Breeder Page 4

  “What’s a wive?”

  “Wife,” he corrected. “It is a female who serves as a male’s partner. Sometimes for life.”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth in disbelief. He understood her reaction. Diplomatic relations with Terra required an appearance of an open mind, but yes, the Terrans had some crazy cultural practices and traditions. They ignored innate, biological reality that not all members of a species had equal abilities.

  Androcentric, homosocial Parseon recognized that fact and developed social strata to utilize an individual’s nature for the optimal good of the race. Alphas ranked at the top, betas fulfilled support functions, and females, being of limited mental and physical capacity, served as breeders, domestic labor, and secondary sexual outlets, primarily for betas. Eugenic policies permitted only alphas to produce offspring.

  That Terran men elevated the inferior gender of their species to a position of equality was a cultural phenomenon that astounded Parseons. On many occasions, setting aside his personal belief to work with the Terrans and their aggressive, manlike females, had challenged him.

  “Are they anointed?” she asked.

  “It’s not quite the same as our ceremonies, but yes, the unions between males and females are sanctioned by their governments.”

  “So none of their males partner up?”

  “Some do,” he added. “But most don’t.”

  Chapter Four

  Omra’s head swam on overload with the information Alpha had shared. She didn’t doubt his veracity. Though he’d laughed a couple of times, she sensed it stemmed from amusement at her reaction rather than trickery. Men often played games and teased females, although usually only betas did that. Alphas did not concern themselves with breeders until they required offspring.

  The Commander was an unusual man. No male, let alone an alpha, had ever conversed with her with such liberty, and she treasured his attention. The long, hard year at the BCF had been worth it now that he owned her. She had waited in Outtake, uncertain who would show up—the Commander or an interplanetary trader representative. No mirrors existed at the BCF, so she did not know what she looked like, but from his horrified, angry reaction, she surmised it wasn’t good.

  But he had proceeded with the purchase anyway. She’d held her breath as they’d ridden out of the compound, unconvinced she would be allowed to leave. She had expected someone to dash out and yell Stop! There’s been a mistake! Of course, no one’s will superseded Alpha’s, but she’d never been this lucky. Only five Alphas ruled Parseon, and to be purchased by one was a breeder’s impossible dream.

  Her throat tightened with comprehension that her life and Anika’s had diverged, and they would never see each other again. Many times Anika’s kindness had been the sole tether that had prevented Omra from descending into despair. She would mourn the loss of the friendship but intended to concentrate on the noble purpose stretching before her.

  Alpha had chosen her to produce his sons. Her heart and stomach contracted, and she pressed a hand to her abdomen. A terrifying honor. Would reproduction hurt as much as other females had said it did? She had heard horror stories that the first time a man put his manhood inside a female there, he had to rip her open, and she bled. And sometimes his seed didn’t take the first time, which required additional attempts. But mating couldn’t hurt worse than being used by a beta for his sexual pleasure. Could it?

  She peeked at Alpha. When he’d spanked her, his manhood had swelled to an immense girth and length. But perhaps fear had misled her about his size. She studied his tree trunk-like thighs, bulging biceps, rippling chest, and hands that dwarfed the heavy leather reins. Her stomach fluttered. No, his erection had been huge. She pressed her thighs together to quell an odd pulsing between her legs.

  She lifted her gaze and found him watching her. Heat suffused her face, and she averted her eyes. Had he noticed her scrutiny? Pray not. Staring at a male was a punishable offense. Try as she might, she couldn’t help herself, though. He drew her like a whisperfly to a flame. Laughter had softened his stern features by the merest measure. His face seemed carved from stone, hard and unyielding, his square jaw darkened by rough stubble. At first glance, the lightness of his eyes gave an impression of transparency, yet when she dared to meet his gaze, she discovered the opaque silvery blue orbs reflected back what he saw. The only emotion she could read in the depths was hers.

  Omra drew a nervous hand through her tangled, dull curls. His crisp, dark hair lay compliant against his skull, tamed by his decree. He did not need the insignia dangling from his right nipple to denote his status. His bearing proclaimed it.

  “Do you have any more questions?” he asked.

  Dozens. Only an exceptional male granted a female the privilege to speak freely, but she hesitated, caution engrained by Protocol, underscored by anxiety. She discerned he would be honest with her. Would truth make the circumstances easier or harder to endure? Life with Alpha couldn’t be worse than the BCF. Moving her jaw to speak pained her, but she doubted she would receive another opportunity to have her questions answered.

  “W-why did you pick me?”

  “Your intelligence and your purity.”

  He hadn’t equivocated, and an embarrassed pleasure wiggled inside her. Alpha had called her intelligent! No one had ever referred to her like that. Not even her sire’s oldest son, who’d taught her the written Parseon language to the amusement of his friends. He’d order her to read passages from thick tomes, and they would roar with laughter as if she were a trained animal performing a trick. A mere child himself, he hadn’t known educating a female violated Protocol, a crime punishable by flogging. Nor had he predicted she would sneak into their sire’s library to devour other books. Geography. Politics. History. She had read about the Epic Radiation Flare that had almost decimated the Parseon race but had figured it prudent to pretend she had not.

  She bowed her head. “I am glad that I suit your needs.” She also knew that her sire would be pleased his strategy for her had paid off.

  He cocked his head and scrutinized her. “When the bruises fade, you will be attractive—for a female.” His surprised tone hinted of praise, despite the amendment.

  “Oh,” she said, nonplussed. Though Parseons could recognize beauty, they did not value it. Power, strength, and courage in battle mattered. All traits females lacked. But Alpha had commented on her appearance. Did that mean her countenance pleased him?

  He seemed to expect no other response from her, because he returned his attention to the road, and they fell silent. She inhaled the air, scented by wildflower fields and the fecundity of the soil, cleansing her lungs of the odor of misery that had infused the BCF and the acrid disinfectant that clung to her skin and clothