulders slumped. "No. I cannot."

Emmy tried to think what she had – which was precious little – which the old woman might want. And then, she hit on it.

What had she had personal experience in knowing was a hard thing to come by nowadays?

Food.

She pushed her plate across the table. "Eat."

But the woman shook her head vehemently as she craned herself away from that which Emmy was offering, although she could see her licking her lips even as she did so. "I cannot."

"Why not?"

"It is not yours to offer. If I eat from that which is his – even a tiny crumb – and he finds out, he will consider that I have stolen food from him, and he will have me beaten, dragged out into the courtyard and beaten. If he finds out I have taken food out of your mouth, especially when you could be carrying his child, he will have me beaten to death."

Emmy sucked in her breath at the bare, matter of fact truth of what the old woman was saying. She didn't say it with judgment or rancor – or even any particular inflection – of any kind. It was simply the way things were. Vaudt was the Lord around here, and what he said, went. No questions asked.

And no wonder, considering her description of what life was like outside this place. It was a wonder she'd lasted as long as she had out there alone, with no idea how violent the world had become.

When the old woman had left – without any of her food – Emmy caught herself almost waiting up for him, but he never appeared, and the longer she was without him – without the warmth and comfort of his huge presence beside her – around her – in her – the more desperate she became for him, no matter how she tried to distract herself.

She even got so frantic that she used some of her own wetness – that never seemed to not be running down her legs any more – to stroke herself, doing her best to relax and really get into a fantasy as she might have before, but all of them seemed to end up involving him, which annoyed and distracted her.

And made her just that much more horny.

Eventually, she became so frantic that she made peace with the fact that he was going to star in her fantasies, and yet she still couldn't bring herself to orgasm, ending up even more frustrated than she had been when she'd started.

Sleep, too, eluded her completely. Her body now so hyped and taut and completely ready for him that she caught herself lying on her back, legs bent, lifting her hips up as if to receive him, even though her thoughts had nothing to do with sex whatsoever, and she ended up huddled in on herself, under the covers, sobbing disconsolately.

Of course, it was then that he appeared, although she'd been too mired in her own misery to notice that he'd come in until she awoke to find herself lying there coverless all of a sudden, with him standing there next to the bed, staring down at her like a vengeful God.

And her mind flashed on what she'd learned about this world now, and about him, and she realized that he – with the absolute power of life and death over the people he protected – including her – pretty much was one.

Suddenly, he reached down, looping an arm around her middle and lifting her so that she was on all fours, facing away from where he stood at the edge of the bed. Face pressed into the mattress, she both heard and felt him adjusting himself, only bothering with setting himself free and not divesting himself of the rest of his clothing.

As he held her down, his other hand raised her hips to his and she felt him begin to enter her, splitting her around himself, making her more and more frantic to get him out of her – and yet this was so obviously the solution to her restlessness. Nothing provided that dichotomy of fulfilled need yet rampant desire like having him take her, although she wasn't a fan of it happening like this.

Although none of it had been at all romantic, this felt all too impersonal to her, as if she was just what the doctor had essentially referred to her as – a bitch in heat. But there was nothing she could do to prevent him from doing whatever he wanted to with her.

For the first time since he'd begun taking her, though, she began to cry, even as the twin sensations were at their peak – once he'd caught her onto him in those peculiar ways of his and her passions rose even further.

Even as her flesh began to squeeze rhythmically around him, which only drove her into more of an orgasmic frenzy, she wept through every scream, every groan, every shudder her body emitted, until he shrank enough within her that she didn't even wait for him to detach himself, but ripped herself away from him.

"Don't do that!" he yelled, "you could hurt yourself!"

Emmy ignored him, lying on her side, facing away from him as the evidence of their mating – both his and hers – dribbled slowly out of her, in much the same fashion as her tears ran down her cheeks and onto the pillow beneath her head.

Obviously sensing her distress, he tried to cuddle her, folding himself around her, but she gave no sign that she even noticed that he existed, so he eventually – after a good long time, she had to give him –rolled over onto his side, and seconds later, she heard him snoring.

Usually, he so exhausted her that she was barely conscious – and sometimes not even – by the time he was finished bathing her pussy with cum.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, despite the fact that she could already feel the stirrings – the craving – of her own body beginning to make her want him again, to the exclusion of all else, tonight she sat up, wide awake, and began to plan.

This was not how she wanted to live. And if she died attempting to rectify this obscene situation she found herself in, then so much the better. But regardless of whatever had happened here – and she was slowly coming to the realization that she may never know the real story of how things had come to change so drastically, nor exactly how long she'd been asleep – but there had to be more to this world than just this God-forsaken society.

There had to be.

And she was going to find it.

First, she had to find a way to get away from him, but she had a feeling that was going to be easier said than done.

Chapter 5

In the end, it ended up being easier than she had thought it would be, surprisingly.

One afternoon, several weeks later, while she was lying in bed, plotting and thinking about things that she would probably never have the courage to do, the door to his room burst open, and he stormed through it.

"You were a nurse?" he asked, his tone more tense and clipped than it had ever been, his body language – which was usually so still and watchful – betraying a high level of nervousness and urgency.

It was the first concrete confirmation she'd had that her conversation with the crone had gotten back to him, but she tried not to let it show on her face that she'd caught that little tidbit of information.

"I was," she answered, distracted by how disheveled he was – face filthy, clothes torn, his shirt, in particular, hanging open, revealing a large gash near his shoulder that was seeping blood, making her wish for a suture kit more than she wanted to admit.

But he obviously considered it no more than a scratch. "Come with me."

He produced the same big caftan style garment he'd put on her when he'd first brought her here, being just as scrupulous – perhaps more so – about hiding her face and her hair than he had been.

Vaudt took her hand and turned to the door, then stopped and looked back at her. "I'm not sure exactly how much you're willing to admit you know about us, but let me make a few things clear before we leave: I am the most powerful person in the area for much further than the eye can see. I'm not saying that to brag; it's just a fact. You, however, are something that is so valuable that even a lot of my own men – even some of those I would trust with my life – would slaughter me without a second thought to have you. You smell like the best sex anyone has ever had in his or her lives, and your mere existence is a siren's call to men like me. And all of my men are men just like me – only the majority of them don't see much worth in you beyond that attraction. The majority of them might rape you – with no thought to your pleasure – while they had you, but then they wouldn't hesitate to sell you to the highest bidder, who is most likely to be a slaver who will put you into a breeding pen and use you for the sole purpose and hope of making more of your kind –"

"And that would make the slaver different from you, how?"

The sarcastic words came out of her mouth before she thought about them, and she regretted having said them – if not thought them – the moment she heard herself speaking them aloud.

Emmy then closed her eyes, figuring she'd earned at least a hard backhand from him for her impertinence.

But it didn't come. Her eyes opened and ventured a look up at him.

And then, he finished his sentence in a grim tone, while looking down at her with a deadlier than usual expression on his face.

"While you spend the rest of your life kneeling in your own waste, with your legs permanently spread apart, your wrists shackled together, rendered blind, deaf and dumb – just another cunt used to make another baby – an Omega baby or not – and he'll let them have you even when you're pregnant, so that you earn your keep." He jerked her hand hard, slamming her up against him as he whispered. "I might not be able to keep my eye on you every second while we're out, so I want you to think about that just in case you're considering wanting to leave me."

She forced herself not to gasp. How could he have known? She'd continued her conversations with the crone – whose name was Anja, she'd learned – but she had never once mentioned anything about trying to escape him to anyone.

Ever.

Emily continued to stare into his eyes, nodding slowly. "I'll stay where I'm put."

Then, real fear setting in at what he'd described, she tapped him on the back once he'd turned away from her. It was the first time she had touched him voluntarily that wasn't a result of that incessant need.

"Yes?" he asked curtly, turning back to her.

"You'll –" She swallowed hard, knowing she was asking a lot of him. "You'll keep me safe?"

He rose to his full height, his eyes locked to hers. "I will. Until my dying breath. That is one of the things it means to be bonded. One of my duties – one of my honors – as your Alpha is to lay my life down for you, if necessary."

Emmy was surprised to hear herself say, "Let's hope that doesn't become necessary, shall we?"

He looked pleasantly surprised at her words.

She was surprised, but much less pleasantly.

She'd never thought of him as hers. It was an interesting perspective, not that it changed anything about how she felt about him.

He kept her so well hidden while they were traveling to wherever that she didn't get to see anything about where they were or where they went. She was loaded onto some sort of wagon, she'd bet, only because she could smell and hear the horses and she wasn't riding, and she could tell that there were more men around her than just him – although he kept her clamped tightly to his side, even more so when he felt her shivering next to him.

When they stopped, she could hear the others exit the wagon. Then he lifted Emmy down from it, guided her into a building and down several corridors before he lifted the robe from her face. She saw that she was in a makeshift operating room, and that a man, she supposed, who passed for a doctor, was prepping for surgery.

Well, as close as it got nowadays, which was a far cry from how it ought to be.

It was surprising how quickly her medical instincts kicked in, and she was even able to kind of push aside that all encompassing need she always felt to have him inside her whenever he was anywhere near. But she ignored it as best she could and forced herself to focus and began to do things without even thinking, even though she had never been a surgical nurse.

There was a patient on the table already, and he looked to be bad.

Very bad.

The room was far from sterile, but she tried to make it as close as she could, going so far as to slip the robe from her body – leaving her naked to the gaze of about four men, who she fervently hoped were all doctors and all, therefore, uninterested in her – and began ripping it into strips.

Someone produced scissors, and along with bits of twine, she fashioned something like a surgical mask for all of them.

Gloves were a loss.

"Did you wash your hands?" she asked the doctor she recognized pointedly.

"Why?"

"Just do it before you touch your patient – soap and hot water if we have it and scrub till your skin feels raw." Then she began to question why there were so many of them there, and Vaudt explained that they were observing, in hopes of learning from the older doctor.

Emmy humphed at that, although she didn't demand that the men leave, she did tell them, in no uncertain terms, to keep their hands to themselves during the operation.

They were busy looking from Vaudt to her then back again, as if expecting him to rescue them from this termagant.

Vaudt's smile was one of the few genuine ones she'd ever seen him wear – he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the other men's discomfiture. "You're on your own, gentlemen. I'd suggest you do as she asks."

He did, however, produce a pair of scrubs for her to wear.

"I thought you said doctors were all eunuchs," she pointed out as she donned the garments he was holding out to her. Scrubs had never been her favorite, but they certainly did bring back memories. That, and being covered, helped her immerse herself even further into that once familiar role.

"They are," he answered unhesitatingly, "but they were male at one point, and I still don't trust more than one of them at a time with my naked woman."

She didn't ask why the doctor he'd identified as being a "breeding doctor" – the equivalent, she guessed, to an ob/gyn – was conducting a surgery on a man. When someone was injured, any kind of doctor worked in a storm.

The operation was laboriously slow, due to lack of equipment and trained personnel. They might have been called doctors, but she had more real medical knowledge then all of them together. Emmy found it sad how quickly basic medical information had been jettisoned from the culture in favor of superstitions and rumor, as the battle over keeping as sterile field as possible raged on throughout, with some of the doctors literally poking their grubby fingers into the wound.

Finally, she reached out and cuffed the one who did it the most often, and the rest of them fell into line right afterwards, as she heard Vaudt snickering from his position not far behind her.

When they were done, all he said to her was, "So?"

He was looking to her more than to the doctor who had sewn the man up for a report on his condition.

"He'll live, if we can keep him from getting infected."

She said the same thing at the same time as the other doctors did, although as she was being bundled up to leave, she could hear them grumbling about her presence – and her bossiness – among them.

But Vaudt – he was exactly the opposite of disgruntled at her performance. He was highly amused.

No, she revised her assessment of his mood. He was happy. He might not have been grinning ear to ear – that would have gone entirely against type – but she could feel how elated and relieved he was in the way he touched her.

They got back to his room without incident, for which she was thoroughly grateful, considering what he'd told her.

She had a lot of thinking to do. She might have to revise her entire plan.

Although not – she had already decided – in favor of staying with him, no matter how amazing the sex was. She had no interest in being any man's baby maker. There had to be more of a role for her, somewhere. She had to be able to exist in this world as more than a man's brood mare and sex object.

But she was rudely reminded of her status as soon as they walked through the door and he held out his hand to her.

She had actually been dressed – in two layers, no less – for longer than five seconds. It had felt good. It had made her feel safer. Emmy tried to explain that to him, but nothing she said made any difference to him. The fact that she'd helped him save that man was not a mitigating factor, either, apparently. He simply stood there with his hand out until she did what she knew he wanted her to, handing over the cloak and the scrubs, which he immediately tossed out the door, locking it behind them.

Then he stalked over to her, and it was all she could do not to back away from him, but she'd discovered that was never the right thing to do with him – that it triggered his prey drive, and that never ended well – at least as far as she was concerned. When he was in that kind of a mood, he kept her in positions that were even more submissive than the usual ones, prolonging the both of their orgasms as long as he could, deliberately hurting her – slightly – then soothing those hurts with more sex, creating a devastatingly vicious cycle of pain and pleasure, one never quite satisfying the other.

So she stood her ground, and he cupped her cheeks in those huge hands, gently, kissing her as if to do so in too cavalier a fashion would cause her to shatter into a million pieces.

In a way that reminded her – painfully – sharply – of how Dan used to kiss her.

As if she meant everything to him.

"Thank you for helping me tonight. You will never know just how much your assistance meant to me. You may ask me for anything you would like, and I will do my best to get it for you."

He wasn't just a warlord, she'd learned from Anja – when he wasn't either actively warring with or defending them from other tribes, he was a raider who had a reputation for procuring whatever his people most needed. It could be drugs, food, and even the occasional special request, depending on who made it and how he felt about them.

Emmy looked up at him and answered him with the utmost honesty, knowing her answer was probably going to put a big damper on his elation.

"You have no need to risk your life to get me what I want from you – what I will always want from you."

"And what is that?" Vaudt asked blithely.

He was still smiling, and she knew that he thought she was going to answer him with something that women nowadays might want – a healthy baby, a shiny trinket, his undying love.

But that was not her, and it never would be.

"I want my freedom."

He snorted, looking down at her with disbelief plain on his face. "Did you not hear what I told you as I took you out of this place? Would you really prefer to be dead than with me?"

Emmy's voice was soft and clear when she answered him, her eyes downcast. "I would really prefer to be left alone to live out whatever remains of my life, whether that's another five minutes or fifty years."

He balked, physically, at her answer. "That's unnatural. How could you not want to have a mate and a child? It's what you were born to do."

"It's not unnatural for me. It's not unnatural for a woman of my time to want to be the leader of the entire world. Where I came from, women could – and did – do anything men did, sometimes much better than they did."

He didn't bother to try to stifle his laugh at that, and that incensed Emmy.

"You were there this afternoon. Who do you think was the person in that disgusting operating theatre with the greater medical expertise, hmm? The most experience, even though I wasn't a surgical nurse? Who do you think is really going to be the reason why that young man is going to live – and I'll give you a hint – it's not any of the so called doctors who were there." She wasn't able to keep herself from poking her index finger into his chest to make her point, or, more accurately, stabbing it against a brick wall – that probably would have hurt less.

With a heavy sigh, Emmy closed her mouth. She didn't know why she even bothered to try to explain such things to him. He didn't want to hear them. She was just a receptacle to him, just someone to rut into and, hopefully, impregnate.

Simple as that.

Basic biology.

Lowest common denominator.

Things had reverted right back to where they had been on the planet for hundreds of thousands of years – the cave man went out and slayed the dragons, and the little woman stayed home in the cave and took care of the hoard of kids he got on her, whether she wanted him to or not. That was her only role – her only real value to society.

She hadn't even noticed that she was crying, but he had, apparently, because he came to stand in front of her and brought her into his arms, holding her wonderfully tight and doing his best to dry tears that just wouldn't stop coming, not even when he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed.

Only this time – for the first time – he didn't make it sexual, although that unmistakable buzz was always humming away in the background any time they were near each other. He simply held her, rubbing her back soothingly as she cried, kissing her damp face gently and offering a square of toilet paper – which doubled as facial tissue – for her to blow her nose.

Then he gathered her back into his arms – which she was beginning to find disturbingly comforting – encouraging her to lay her head on his chest as he kept her by his side with a casual arm around her shoulders.

"Tell me about where you come from," he asked, and she thought it was probably just a diversionary technique, meant to lift her from her doldrums and stop her crying all over him for a while.

But he had – inadvertently – opened the floodgates. She didn't care if he didn't believe what she was saying. It still felt good to say it to someone – even to him. She didn't know how she could prove it to him – she wasn't even sure if that was something she wanted to do – or should want to do. But she got a lot of things off her chest that she hadn't even said to Anja, who she knew did believe her.

Why it felt so much better to say those things to him than to her, she didn't really want to examine too closely. Like so many things in this time, the only explanation was that it just did.

And when she'd expended what felt like every last word she'd ever need or want to say, they simply lay there, with him rubbing his hand up and down her back in a motion that was pure, soothing comfort.

Then he asked her something that surprised her to her core.

"Would you like to feel me inside you? Would that help you feel better – having your legs spread around me, your woman's sheath stretched and filled to overflowing, to be tied to me as you are in those moments, unable to think or believe or worry or breathe – to just let go of everything and indulge yourself in our connection?"

She wanted to say yes – and this time – for the first time – it wasn't just her body urging her to do so. It was her beleaguered, stressed, worried mind, too. She knew what he could do for her, what he could give her, simply by being himself. He was never going to be as smart as Dan was. He couldn't even read, through what she suspected was no fault of his own.

But then, that was a skill that was much less important in her current reality. What counted were strength, resolve, and the willingness to get one's hands very dirty indeed.

And he possessed all of those qualities – in spades.

Much like he possessed her.

When she hadn't responded to him in what became a long while, Vaudt lifted her onto him. Not forcing her to stay there, as he might, but simply holding her there, supporting her as she lay there, stretching herself out over him, like a kitten atop a draft horse, one paw in her hair, where he loved to have it, the other at the small of her back, tracing lazy patterns on her bare skin.

Finally, she lifted her head; her eyes for once not filled with tears, and met his eyes, breathing but one soft word.

"Please."

And it was everything it should have been – this one time. He knew her well – had learned her body, her likes and dislikes – had made such a study of her that he knew not to really bite her nipples. That turned her off, but instead to nibble gently on them, but knowing, too, that she loved to have them pinched – and twisted – hard, or to trap them firmly between his long, sharp canines and tug till she begged him prettily not to.

He knew that she adored being kissed, but didn't like it to get too sloppy, and that kissing her neck – biting it less than gently – could make her howl if he did it just right.

And he did everything just right for her, concentrating his whole being on making sure that she felt everything he was doing to her to the utmost. Almost drowning in her tribute to him as he teased and tickled her clit, one big finger delving into that still very tight, wet cavern while she clenched the bed sheets in her fists so hard she nearly ripped them open.

When the time came to join them together, he rose over her – imposing, commanding, magnificent, but not threatening – watching every nuance of every change in her expressions as she welcomed him into her body for the first time, finding himself at least as caught up in the almost holy feeling as she was.

But then he surprised her by stopping just short of staking his final claims on her, reaching down to cup her cheek and whispering roughly, "Tell me you're mine," with much less command than there ever had been in his voice.

And, after only the slightest of hesitations, Emmy responded quietly, seriously, "I am yours, Vaudt," her eyes on his the entire time. And she said the words with no trace of irony or remorse, knowing the truth of them in her heart, but, at the same time, also recognizing that her feelings for him – whatever they were – did nothing to mitigate the fact that she would do anything she had to do to get away from him.

Then, and only then, knowing nothing of what she was thinking at that moment beyond what he assumed she might be, did he truly sink himself into her. Drinking in the familiar cries of distress she always emitted at the end, when he had to truly make her his in every manner within his power, knowing that those sharp mewls would quickly turn into groans of ecstasy.

And – as usual – he wasn't at all wrong.

Chapter 6

"Stay still! Jesus Christ!" she admonished, knowing that if he didn't choose to, there was no way she could make him.

It was days later, and she had finally been able to coerce him into sitting down for five seconds to let her examine the wound she'd seen near his shoulder. The one she'd been carefully nagging him about letting her care for – or at the very least that he get himself seen by one of the "doctors" – for the past week or so.

Finally, he found the time in his busy schedule – as well as somehow managing to accrue the things necessary for her to treat him – to shirk out of his shirt and take his seat at the small table. Which really wasn't all that small, it just looked that way next to his imposing bulk – all while wearing a slightly amused expression that only deepened as she hovered around him, tsking and cringing every time she had to touch him, knowing she was hurting him.

Why she should react like that about him, she would never know. It wasn't as if he cringed when he spanked her or when he fucked her. But, as hard as she tried, she couldn't seem to prevent it. It was most unprofessional, and it only got worse once she had prepared him to the point where she was going to stitch up the wound. She knew she had to pierce him with the curved needle she'd been waiting for him to filch from somewhere for just this purpose.

Granted, it wasn't as if she'd done this a million times before – she hadn't. She'd done a surgical rotation and had stitched up some wounds, but this one was quite deep, and her equipment so poor – there would be no dulling what was bound to be the excruciating pain she was going to have to put him through.

Then, what she considered the worst thing that could possibly happen, happened. She was pinching his flesh as tightly together as she could with one hand – knowing that was hurting him, too, and holding the threaded needle in the other, and she began to cry.

A big, wet blotch appeared on his upper arm, and then another on his shoulder, much too close to the wound for her comfort. She leaned back, away from him, setting the equipment down on the table and covering her eyes with her hands, which meant she was just going to have to wash them again when she finally decided to buck up and do what she needed to do.

"What is it, Emmy?" he asked, and she knew that he was quite concerned for her by the soft, questioning tone of his voice and the fact that he called her by name. Names seemed to have lost some of their power in this era. He'd never even formally told her his, although he must've known she knew it.

He tugged at her wrists, and she resisted him as much as she could, but, as always, he got his own way, pulling them away from her face and gathering her onto his lap as he did so. "Why the tears? Are you hurting?" He made his questions in a voice he reserved just for her when she was sad for any reason. It was soft, low, and comforting in and of itself.

"No, you idiot," she snorted, "I'm crying because I don't want to hurt you, and that's just stupid!"

His smiles – the real ones, the ones that were so incredibly rare that they reached out and squeezed her heart, hard – were completely devastating, easily ruining all of the anger and resentment she had spent so long diligently building around it, laying waste to all of the mental and emotional defenses she'd tried to erect against him. She didn't want him to inspire tender feelings in her just because he could make her enjoy it when he raped her. Just because he could make her want him to…

"And I thank you for that. It's good to know you don't want to stab me with the needle instead of stitch me up with it."

"Don't press your luck," she shot back at him, still crying as he hugged her against his broad chest.

That just made him chuckle – another rarity. "Will it help if I tell you that I will probably barely feel it? Things like that don't hurt me much – certainly nowhere near what they would feel like to you."

"Do you have skin like a rhinoceros, or what?"

She could tell that he didn't recognize the word, but he didn't bother to ask about it, inferring from context and shrugging those massive shoulders of his – which didn't seem to hurt him, either, no matter how drastically it made his wound gape open. No wonder he'd been so reluctant to have her treat him. He couldn't feel the pain he should have with that kind of not-life-threatening-at-the-moment, but still serious wound.

And it wasn't as if she hadn't seen how many scars he already bore, all over his body, of various shapes and sizes, mostly looking like knife wounds, but there were some small burns and other penetrating wounds that suggested to her that she might not want to ask how he got them. She didn't think she could take hearing about him being in danger, which he obviously was and had been for most of his life, she'd bet.

Emily didn't know if that was a result of their bond or what. Whether or not he was in danger – whether or not he was hurt or injured – shouldn't have even been on her radar, but it most certainly was.

She guessed that it was probably the prevalence of those marks of bravery – or foolhardiness, she imagined, in some cases – that made him so enamored of her relatively flawless body. She had a small, puckered scar on the inside of her wrist from a rare bout of chicken pox when she was six. Her mother hadn't been very fond of the government or what she considered its invasive, fascist vaccination requirements. There was another on her calf from a stone that had been thrown by someone's lawn mower while she and her family were at their camp by the lake. And a barely visible – thanks to a good plastic surgeon – scar just below her hairline on her forehead, where her brother had hit her over the head with a very beautiful – and it turned out for her ten-year-old brother – expensive china teacup, when she beat him at chess at the ripe old age of eight.

Other than that, she had been very lucky, and although she had dutifully pointed out all of her rampant imperfections one night, he continued to marvel over the beauty of what he considered her perfect skin.

As he patted her back, his mouth buried in the hair at the top of her head while she lay curled atop him, he murmured, "I would tell you not to worry about it, that I'll heal without your very capable assistance…" He had yet to come to terms with the idea that she'd had an actual profession "But I know that you are maternal, even with me – which is very endearing – and that you will worry if you do not do what you feel you need to for me." Having said that, he lifted her off him, setting her carefully onto her own feet beside him. "And I would much rather have you – even though you're a female – sewing me up than any of the doctors I've ever met in my life."

She took that as a compliment, which she thought was the way he actually meant it, however backhanded the delivery.

"I will remain completely still and quiet for you. If I feel any unpleasantness at all, I will only have to think of how many different ways I will make you scream in pleasure when you are done, and that will squelch any pain short of death."

Emmy sighed, pursing her lips at him. Regrouping both her equipment and her thoughts, moments later, with him not having moved a single muscle the entire time, it was done.

Not perfect, she thought, looking critically down at her work, certainly not surgeon quality stitching, but enough to keep the two sides of the skin together to promote healing and, hopefully, prevent infection.

The last thing she did was the only time she saw him acknowledge any amount of pain, and still, he didn't move. Even when she poured rubbing alcohol over the entire wound and left it to evaporate before she bandaged him, the only reaction she saw was his blinking, once, very slowly.

She, of course, was a wreck, a complete wreck. She managed to clean up the mess she'd made cleaning him up, trying to keep her mind busy before she completely broke down and ran around frantically, nervously, while putting things away.

Finally, he caught her around the middle, guiding her, as if they were dancing, onto the bed with him, falling onto it on his back, to make sure she came to no harm, buffering her landing with his own big body, then trying to curl her under him.

She knew what he wanted, knew what he was going to do to her and had – mostly – come to grips with the fact there was nothing she could do to stop him from taking her. Her attempts at resistance – partly because of her own instinctive reactions to him – had dwindled considerably of late to the occasionally interjected, "Please, no," as if she had forgotten that she should have been protesting and fighting – as he would put it – against her fate.

But this time, she put the palms of her hands on his chest – carefully avoiding the fresh bandage, and pushed, gently – not frantically – deliberately bringing her still very wet eyes to his.

"Would you – would you do something for me?" she asked.

In truth, he would have risked his own life a thousand times over to get her anything he could – anything – that he approved of – that would make her happy. He knew she thought he didn't smile much, but then, neither did she, and although he didn't show it much, he was acutely aware of her sadness.

More so than he wanted to be, by far.

More so than an Alpha should be, he thought.

And the last time he'd offered to get her something she might like, she'd asked him for the impossible. He could not – would not – set her free. Even if he did, because of their bond, she would never truly be free of him unless he was dead, but then she knew that. He had told her often enough when she became defiant that he would be the only man to bond with her – to knot her – until he was dead.

Not that others weren't going to try – and die in the attempt.

So, with no small amount of curiosity, he responded cautiously, "If I can."

Her answer surprised him. "Roll onto your back."

He was there before she finished her request, his eagerness prompting a giggle from her that he wished he could hear more often.

And it only got better. She sat up, and began to touch him. Voluntarily. With her own small hands.

He closed his eyes and shivered, making her stop and remove her hands from him as if she'd startled him. But then he caught them and pulled them back to him, putting them where they had been – however neutral – on his arm, knowing he was about as close to Paradise as he figured he would ever get in this life – short of her giving him a son.

And she wasn't even touching him anywhere interesting – yet.

And she was talking, too, which he could have done without, since she wasn't saying anything designed to heighten his desire for her, which was, as always, blatantly rampant. But, if she would continue doing just this, he would fight his baser instincts back for as long as he could.

Emmy had forgotten what it was like to have a man's body at her disposal, and she'd never had one – had never seen one really, until a short while ago – that was quite this impressive. It was a very big bed – even for someone who was accustomed, at one time, to sleeping in a king-sized bed – and he took up most of it. It was a very good thing that she was relatively small, because she didn't get very much room on it.

She knew that making her sleep on the inside – nearest the wall – was a method of keeping track of her, of closing her in with the imposing presence of his body. If she wanted to get up at all while they were sleeping, she could never – had never – managed to do it without waking him up, which inevitably led to sex.

She'd held herself away from him as much as she could and intended to continue to do so. He was not – would never be – the love of her life or anything resembling it. But she intended to indulge herself a bit right now, because – seeing his body as she had, seeing the hard toll his life had taken on him, knowing he put his life down for her – and everyone else in this little enclave – every time he stepped outside the walls – gave her a greater respect for him than she'd had before.

Yes, he had been horrible to her in a lot of ways.

But she was learning that there were degrees of horrible, and she knew that, without him, she'd likely already be dead – or sincerely wishing she were.

It may well still come down to that stark reality in the end, she didn't know. But right here, right now, she was taking the time to acknowledge the fact that he was the one keeping her from a fate worse than death.

And – if she admitted it to herself, which she refused to do – it was hardly a hardship to touch a man like him. He felt good – strong, steady – beneath her fingertips as she dragged them delicately over him, exploring the scars and the ripples of muscle and the occasional smoothness of him with equal interest, her eyes occasionally flickering to where she could see that he had already risen to greet her.

He had been out, so he was still wearing pants, and she tugged at them, although she knew she couldn't take them from him without his cooperation.

But again, he was eager to comply. They disappeared seconds later, and he lay back, throwing his arm over his eyes, completely naked – if not at all vulnerable in spite of it – before her.

And he was magnificent.

"Are all men like you now?" she asked, her voice unusually hoarse. She already knew the answer to that – she'd seen the doctors, who were sort of men.

"What do you mean?"

"So..." She blushed shyly, surprised she could still do so in front of a man who had known her so intimately. "So big. You're much bigger than most men of my time. And you have a much higher pain tolerance – few men in my time would have been able to sit still while I stitched them up without anesthetic."

"Anesthetic?" he said the word back to her as if it was foreign to him.

"Something that deadens pain, or knocks you unconscious so you don't feel anything until you awaken."

"Oh," he grunted. "No, not all men – although more than enough to cause wars."

Emmy nodded. His type, genetic mutation, or whatever he was, would have risen to the top in this barbaric, unforgiving culture.

"Why do you ask, little girl?"

"Just curious."

"You know what that did to the pussy..." he warned, as her hand roamed ever closer to where he wanted it to be, seconds before he grabbed her and lifted her onto him. "It got her fucked," he growled, before she could answer him, his voice choking as he felt himself slowly penetrating her, every bit of her fight to accept him. Every catch in her breath or plaintive mewl added fuel to his own passion, and that was more than enough to make him begin to swell even before she had settled onto him completely, making it a bit of a challenge for her to do so. He reveled in every whimper and cry of pseudo protest as she submitted herself to him fully.

He wasn't much of a fan of this position – although he could see – and touch – its advantages – but he preferred to be on top, where it was easier for him to control her, and to set himself into her.

When he had first begun taking her, she had begged him not to do that to her, complaining that it hurt too much.

But he had seen through her attempt at crying wolf. "But then?" he'd asked, eyebrows raised as he gazed down at her.

She had colored beautifully, knowing he wasn't going to let her settle for just complaining about the slight pain of it.

"What does it make you feel once I've done that, and we are knotted and barbed together, and I begin to move and spurt within you?"

She had become angry with him, which had made him almost smile at her fierceness. "That doesn't matter!"

"What's that? Answer me, girl, or you'll feel the flat of my hand on your backside as soon as we're finished."

He did not issue idle threats, and she knew him well enough to realize that.

"It makes me too terribly sensitive –" Her voice lowered to a whisper as she'd answered him reluctantly, "It gives me no choice but to cum."

He liked making her submit to him. He admired her strength. If what she said about where she'd come from was true, then she was a smart, accomplished woman in her own time, and he loved the idea that he could subdue her, to tame her to his hand.

Especially since he knew she didn't want him to.

But this – her curious compliance – at least outwardly so – had been interesting too, up to a point. He knew that the positions in which she was most likely to breed were those in which he was – where he belonged – on top of her, or where she was on her knees before him, and, at least until her womb was full of his offspring, he wouldn't waste a chance to get her pregnant.

She protested prettily when she felt that familiar pricking, and he knew it must've caused her some amount of discomfort. It was, after all, like a claw pressing into a very sensitive spot, but he knew the benefits of it far outweighed his desire to please her if he could. It prevented her from moving as much as she might without it. It activated something within an Omega woman that pushed her into an almost violently blissful state, her body spasming uncontrollably around his for long periods of time, which contributed to his own pleasure as well as milking his seed from him, softening both her demeanor and her flesh to him and making her much more receptive to both his mounting of her and her potential impregnation.

He wasn't sure exactly how it worked – he just knew it would, eventually – and he couldn't possibly wait until she was heavy with his child.

* * *

Just a few days later, she heard him at the door, fiddling impatiently with the lock. Somehow, she knew that it was an emergency, and she wasn't wrong.

He came into the room in a state much like the one he had been in when she'd been taken to the medical facility the last time, and she cooperated fully in him getting her there again, hoping against hope that what she thought had probably happened to their patient hadn't.

When she got there, it was worse than she had imagined. She could see the wound from where she stood when she first entered the room and could smell it a few steps later.

She threw the cloak off, and he handed her scrubs while she issued orders at the doctors, who were – as they had been before – reluctant to take orders from a woman, but one look at the dark face of the Lord who had brought her and they began to cooperate immediately.

She debrided the wound as much as she could. Then she asked for a scalpel.

The doctors surrounding her balked, until Vaudt, with a makeshift mask over his mouth – stepped up to stand behind her, grinding out, "You will give her anything she asks for. You will do anything she asks you to do. If he dies, you will die. She is your best hope for getting out of this room alive."

They were much more cooperative after that, but he didn't step back, even when she cut into the wound, releasing tons of infected, putrid fluids that they had to clean up, mumbling passive aggressive protests about how she shouldn't have done that the entire time.

Emmy flushed out and cleaned the wound, trying to make sure she'd gotten all of the infected tissue before sewing him back up again.

When she finally stepped away from the table, looking down at the poor young man who was going through so much, she walked right into his arms, which closed automatically around her.

"He's so sick. Do you have any antibiotics? Any aspirin to treat the fever?" She knew she was asking for things he probably knew nothing about, but she figured she had to. What she'd just done for him was only going to prolong the inevitable unless she could get him some systemic help with the raging infection.

"What are those?"

"Medicines. Do you have any medicines at all?"

He gave her a considering look, then grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him, out of the room and into the corridor, taking enormous steps that she could barely keep up with. Then suddenly, he stopped to produce a key to a padlock that held double doors together, relocking them once they were inside, where he used a flashlight to shine around. It was a cavernous room, stocked top to bottom with metal shelves full of drugs and medical equipment.

Although her first instinct was to ask why they were not using all of this stuff regularly, Emmy held her tongue in favor of getting her patient what he needed. Vaudt followed her around like a big puppy, and at one point, she caught the way he was looking at her.

With utter amazement.

"You – you can read all of this?" he asked, almost reverently and with great appreciation. "You know how to use them to help him?"

Emmy nodded grimly. "I can, and I am. I will not let him die."

But his reverence for her didn't stop her from adding copious amounts of something she'd found in the stockpiles that they obviously had no use for.

But then, neither did the man who was lying on the operating table, being ravaged by an infection.

No, what she'd taken was for her and her alone.

She could hardly believe her luck when she saw the small wheels of different colored pills, all piled together in an overflowing box, and, since they were generic, even if he could read the chemical names of them, he wouldn't have known what they were.

She'd worry later about how to get them back with her. If she had to, she'd shove a handful of them up inside her. Having found her saviors, she wasn't about to leave this place without plenty of the protection she so desperately needed.

They got nearly everything else, too, that he was likely to need – in the immediate future, anyway – and began to head back to her patient when they were confronted by a man brandishing a knife and sniffing the air like a dog.

His eyes were wild, and he looked totally out of control.

"I knew I smelled you! I knew you were here somewhere!" he screamed, lunging for her with one hand and holding that wicked looking blade threateningly in the other.

Seconds later, he lay on the floor, bleeding out, killed by his own weapon, and Vaudt was the proud owner of a magnificent new knife.

As he hustled her back to the room, she didn't think she'd ever get used to what life was going to be like for her now. When she first woke up, she thought rather fancifully that she might have to worry about zombies or some such other fictitious villains.

But it turned out that it was the same old villain as it had been since time began – men who couldn't control their sexual appetites or their lust for money and didn't even bother to try.

Moments later, with all of the men looking on in utter amazement, she had him on a drip – a not as well controlled one as she would have preferred – but a drip that was going to both hydrate him, address his fever, and fight the infection.

When she was finished, she stepped back to admire her handiwork, and Vaudt grabbed her wrist. "We need to get you out of here. It's not safe."

She pulled back against his hold. "I can't leave here. I have to stay with my patient."

"You cannot stay here. You saw what just happened. He was one of my best guards. I don't want to have to kill everyone else in this building just so you can play doctor."

He had never seen that particular look on her face, but he had an idea that it wasn't good. "We have to go," he reiterated.

But this time, when she jerked her arm, he let her go. She stood in front of the other men, giving them a list of instructions. "Send me word about how he's doing and any change for the worse in his condition."

She didn't care if that wasn't supposed to be done – she needed to keep an eye on him, even if she wasn't being given a choice but to do so from a distance.

Mid-word, he covered her again and began dragging her away. She continued to yell orders back at them for as long as she could, until his hand descended on her mouth and her bottom at the same time. "Quiet! I'd rather not have to kill anyone else for you while we're out here."

The ride back was conducted in the kind of silence no man – even such a hardened Alpha as himself – wanted to experience from his woman.

But she wasn't cold to him because he'd dragged her away from her patient – although she would definitely have preferred to stay with him. No, she was pissed because he'd dragged her away before she'd been able to palm any of those birth control pills.

Chapter 7

"You have to let me go see him. I need to see his condition and assess it for myself," she pleaded, a few days later.

He was in his chair – which she'd begun to think of in her mind as his throne – brooding, fingers templed together as she paced around him. "They said he's doing better."

"They're saying it to save their own asses – none of them wants to be the one to tell you he's dead! I don't trust them as far as I could throw you!"

"I thought this man was important to you – you were the one who threatened their lives if he died. Don't you want to see for yourself whether or not he's recovering?"

No response. Nothing.

Never in her life, had she been this close to punching someone. She wasn't a physically violent type of person – that was more his territory. She used her words. But in his case, she was willing to learn to be!

So instead, to get out her frustrations, she began to kick out at things – the door, the table – the leg of his chair.

Only she did it one too many times and actually hit him instead, although distinguishing between the two wasn't that easy.

That put the fear of God into her – at least until she realized that he wasn't going to react to that, either.

And, being the idiot that she was, she drew her leg back to do it again, aiming more deliberately this time.

But before she could get any further, he grabbed her wrist, giving one short, sharp yank.

She was already so off balance that she couldn't keep herself from toppling right over his lap, to be trapped there within seconds of landing. His hand made quick work of scourging her backside, leaving livid imprints of his hand everywhere he could reach until he released her just as suddenly, lifting her off him and back onto her feet, then withdrawing into himself again.

Emmy huffed angrily through the tears he had wrought and began pacing again while her bottom stung horribly with every step. She didn't want to lie on the bed – besides the fact that it would hurt like the dickens, he'd take that as an invitation – not that he'd ever felt he needed one, but she knew that as soon as she lay down, he would be on her.

She was still pacing when the sun went down, if a bit less energetically, when suddenly, he grabbed her wrist again, and she was sure she was going to find herself beneath him in seconds.

But she was wrong.

Instead, she found herself bundled up again, and she knew she was on her way to see her patient.

And, to her surprise, the doctors hadn't been lying to him – he was well on the road to recovery. Far from at full strength, but he was doing much better than he had been.

He was even awake, growing more so as she entered the room.

"I had heard rumors to the effect that you had found one for yourself, but now I see they're true." Emmy smiled at him in a friendly manner as she checked his wounds, the IV site and drip rate and gave him a general going over while Vaudt surprised her by maintaining a growling low in his throat, although she supposed that a healthy dose of jealousy was a part of every Alpha.

And it worked to her advantage, because all he was doing was staring at her patient – he wasn't paying attention to her, and she was able to slip several packets of pills into the pocket of her scrubs.

"Are you not going to introduce me to your mate?" the man asked.

"This is Racide," Vaudt informed her flatly.

For the first time in a very long time, someone extended a hand to her, and she shook it, only to have the seething mountain behind her forcibly remove her hand from his. "And your name is, pretty lady?"

The angry rumbling grew much louder, much more threatening.

"Emily. Most people call me – well, used to call me – Emmy."

"Emmy it is then. Besides being an elusive Omega, I understand I have you – a woman – to thank for saving my life. Thank you." He tried to bow a bit, but winced at the effort.

Obviously, he was not an Alpha.

Emily blushed. "You're welcome. I was glad to be of help." She asked him some routine questions about how he was feeling and pronounced him on the mend.

This, of course, prompted Vaudt to announce autocratically, as his long fingers wrapped around her upper arm, "You've seen him. He's no longer dying or in need of your care. It's time to go home."

Racide chuckled. "My brother has always been the jealous type. Thank you again for your efforts on my behalf, Emmy. I owe you one. If there's ever anything I can do to help you in any way, you have but to call."

She found herself violently swung away from him while Vaudt seemed to increase in size by about three fold as he bore down on the smaller man. "She needs nothing from you, brother." He growled the words from a spot that was so deep in his throat, they were barely intelligible, and he fairly spat the last word before literally dragging her out of the room, even forgetting to put the cloak over her until they were in the hall.

He hadn't been like this, perhaps ever, in her memory – aggressive, domineering, yes, but a full-blown jealous rage? No.

As she did her best to make sure that she secured the pills and they wouldn't easily fall out of their hiding place, Emmy wondered baldly if he'd wait until they got back to his room before he took her once again, staking his claim, making sure she knew exactly to whom she belonged.

He made it, but barely.

There was no comfortable mattress beneath her back as he labored over her until very late that night, or, more accurately, early the next morning, and she had the bruises on her back from the floor to prove it, despite how much pleasure he'd subjected her to, as always.

Which, she was surprised to find him absolutely horrified about, which worked in her favor.

They were showering late that next morning, and she turned and held her hair up so that he could do her back as he always did, and yet he just stood there, staring at her, to the point where she began to feel both uncomfortable and cold.

Finally, he handed her the bar of soap and said, "Do your own back."

When she stepped out of the shower, he was gone, and she didn't see him again for almost two and a half days, which was the longest they had been apart.

At times, she wondered if he was ever coming back, trying to stop herself – with only moderate success – from wondering what it was that she had done to drive him away.

He arrived back early the next evening, and she found herself bundled up again for another trip, which she naturally assumed was going to be to see his brother again. She hoped he hadn't taken a turn for the worse.

But instead, when she looked around as little as she was able, she realized that this was a different place entirely, and, as soon as she stepped into it, an achingly familiar scent filled her nostrils.

He maneuvered her in front of him, facing away from him, and brought the garment over her head in one sweeping motion to reveal a huge room full of books.

A library. It even looked as if it had actually been a library at one point, and she could barely contain her elation, taking a few steps away from him, then looking back at him tentatively.

"Go – explore. I wanted to do something for you for saving my brother – as much as I hate the little bastard." He carefully didn't add that she was here, too, because he had been so angry at the sight of the bruises his lust had caused to mar the flesh on her back. "I'll find you in a while."

She completely lost track of time, practically skipping down the tall aisles, running her hands over the bindings and occasionally selecting something to skim through, only to put it back and head in an entirely different direction. It was pretty much a full-blown library, complete with a reference section, although she could tell that it wasn't well used – most of the volumes were old and dusty and looked like they hadn't been cracked open in centuries – literally.

When he found her, she was in the back corner of the building, with piles of books surrounding her, having formed her own little cave, already halfway through one of her most favorite books from her childhood, Black Beauty, which her mother used to read to her, until she could read it back to her mother herself.

He crouched in front of her, and she gifted him with a shining, sparkling smile such as he had never seen on her face before. "Come with me," he invited, unable to stop himself from wearing a small smile in response to hers, his hand out to her, palm up to help her from the floor.

She looked so crestfallen that his chest began to hurt. "Do we h-have to?" she asked plaintively. "Could we – might we – may I take some of the books with me?"

"Let's think about that later," he answered, being deliberately vague. "Right now, I have someone I want you to meet." He produced a set of scrubs and helped her in them.

Emmy was surprised – she had assumed they were alone here.

And she was surprised again when he brought her to the desk, which seemed abandoned, until an older woman came out from behind the stacks, saying warmly, "And you must be Emmy. I am Hinda."

Seconds later, she found herself wrapped in the first genuine, loving hug she'd experienced since she'd arrived, her arms automatically wrapping around the small but sturdy body of the woman who was hugging her.

Eventually, they stepped a bit away from each other, although Emily found her hands still held in hers. "Thank you for saving Racide."

Wondering what her relationship was to the young man, Emily blushed. "You're welcome."

Then the older woman leaned a bit towards her and whispered – not all that softly, "And thank you for saving my other son, too, although that's more from himself than from an enemy." She motioned with her head towards where Vaudt was leaning against the desk, looking more relaxed than Emmy thought she had ever seen him.

"Mother."

"I'm only saying the truth, Vaudt dear."

It was so strange to hear someone call her stalwart, enormous warlord – the stalwart, enormous warlord; she corrected immediately – dear.

So she was his mother. She could see traces of a resemblance, but not much. He must favor his father.

"She has not changed me."

"She has changed you and for the better. Otherwise, why would you be here?"

Emmy had no idea what they were talking about, but she had a feeling she was going to be glad to know his mother, especially if she was the one in charge of all of these luscious books.

"Yes, I am," she admitted, in answer to the unspoken question. "But it's a dying profession, because few people know how to read any more –" She gave the girl a sidelong glance. "But I understand that you can."

"Oh, yes, I can!" Emily admitted gleefully. "And I'm so happy to find that someone has preserved them, even if they're not getting much use at the moment."

"Well, please feel free to borrow any of them you'd like to take with you."

"Mother. There is not a cart big enough for us to do that. We might as well move right into the library with you."

"Yes!" Emmy clapped in excitement.

His buzz killing, no nonsense, "No," which was enunciated from beneath a comically darkly drawn brow, dashed her rising hopes immediately.

She was disappointed, if resigned to her fate, until Hinda suggested, "Why don't you make a pile of books you want to read, and I'll keep them here. You take a few today, then, when you're done, send them back to me through Vaudt, and I'll send you the next few. Would that work?"

Emily's happy shriek echoed in the cavernous room as she headed off towards the stacks of books she'd already compiled.

But she didn't make it very far before she was stopped by a large but relatively gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll get them. I don't want you lifting anything that heavy."

Embarrassed by what his care for her implied, Emmy hung back with Hinda.

"He thinks you might be with child?" she sensed accurately.

Her response was wry in the extreme, "If I'm not, it won't be for lack of him trying."

Hinda smiled softly. "You are bonded, then?"

Emily tensed, not really knowing what to say. She knew the correct answer was "yes," but that hardly portrayed the situation with any amount of accuracy.

The older woman put her hand on Emily's arm. "Vaudt has told me the story you told him of how you came to be here, and I can understand how this situation might not have been exactly what you'd hoped for." Her voice was quiet as she confessed, "I was an Omega, too, you see, and I had little more choice than you did about my bonding, although I had grown up to expect that was my fate."

"It wasn't – and isn't – at all what I want," she confessed quietly.

Hinda took a deep breath. "I know that my son can be hard to deal with. He's very much like his father, whereas his little brother – who is his greatest rival – is more like me."

"Wait a minute," Emmy interrupted. "How can you be a librarian when your son doesn't know how to read?"

"Vaudt was the eldest male child. My husband was a great warlord in his own right, and he took Vaudt from me when he was three years old to raise him to be just like himself. So he was taught to hunt, raid, fight, ride, and not much else. It's given him a lot of success – he's been able to, not only hold the lands his father acquired, but to expand them, too. He has never lost in a conflict with another county. But at a steep price." She sighed. "I had despaired of him ever finding someone he wanted to bond with, especially considering the scarcity of Omegas." She hugged Emmy again. "I am so glad he has found you. And I was not kidding when I said that you have changed him – for the good. He is more...settled and much less volatile."

Emily was thinking that she wouldn't want to know what he was like before if this was less volatile.

"It suits him to have someone like you to take care of. It humanizes him a bit."

"Have you never...tried to teach him to read?"

The other woman snorted. "As if he would sit still long enough for me to do that! But you should try. It could only make him even better to be able to read books on governing and law and justice." Then she said something that surprised Emmy. "How much I envy what your life must've been like before you ended up here. What a different world it was at one time."

"It had its problems," Emmy admitted. "Obviously, or this – whatever caused this – would never have happened."

"You're right. But the freedoms, the ease of life in general...medicine. Careers for women other than motherhood..."

"I think that's all of them," Vaudt proclaimed, hefting the last stack onto a pile he'd created behind the desk. Then he looked at Emmy. "Pick three, and we'll take them back with us."

She hated to be ungracious or impolite, but she spent the rest of the time they were there rifling through them all, trying to decide which ones she wanted to take.

Finally, Vaudt practically dragged her out of there, proclaiming that she had to take the books that were in her hands at that exact moment.

She got another one of those marvelous hugs from Hinda before she left, and she watched her do the same to her enormous son, who seemed to be barely able to tolerate such blatant affection from his mother, not encouraging or really returning it much, except for a few extremely awkward pats on her back.

Huh. He did better in that area with her than with his Mom.

Although she had a little more stimulation in her life now than she had at first with him, it hadn't worked one bit to dim the lust she felt for him every time he was within her proximity. And when he left, it was just as bad as it had always been, the craving setting in and robbing her of the ability to enjoy the new treasures she had gotten from Hinda.

She had hoped that the birth control pills she had found and immediately begun taking might have helped in that area, but they hadn't, at least not so far. Honestly, her greatest hope was that they did what they were supposed to do, although she was a bit concerned that Vaudt's sperm might take after him and be some sort of super sperm that would somehow impregnate her regardless of her attempts at preventing it.

Or that she was already pregnant, although she hadn't really seen any signs of that.

He seemed to be gone more often of late, and she understood from Anja that the battle in which he and his brother had both been injured had been a revival of an old feud with a nomadic hoard of vandals that liked to call themselves the Skorge. The leader was the infamous Garron he'd been interrogating her about – and who was active in the area at the moment, which was what he was spending his time away from her doing.

At one point, he was gone for so long that she had actually become worried, and when he finally came through the door, covered in dirt and blood, she actually greeted him with open arms, stepping up on tiptoes before him to hug him as best she could reach.

If she hadn't been so concerned about him, she might have laughed at the startled look on his face at her actions. "Are you feeling well?" he asked, lifting her up gently so that they were eye to eye. Being held like that, she could feel that he was ready for her, as she was more than ready for him.

"I –" She bit her lip and then whispered the truth, as if it was shameful, "I've missed you."

He began to walk with her towards the bed.

"Not just for that," she whimpered, although she couldn't manage not to rub herself lewdly against him, while she was protesting, either. "I missed talking to you and hearing about what's going on. When you're not here…" she complained breathily as he reached down and moved the bedcovers out of the way in order to lay her on the mattress in front of him. "I don't get out much."

"I know," he said smugly, dragging his disreputable, rough fingers over the delicate tips of her nipples possessively. "I don't want you getting out if I can't be there to ensure your safety."

Before she knew it, he had an ankle in each hand, spreading her wide for him as he teased her slit with his cock. "I will never grow bored with this sight – this right here. You spread before me, your body making you welcome for me. I swear I could smell your sweet essence from the moment we got in the gates."

Then he made that now familiar, practiced move that began to lodge him inside of her, but stopped short suddenly, although she could tell how hard he was finding it to do so, he did it, actually sliding himself out of her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, hating how desperate and needy she sounded, having to grasp handfuls of the sheet beneath her in order to keep herself from reaching up to pull him back down and into her.

"You haven't bled in a while. You are probably pregnant, and I'm not sure if I should be doing this to you. I will do nothing that might endanger the health of our child."

If their situation had been different – if she'd met him in her time, somehow, or been better adapted to this one, perhaps – she might have found that touching.

But she just couldn't let herself feel that about him, no matter how hard it was sometimes.

Emmy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

He ignored her question. "I think I should wait until I can talk to the doctor about whether or not that's a good idea."

Emily wanted to scream at that pronouncement, but she knew better than to waste her energy trying to change his mind once he made it up.

With a loud groan that was combination of thwarted desire and anger at him for spying on her, as he had so obviously been doing – via Anja, she would bet – she rolled away from him and he consciously stepped away from her. Standing there looking down at her, fists clenching and unclenching as he fought against his own instincts, and finally, he simply turned and walked out the door, leaving her sobbing behind him to put his fist through the nearest wall in frustration about three feet from their door.

Chapter 8

He'd stormed out, but he hadn't done it just for show. No, he'd hunted down the doctor and probably turned his interrogation techniques on that poor soul.

When he'd felt reassured enough that nothing he could do to her – short of things he would never do anyway – would have any kind of effect on the fetus that no one was really sure yet she was carrying, he had come back to her – so quickly that he was already out of breath even before he got to her.

But Emmy was not in the mood.

Or rather, she was trying desperately not to be.

He had been spying on her, and she found that very hard to forgive. In fact, she found herself remembering that the entire business was hard to forgive. She didn't want to want him, and he should be respectful of that. Why she thought that spying on her was beyond him, considering the other things he did to her on a daily basis, she would never know.

So, although she had greeted him effusively the first time he'd come through the door that day, his reception the second time he entered the room was just the opposite. She didn't so much as move on the bed.

She heard his heavy sigh and knew she was pushing her luck with him, but she also knew that he would be extra careful of her because he thought she was pregnant.

He knew that she was aware of his presence – there was no way she couldn't be. They had been so long apart and were so sensitive to each other because of it that, even if she had been unconscious, her body probably would have awakened her because he was so near.

He knew, too, that she hadn't been happy to hear that he kept track of her cycle, and that when he wasn't able to be around, he had the only other person who was close to her – Anja – do it for him.

But – as much as he wanted to sweep her feelings aside and simply have her, he grabbed his rampant libido with both hands and forced himself not to. Instead, he took a long, hot shower, washing off all of the crap. She had surprised him and ignored him, in favor of hugging him.

What a difference an hour could make.

He left little more than stubble from what had been a pretty good beard because he knew that was what she preferred. Despite the fact that it earned him a bit of teasing from his men to be quite so carefully trimmed, he brushed his teeth and even gargled with mouthwash, which was a luxury that wasn't available to most people any more. Too many folks thought it contained at least some alcohol – and some types did – and it had become quite a popular commodity for those seeking to find a cheap drunk.

Naked, he reentered the room, noting that she hadn't changed positions in the least.

She wasn't going to make this easy, apparently, although he could still smell her essence, which was always just as potent whether she wanted him to breed her or not.

And he had no doubt that he could make her just as ecstatic, to bring her to those towering heights as he always did, regardless of her preference, too.

It wasn't as if he hadn't done it before.

Only it had been a little while since she'd actually resisted him with any fervor, and he wasn't looking forward to reverting to that again. He preferred to feel those small hands of hers on him, flicking his nipples, which he hadn't even known he liked, rather than futilely trying to push him away, sometimes even raking her nails down his back, staking her own feminine claim on him while he drove her wild beneath him rather than pleading with him to stop.

She'd taught him a thing or two that was new – taken him into her mouth and nearly stopped his heart – and definitely stopped his mind – almost unmanning him completely between her greedy lips instead of between her legs, where his seed belonged.

She'd shown him a position she called 'reverse cowgirl'. The name didn't mean much to him, but it had rapidly become one of his favorites.

He snorted softly to himself. Everything was his favorite with her.

Vaudt unwrapped her slowly, and she didn't put up any kind of a protest. Although he was doing his best to try to take it slow, he nibbled her neck then teased her nipples with his teeth and tongue. All the while, his fingers used her cream against her as he tweaked a clit that was very interested in what he was doing, even if the rest of her didn't show any evidence that she even knew he was there.

Her eyes were tightly closed, as was her mouth, but he could see how rapidly she was breathing. He knew that, as much as she might want it to seem that way, she was not as unaffected by what he was doing to her as she would like to be – or as she would like him to think she was.

And, suddenly, with that familiar surge of passion, he signaled that he was ready to mount her, his patience largely evaporated, and he wasn't willing to pander to her any longer. He was going to get a response from her, one way or the other.

There was no further preamble before he drove himself into her with merciless speed, viciously hooking and knotting her at the same time.

That got her attention.

So shocked by his brutal invasion, she arched up, towards him, in order to try to cope with the pain of it, her eyes flying open and finding his in the midst of her distress.

And then he began to move, slowly, deliberately, coaxing a response from her – amidst her pain – that she did not want to give him.

But, even as she lay back down again, a mindless moan bubbled up from her chest and past lips that were wide open, just trying to suck in enough oxygen to deal with what he was doing to her.

He varied his rhythm, grinding slowly against her one moment, then delivering short, sharp, snapping strokes the next, keeping her deliberately off balance.

Keeping her on the precipice, but preventing her from coming at the same time...

He didn't mind if it delayed his own culmination. He knew he'd get there eventually.

But he wanted to make sure she felt everything he could do to her before he allowed her to have her pleasure, waiting so long that the swollen tissue at the base of his penis was the biggest it had ever been in his life.

And he forced her to stretch around it, even more so when he pounded himself into her. Every stroke – soft or hard – forced an animalistic sound out of her that he had no doubt was a combination of both true pain and true pleasure.

He kept her right there, right at the edge – writhing, wailing – desperate for a release that she knew depended entirely on him. There was nothing in her world any longer but the big man hovering over her. Nothing else mattered but that she convince him to grant her release.

Until, at last, he pushed her past the force of her own will, and she began to beg him feverishly, wantonly.

Humiliatingly.

But, even then, before he would grant her that blessed relief, he leaned down, pressing his lips to her ear to command huskily, "Tell me you're mine, Emily."

Her eyes – unfocused and wide – flew to his. He watched the tears seep sluggishly out of the corners of her eyes as she drew a breath that somehow managed to steady her, to bolster her, such that, when she responded to him, he heard her whisper brokenly, flatly, completely without emotion, lust, or even resentment or anger, "I am yours, Vaudt."

Then – and only then –he began to fuck her strong and steadily. Powerfully enough that she practically burst beneath and around him, milking him so firmly that he thought he was going to pass out from it as her body continued to contract with just as much vigor as it had when it started, sating and exhausting her at the same time. Carrying on relentlessly, sending shards of pleasure throughout her body like electric shocks, keeping her that fantastically high until even after he had run dry and begun to shrink within her.

Even when he had disengaged from her and was holding her now stiff, unyielding body against his, he could occasionally feel her shake with another jolt of pure ecstasy. He tried to comfort her – tried to help her come down from what had to be such terrifying heights, but she never said a word to him, her eyes remaining open, tears never letting up the entire time.

She was different after that. She never refused him, never gave him cause to punish her or be angry with her in the least. She ate what he told her to eat and was quiet even when he didn't really want her to be. She went where he wanted her to go and did what he wanted her to do without comment or protest.

The books he had done his best to remember to get for her from his mother on a regular basis – when he was there – piled up – unread and untouched, as far as he could tell – beside the bed. She spent her time sleeping, or simply lying on her back, staring at the ceiling.

And nothing he did, nothing he tried, seemed to have any effect on her demeanor. It was the most frustrating thing he had ever experienced in his life. When another man frustrated him, he knew how to handle it. It usually ended in a fight, but that cleared the air between them, and then they could go on like normal.

But he couldn't do that with Emily.

He didn't feel he could spank her – she hadn't done anything wrong.

The longer it lasted – especially the sleeping – the more he decided to chalk it up to her being pregnant. Although it was an unfortunate rarity nowadays, he knew that pregnant women were apt to be moody in the extreme – ecstatically happy one minute and dissolving in tears the next.

And he tried to be happy about it, but with her in the mood she was in, even that amazing development wasn't quite what it should be.

And then came the morning she bled, and he knew he could no longer blame it on pregnancy hormones.

For her part, Emmy had reached the limits of her tolerance for him and for what he was doing to her. She didn't even really want to escape any more. She didn't know what she wanted, beyond not to be where she was, she supposed, but not enough even to do anything about it.

All she wanted was for him to leave her alone to sleep.

She wasn't even happy to disappoint him and get her period. As much as she would have liked to continue to take the pills, to keep her from having one, she realized she couldn't then explain why – all of a sudden – she wasn't having one, even though she wasn't pregnant.

Vaudt went so far as to invite his mother to come see her. He must've been quite desperate, she thought, although she was feeling so removed from it all, it was as if it was happening to someone else.

She met with Hinda – what choice did she have about that, or anything else in her life?

She knew she had said all the right things. She was helpful and pleasant, if abnormally quiet and subdued. But the two of them just sat there, looking at her from across the table like she was shrieking crazily at the top of her lungs.

Not even one of Hinda's wonderful hugs had jarred her out of her stupor.

"Are you unhappy, Emmy?" she asked, sounding very concerned.

"No," Emily answered, not meeting the other woman's eyes, and it was the truth. She had moved well beyond that.

Vaudt had sighed heavily at that.

"Can I go back to bed now?" she had asked after spending about a half-hour with their – his – guest.

Vaudt couldn't find a reason to tell her no, so she climbed into bed, scrubs and all, to huddle under the covers.

She could hear them whispering and knew they were talking about her. She heard Hinda say something about making sure he took anything out of the room that was sharp or that she could use as a rope, and she almost laughed. They were worried about her being suicidal.

How could they not realize that would take way more effort than she was willing to expend at this point? Even blissful oblivion was beyond her at this point.

Emmy didn't know if it was a last resort or what, but eventually, even Racide found his way there. And again, she sat dutifully before the two of them. Vaudt made her coffee, and she drank it. There were even cookies – Oreos, she noted dully, which she'd once told him had been her favorite – on a plate on the table, but no one touched them, least of all her.

It was the same as it had been when Hinda was there – with the two of them looking at her as if she was a puzzle they had to solve, when they both knew they had the solution she desired within their realm and refused to use it.

That was, until his older brother went to the bathroom, and Racide leaned over to hiss at her, "You have got to snap out of this. You're going to lose your mind if you keep this up."

Emily gave him a benign smile but said nothing.

"Look, I don't know what you're trying to do, but I don't like the look of it – of you. You were such a vibrant woman when I met you. You challenged my brother, and he needs that. Now he's done something that's turned you into some kind of a doormat, and I can't stand it."

Nothing. She wasn't going to bother to give him a list of the wrongs his brother had committed against her. It wouldn't have made any difference if she had.

After a long moment of silently contemplating her, Racide sighed.

Then, although she wasn't looking at him, she felt him reach across the table and slip something into the pocket of her scrubs, saying in a hushed tone, "I'm going to take him away from here, so that you can read that note in relative safety. Even just the act of giving it to you puts my life in grave danger, so destroy it, please, once you've read it. I wouldn't have given it to you unless I was certain, but I think it's the right solution – the only solution – for you."

Vaudt appeared at that moment, and Racide stood, which prompted Emily to do the same, even though he addressed his big brother. "I'd like you to take a look at something I found on our last raid that I haven't had the time to show you yet. It might be a help to our energy situation."

The older man glanced at his brother, but came to stand in front of Emily, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I don't think I should leave her when she's in this state."

Racide shrugged as if he didn't care whether his brother came with him or not, but reminded him, "You've not hesitated to go anywhere before. And you have to leave her sometime." He smiled. "She's less likely to get herself in trouble this way, I'd bet."

Vaudt gave him a sharp look, and then returned his attention to Emily.

So he headed for the door, saying casually, "Well, when you want to see it, let me know."

"No, wait," Vaudt called after a slight pause. "I'll go."

Emily sat down again, not looking at Vaudt. In fact, Racide had noticed that she hadn't looked at either of them – not once since he'd been there.

She was in such a black funk that, even when the men had gone, it took her nearly half an hour to fish in her pocket for the note he had given her, not believing that it was going to make one bit of difference to her plight.

Until she read it.

It said, shortly and succinctly, three words that made her beleaguered heart soar, "Escape is possible."

For the longest time, as those words sunk slowly in, she simply sat there, staring at it. Eventually ripping it into lots of tiny pieces and flushing it away – multiple times, even though she could no longer see any bits of it floating in the bowl – before climbing back into bed and surrendering to the blissful oblivion of sleep. She was too deeply depressed to spend much time even contemplating the possibility of her own freedom when it was dangled before her.

Because she knew Vaudt.

It could be a trap, a trick to get her to expose herself. She no longer had the protection of him wanting to treat her carefully since he knew she wasn't carrying his child. She knew he wouldn't hesitate to punish her severely if he found out that she was planning an escape.

And the spankings were bad enough – she wasn't much interested in seeing how a severe punishment from him – for her – might manifest itself.

And she didn't want to think of what he might do to Racide.

So she did the only thing she could do in that state.

At first, for a short while, she slept the sleep of one who had nothing left to gamble – not even feeling that it would be worth it to her to attempt to leave him and make something – anything – of her life other than this.

* * *

Visitors became more regular for them than they ever had been, and she knew that – at least his mother – had earned the honor of holding a key of her own to his room. She didn't know who might have suggested to him that socialization would be good for her, but whoever it was, he was taking it to heart when she knew he much preferred to be a hermit. Hinda, Anja – even Racide – were at the room fairly frequently, not that it seemed to do her any good in any way at all.

He had taken to bringing Racide to see him when they had come back from a battle or a raid, so that they could discuss strategy. It sounded to her as if they didn't fight together, but rather had separate raiding and fighting parties.

Vaudt led the fighting. Racide, who was smaller and smarter, led the raids.

She was required to meet with him and sit at the table for what Vaudt deemed to be an acceptable time whenever they had a guest, but then he eventually dismissed her so that she was able to go back to bed.

Each time he left Racide alone with her – even though he was risking his life even more so to do it than when he'd given her the note – he had always come to sit on the bed next to her, whispering words of encouragement about what sounded like the possibility of getting away from his brother.

Eventually, through the repetition of his dangerous attempts to convince her that he was on the level, Racide had to gage perfectly when to leave her side and return to his seat before his brother noticed that he had so much as gotten up, much less gone to sit on the bed with her. From his tone or from the slow reawakening of her will to live, she began to listen to him. And more than that, to believe in him, discharging her concern that he might be acting as Vaudt's agent in order to catch her trying to escape him.

Their times together were necessarily short – Vaudt was usually just going to get something or using the facilities – but he packed a lot of information into a few words, and despite their brevity, Emmy learned a lot about Vaudt's brother.

Despite his older brother's great victories, it was Racide who had seen more of what remained of this world, having gone off exploring – against their dying father's wishes – while Vaudt had stayed behind to take care of their people. Because of those travels as a youth, he knew a place where Emily would be safe.

If she could get him to take her to the library, they could meet there. His mother wouldn't be exactly helpful – she wanted grandchildren – but she could see how miserable Emily had become and wanted to do what she could to help her.

She'd done it before – helped an Omega get away from a very bad situation – at great risk to her own life, knowing, as Racide did, that if Vaudt found out, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her – publically, and painfully, even if the female was someone he didn't know.

Yet the both of them were willing to help her, despite the incredible danger they'd be putting themselves in.

Of anything that had happened since she'd shut herself down, that reached her – touched her – the most – that two people who were, essentially, total strangers, would be willing to put their lives on the line to help her.

Perhaps this world was redeemable in some ways – or at least some of its inhabitants were, even if others weren't.

And so she began to allow herself to plan, to think, to feel again – if only in very specific ways. She still remained shut off to Vaudt, despite his ever-increasing attempts to shake her out of her depression. She noted that those attempts did not extend to not fucking her whenever he got the chance. In fact, he seemed to think that her state required even more intimacy. Not realizing that each time he raped her, each time he reduced her to howling beneath him in ecstasy, even each time he held her tenderly afterwards, he was driving her further and further away from him, making her want what Racide was offering just that much more.

Each time, when he finally stopped fondling her – however pseudo lovingly – and let her go back to sleep, she thanked whatever gods that were still around for having found those birth control pills.

Her mind was now occupied with scheming, preparing, and planning – with Racide as much as they were able – for the day when she was going to show Vaudt a carefully thought out sign that she might be on the road to recovery. And when that day came, she had to grip herself tightly so as not to appear nervous. It was imperative that he didn't think that what she was going to do was an act of deceit.

But Emmy knew that he desperately wanted her to return to the way she had been, and what she was going to do was prefaced on that fact. It was very subtle and quiet; there would be no fanfare. She wasn't about to try to show him that she was suddenly all better. She wasn't sure how much he knew about depression – she doubted that it was very much, but still. She wasn't going to take any chances. Emily was acutely aware that there were other lives at stake besides her own.

So, one afternoon, while he was sitting at the table planning and plotting his own things with Racide, and she was lying on the bed, as had become her habit, she very casually reached for the first book on the top of the pile of those that he'd brought to her from the stacks he had created at his mother's.

In fact, he had become so fervent about wanting to make her happy again, that nearly all of the ones she had selected had magically appeared in the room, although she had made no motion towards them whatsoever.

Until now.

She didn't try to be either loud or quiet in doing so. She simply took the book and flipped to the beginning – this one was Charlotte's Web, because she'd begun in the young adult's section that day – and began to read.

He had noticed. He'd always noticed everything about her, but he'd become even more attuned to her during this bout with depression. She knew that he had seen her reach for and begin to read the book. He had gone quiet – and so had his brother – and she knew they were exchanging meaningful – and probably triumphant – looks.

There would be no time to talk to his brother today, but that was okay.

Everything was – slowly – falling into place.

Hopefully, within the next month or so, if Racide could get everything arranged, she would leave this place – and Vaudt – for a shot at a better future.

Chapter 9

When it came down to it, she received help from a very unexpected quarter.

Racide had decided that he needed to talk to everyone who would be involved – at least on this end – in Emmy's escape all at once, to make certain that they were coordinating things correctly. This was going to be a very tightly choreographed dance, this escape, and none of them could afford to get the slightest thing wrong.

Somehow, he managed to get her to the library without Vaudt knowing. Since he was gone, she assumed it involved Racide not going with a raiding party. They were usually gone at the same time. His second-in-command usually took over the running of the place for him when he left.

And Racide was definitely not his second-in-command.

But Emmy didn't really care how he did it. She only cared that they were all there and they could get on with it. The closer it got to becoming a reality, the antsier she got, wanting to, finally, be free again.

If what Racide had said was true, and she was pretty sure it was.

When she walked into the library, pushing the voluminous hood back as she did, the first people she saw were the doctors, who all turned to glare at her, as they always did. They would definitely be happy to have her gone.

And as soon as she thought about it, as much as she would hate having to rely on them, she realized that they were the only solution.

Favus went so far as to come over and confront her.

"You are a very unnatural Omega, and an even more unnatural female," he informed her disdainfully. "Our Lord, the Tarq, Vaudt the Second, Undefeated may he always be, will be well rid of you."

There were murmurs of agreement from the others of his ilk.

"Likewise, I'm sure."

"I, for one, find you wonderfully strong and feminine – I firmly believe that those two qualities were never meant to be mutually exclusive," Hinda said quietly from behind her.

Emmy turned to face the woman she had become friends with instantly when they'd bonded over her books, hesitating, biting her lip, knowing she should not expect a hug.

And yet she got one – the warmest, most loving one yet.

"I am so sorry my son has made you so unhappy. I am honored to play a small part in – hopefully – getting you to a place where you will have more freedom."

"I'm sorry I won't be providing you with the grandchildren you want," she replied, and she meant it, on some level, anyway. On impulse, Emily asked, "Will you not come with us?"

Hinda smiled, cupping her cheek in a way that reminded Emmy of Vaudt, somehow. "I'm touched that you would want me to, but no. I am too old to make the journey, or to change my ways. I wasn't raised the way you were, to expect to be allowed to be so independent, to make my own choices. Besides, I have my sons to look after."

No one brought up the fact that there was an extremely good chance that she might lose one, the other, or even both, if this plan failed.

They met for as long as they dared, firming up plans and stories and the timing of events, until everyone seemed to have it down pat.

They decided that they would pull off this daring plot within the next few days. It all had to be a bit more fluid than they would have liked, but none of them had any control over when or where Vaudt might decide to go into battle and that was the crux of the whole situation. He needed to be gone for a good long while in order to get her as far away from him as possible while he was away.

By the time he returned, she would be well on her way to her new home, well beyond his considerable reach.

* * *

As that day drew nearer, Emmy was having a hard time not appearing incredibly nervous. Luckily, the man who was closest to her seemed to attribute that to a part of her recovery and didn't seem in the least suspicious about her behavior. He was just happy that she was – slowly – becoming more like her previous self, and he was doing his best to be patient with her, when, in actuality, his small stores of that quality had long since been exhausted.

The morning of her escape, which would take place that night, dawned – as always – hot and bright. Emily forced herself to remain as calm as she could, but she was a terrible actress.

She had laid some more groundwork the night before, hoping that might give her some cover.

And it had.

Knowing it was to be her last night with him, she had dropped the veil of indifference she had shown him for so long, jettisoning even some of her anger towards him in favor of lulling him into a false sense of security. She allowed him to think that this might be the start of her true return to him, of her acceptance of her place in this world – in his life.

She touched him again – voluntarily – for the first time in a long while, and she was horrified to feel her heart clench at the way his eyes lit up when she reached up to trace his lips with her fingertip.

Just that – not much more – but it was all he needed.

He gifted her with one of those beautiful smiles of his, but although she recognized it for its rarity, it wasn't nearly enough.

Nothing would be enough to make up for what he'd put her through.

But those thoughts were not conducive to her goal, so she'd carefully banked the fires of her anger at him and smiled, hesitantly, up at him.

And he had made it just that much harder, from that point on, because he was so elated by the change in her that he pulled out every stop. He used every trick he knew to coax every last bit of bliss from her body – a body she'd had to open to him completely in order to capture him – if temporarily – just as firmly as he was trying to bind her to him.

He very nearly succeeded in causing her to lose herself to him completely, but she kept a small kernel of hatred – pure and simple – of him alive in her heart, even when she could feel herself being subjected to the absolute perfection of their physical union.

And it was enough to keep her grounded, to keep her separate from him, even as the waves of ecstasy nearly knocked her to her knees.

It was her lifeline. Her sanity. Her savior.

That next morning began as they always did, and she was allowing him to see her recovered enough that she joined him for breakfast, although she didn't eat very much, and he commented on it, reminding her that she would need all of her strength if she was to carry and bear his child.

She smiled – almost shyly – at him, watching him eat up her performance like the stew Anja brought them for dinner that evening.

He was going to be leaving soon and she knew it – she was counting on it. Somewhere along the line, he had become a bit less secretive about his doings than he ever had been with her and had begun keeping her better informed about when he was likely to be there. This had helped them immeasurably in their plotting, along with all of the information along those lines that Racide could call up, which was even more accurate since he was a part of Vaudt's inner circle.

She watched him get ready for battle, still marveling – even after all this time – at his size, almost allowing herself to wish things had been different. What a magnificent man he would have been in her time! He could have been an educated, successful businessman, an athlete of some sort, or even an actor or a male model. He would have had to kick women out of his bed every night.

He might even have been the father he was so desperate to be to their child.

Sadness descended upon her for a moment, at what should have been for him – and for everyone else left on this God-forsaken planet.

And, of course, he noticed immediately that she was downcast. Coming over to stand before her in his armor, this made him look three times as big as he was. All metal and leather and big, clompy, military-esque boots that she knew each contained a very sharp knife, bandoliers – heavy with cartridges – crossing over his chest plate, a deadly looking machine gun over his shoulder and two other guns, one on each hip...

He was a walking wet dream of a proud, powerful Alpha male and, to her great consternation, there was still proof of that in the way her essence still wept copiously from her pussy.

"Are you all right?" he asked, in a tone she wished he wouldn't use with her, one that sounded as if he really cared about her, when she knew it wasn't really true. He might feel something for her, in his way, but it would never be enough for her.

But it still made her shudder, and his brows drew together in concern as he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her gently against his armor.

"Cold?"

"No." She shook her head, and then a valid explanation – that was fit for his ears – popped into her head. "Scared."

"Scared? Why? You're well protected here. You know I always see to that."

"Not for me, silly, for you," she whispered, and it came out almost coquettishly, as if she was flirting with him as she wrapped her arms as far around him as they would reach.

And he ate it up, every last bit of it.

"I'll be fine." Seeking to distract her, she knew, he asked, "Is there anything I could bring back to you?"

"Just you – in one piece – please," she asked prettily.

His kiss made her knees weak and increased her shivering, albeit for a different reason.

He was just about to reach for the straps that covered his cock, wanting to have her one more time before he left, but there was a loud knock at the door, and he knew it was his lieutenant, not so silently telling him to get a move on.

He had to settle for another almost crippling kiss – he guessed that was why they said you should have sex before a battle – then turned to head for the door, looking back at her one last time as he stood in the open doorway.

She looked pale, fragile, and frightened, and it nearly broke his heart to leave her, but he knew he had to do it.

"I'll be fine. You'll see. It won't be too long before I'm back."

Wringing her hands nervously, Emily nodded, her eyes full of tears, which certainly added to the effect, but she had no idea why she was really crying, refusing to admit that it might be because this was going to be the last time she saw him.

He hesitated – which surprised her enormously – just for a second, before closing the door behind him and locking it.

As soon as he had, she dashed her tears away and scrambled to make everything ready.

* * *

Unfortunately, there was no way to plan for the unexpected. She had overplayed her hand and made him more concerned about her than she wanted to.

As a result, long before the appointed time, she heard someone's key in the lock and was horrified to see Vaudt entering her room.

She was stunned to see him.

And instantly depressed beyond belief.

He couldn't be here – he simply couldn't. His presence here meant that everything they'd so carefully planned was rendered null and void.

She wouldn't be leaving him, would never find any sort of happiness or freedom.

"I just came back to reassure you, one more time, that you are safe, and I will come back to you."

Emmy tried to appear grateful, but she knew she wasn't doing a very good job of it.

He strode over to her, dragging her into another big bear hug.

Vaudt knew he shouldn't be here. He should be with his men, getting ready to take on Garron and the hoards of Skorge who had been harassing his people, raiding them, killing them, making off with women and anything else they thought could make money for them.

Instead, he was here, although he surprised himself by being unable to chide himself for doing so.

She had looked so sad and forlorn and alone when he'd left her, he just had to come back and reassure himself that she was okay and reassure her that he would be, too.

He'd been with his brother when he'd decided to come back, and Racide had looked somehow…stricken that he was doing so and had decided to follow him, which he found annoying, but he couldn't be bothered to give him the dressing down that he deserved. He didn't have the time. It was more important to him that he make his way back to her

His mother was right.

She had changed him and not necessarily for the better.

Maintaining military discipline was essential to his survival. If any of his men thought he was weak in any way, they would be only too willing to try to replace him, and none of them would hesitate to step over his cooling body as they did so.

Racide knocked at the door, which swung open at his action, and he stood in the doorway while Emmy looked at him with eyes that pleaded with him to rescue her, even as his brother was holding her.

Suddenly, he had an idea. While Emmy watched him do it, he lifted and loosened one of his own handguns, where it lay on his hip.

When Vaudt kissed her for the last time, obviously very reluctant to leave her, she pulled a bit away and began to wander casually, reversing their positions, and she was now between the two men.

But their impromptu plan never came to fruition.

In the next second, they were all standing in pitch black.

Their power had been cut, and suddenly, from within and without, they could hear the sounds of a battle being conducted, as near as the hallway outside the door.

They were being raided themselves.

"Where is Emmy?" Vaudt roared over the sounds of gunfire and men dying, as their enemy began to pour towards them and into the room. They couldn't see much, either, but they had the benefit of surprise.

He never got an answer as he joined his men in fighting fiercely – and blindly – until the back-up generators had a chance to kick in. The lights began to return, very slowly and dimly at first, revealing just how badly they had been caught unaware and unprepared. He tried to look around for Racide, but he couldn't see him.

He had already sent most of the supplies and his men to a staging area, and although there was still a core group of his personal guards – whose duty it was to protect Emily, at any cost – around somewhere, there was otherwise just a skeleton crew in place to keep things running.

However, at a time like this, every capable man had a weapon in his hand of some kind – and even some of the women, fighting alongside trained soldiers – and they were losing, badly, but they were more than willing to make the attempt to save their families, their own hides, and to defend their homes.

Vaudt managed to fight his way to the courtyard, where bodies were strewn all around him – most of them his own men, and he was worried – although not too much – that his brother's was probably among them.

But then, he knew he had no cause for worry as he stood there and raised his head, guns at the ready but not blazing.

They definitely should have been, but he just couldn't, once his eyes had landed on her.

She was naked, spattered with dirt and blood, and he didn't want to consider what else, hanging from an arm around her middle, still fighting ferociously even though she was caught, while the man who had her laughed at her feeble attempts to escape.

It was his brother, Racide, with Garron behind him – cackling wildly.

He made sure that Vaudt was watching when he viciously groped Emmy's breast, then slid a disgusting, dirty hand between her legs, cupping her there as he yanked her head back by her hair.

Vaudt could hear her scream and cry – even over the din of the battle raging around them – from where he was. He could feel the terror that he saw on her face, in the pit of his own stomach.

He raised his guns again as if to fire, knowing he couldn't risk hitting her, knowing that it was a useless, coward's gesture.

And when his enemy – his rival – his blood – took his engorged cock out, right there, in the midst of everything that was going on around them, lifting Emmy with surprising strength – like a rag doll, he knew what he had to do.

"Vaudt!" Emmy screamed frantically, the look on her face one of sheer terror.

He acted quickly, running at full force until he reached them. The air was filled with gunfire, but nothing would stop him from getting to her. Nothing.

Knife in one hand, with the other, he pulled Emmy free of his brother's grasp with a supernatural-like force.

The next thing Emmy saw, as she stood frozen to the spot, was the bright red stain that quickly spread over Racide's chest and the knife protruding from his mid section.

Vaudt ran to her and picked her up in his arms, turned, and ran. Safely handing her over to his mother in the now ransacked house, he looked at her and said, "Stay! I shall be back, as I promised. Nothing will keep me from you."

Emmy nodded, turning to his mother for comfort. As she watched him return to battle the enemy, she whispered aloud, "I shall be here, Vaudt. I shall stay with you forever, my love."

Epilogue

The battle ended, finally, and Vaudt had taken stock of his losses. He'd lost a good many of his men but he had been victorious. Racide and Garron had both been taken down, as well as most of Garron's men.

When he thought of how close he had come to losing the single most important person in his life, his Emmy, he shuddered. Had he not reached her in time, Racide would have claimed her for his own and he, Vaudt, would now be dead. He couldn't bear to think of the life Emmy would have endured with his late brother.

When he was able to speak with her, he learned that she and his mother had both been tricked by Racide, who had convinced them he only had Emmy's best interests at heart.

His poor mother was heartsick. Angry to know her son had betrayed her trust yet sad because her other son had killed him. She knew it had to be done but her heart still ached for his loss.

And Emmy—she finally realized who really cared for her. For all his gruffness and dominance, Vaudt truly did care. She knew that now. She felt like a fool, for allowing Racide to trick her. He would have seen his own brother dead and she knew her life would not have been worth living if that had happened and Racide had claimed her for his own. And to think that she and Vaudt had saved his life when he was near death, not so long ago.

Vaudt knew he had to rebuild. This time, things were going to be different—very different. Emmy had proven her medical knowledge many times over. She nursed his wounded men back to health and he marveled at the way the men responded to her now, grateful for her help.

One afternoon, weeks after the battle, he called for both his mother and Emmy to join him in the library.

"Please, sit," he said when they entered the room.

They obeyed, both wondering why he had called this meeting.

"Let me begin by saying I appreciate the work the two of you have done in the weeks since the battle with Garron and his men. It hasn't been an easy time and I regret the loss of so many of our men. Emmy, you've managed to save every one of the wounded who survived the attack. For that, I am eternally grateful to you."

Emmy was at a loss for words. She merely smiled and waited for him to continue.

Turning to his mother, Vaudt continued, "And, Mother, you have availed yourself to Emmy, helping her, following her orders. I thank you, as well."

His mother nodded.

"Now is the time for rebuilding. I've made some decisions and I think they may surprise the both of you. It is time for a change. I am depending upon the two of you to assist me. It is crucial."

He had Emmy's full attention now. Was he actually admitting that she was a capable person in her own right?

"Emmy, I plan to build a clinic. You will be in charge of it and you will train others to assist you. Mother, I am sure that here, in the library, there must be some old books from another time that would be useful for that purpose. It is going to be your responsibility to search out those books and give them to Emmy."

"Vaudt, that is wonderful!" Emmy jumped up and ran to him, throwing her arms around him.

Surprised, he looked down at her with affection in his eyes. "You and I must talk in private. We have much to discuss."

"Yes, we do."

"One of which is your desire to run from me."

Emmy hung her head, knowing that he would punish her for that indiscretion.

His mother stepped in. "Vaudt, don't you think we have all suffered enough? Emmy, like me, was tricked."

"Mother, I appreciate your opinion but this is between Emmy and me."

"Yes, son."

"Now, Emmy, you shall go to your room and think about what you have done. I shall join you shortly. Mother, we will leave you to begin your search for books."

Both women nodded, knowing they were being dismissed.

Emmy retreated to her room. As she sat on the bed, she began to think back to the months she had spent here, with him. She had been so busy resenting him and all he stood for that she had missed the most important thing. He did, in his own way, care for her. Truth be known, she had grown to love him, as well. There—she had finally admitted it to herself. When the realization hit her, it hit full force. My God, she thought, I love him!

He joined her an hour later. When he strode into the room, he looked at her and said, "Emmy, my Emmy, have you had time to consider what might have happened?"

"Yes, Vaudt," she said sadly.

"I realize, as my mother pointed out, you have suffered greatly. I understand now that this world is very different from yours. I do not understand your world, but with your help, we will make this a better place, from now on. Having said that, you do know that I must punish you for attempting to run from me, for allowing my evil brother to involve you in his deathly scheme?"

She nodded meekly. "Yes."

"I want you to remove all your clothes and bend over the bed now."

Without speaking, she did as he said. Better to get it over with.

She heard the swish of the belt just before it crashed down on her bottom, leaving a fiery sting in its wake. She jumped and gripped the bedcovers. Another stripe across her bare flesh caused her to cry out in pain. Ten more followed, each one burning worse than the one before. Emmy was limp now, a mere ragdoll, sobbing into the bed.

She heard the belt hit the floor. Soon, Vaudt had her in his lap, holding her. "Emmy, my Emmy," he crooned as he waited for her sobs to subside. His hands rubbed over the welts on her bottom and she winced.

Finally, she looked up at him. "I-I am sorry."

"I know. From here, we only move forward. I have realized how important you have become to me. We have both made mistakes. We are from different times and different places. We both have much to learn. I feel with the combination of both, we can make a mighty new land. Are you with me?"

She looked up at him, the love shining in her eyes. "I am with you, Vaudt, forever."

He kissed her then, a kiss different than any before, a kiss filled with promise and passion—true passion. Gently, he pushed her back on the bed. This time, as he began to make love to her, it was more than mere sex. Both felt the heat rising as they discovered each other as if for the first time. It was a new beginning, and when he finally entered her, it was as if their worlds had suddenly come full circle. Release came soon for both of them, crashing around them with such force that Emmy was sure she would pass out from the sheer joy of it.

As they lay in each other's arms together, he said the words she longed to hear, "I love you, Emmy. Be my wife, my partner. We will build this new world together."

With tears in her eyes, she replied, "Yes."

The End

Carolyn Faulkner

The words “spanking” and “discipline” have always sent a shiver up Carolyn Faulkner's spine. She knows she's not alone.

Writing started as a way to explore her feelings. Soon short stories flowed from her pen featuring reluctant heroes taking the leading lady in hand, but always for her own good.

Today Carolyn is the author of dozens of books. She writes from her home in Maine, where she lives with her husband and leading man.

You can read an interview with Carolyn here:

http://www.blushingbooks.com/blog/?p=175

You may check out her website while it’s under construction here:

http://www.carolynfaulkner.com

Don’t miss these exciting titles by Carolyn Faulkner and Blushing Books!

Series books

Adored series

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Beau’s Desire

Cade’s Wish

Thornton Brothers, Three-Book Set

Taken as His Trilogy

Prima

Tria

Priceless Love Series

Priceless, Book 1

Love’s Possession, Book 2

Dangerous Love, Book 3

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Alicia, Book One

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Vlad’s Story

Two-Book Set

Single Titles

The Alpha’s Woman

Forever in Love

Under the Cover of Love

Never Say Never

Man and Wife

The Sister and the Sinner

Amanda and the Stable Master

Lion

The Banished King

Northern Belle

The Cherished One

Forever Wife

Grace’s Demon

Beauty’s Beast

Captured by the Count

Male Order Bride

Sinful

Packed: The Enforcer

Submissive Love

A Heart Full of Heaven

Daddy’s Girl

To Love a Man

Etta’s Surrender

Her Secret Submission

Make Me

Let Me In

'Til Death Do Us Part

Promises Kept

The Obedient Wife

Old enough to Know Better

To Trust Her Heart

Naughty Girls: Brynn and Kim

After Hours: A Medical BDSM fantasy

Droit de Seigneur

Dutch and the Cowboy

Under the Lash

The Rogue and the Rose

Submissive Bride

The Unrequited Dom

Three’s Company

The Reluctant Bride

His

Embraced

Attentions Throbbing

His Little Miss

Submissive Desires

Kept

A Hard Man is Good to Find

The Spoils of War

Gilded Cage

Second Chances

Patriot Bride

The Boss of Her

Forever and Always

Tribute

Caged

Jake Ryan’s Woman

Soulmates: Backside of Love

A Good Man

Depths of Desire

The Substitute Wife

Princess Slave

Against Her Will

Body and Soul

Two True Loves

Captured by Time (w/ Alta Hensley)

A New Forever (w/ Alta Hensley)

Under the Cover of Love

Her Guardian Don

Her Knight in Faded Denim

The Rod of Correction: Taken and Tamed

Taken by Force

Skye’s Submission

Sheik’s Desire

Reject Ranch

Nola

Generation Stables

The MacNaughton Bride

More Than a Man

Man of Her Dreams

Love Will Find a Way

Fools Rush In

Everything Gained

Blood From a Stone

Angel of Sudden Hill

All of Her

A Piece of Heaven

Grace’s Demon

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The Centurion

The Power of Love

Cherished

The Little Miss

Holiday Stories

A Holiday to Remember

Griff’s Christmas Angel

All Hallow’s Eve

Anthologies

Blushing Cheeks Vol. 1

Love of a Cowboy, Vol. 1

The Dark Forest

Thornton Brothers: 3-Book Collection

Bound by Love: A Carolyn Faulkner Trilogy

* * *

Audiobooks

Rod of Correction: Taken and Tamed

Sky’s Submission

Generation Stables

Spoils of War

EBook Offer

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Blushing Books is one of the oldest eBook publishers on the web. We've been running websites that publish spanking and BDSM related romance and erotica since 1999, and we have been selling eBooks since 2003. We hope you'll check out our hundreds of offerings at http://www.blushingbooks.com.

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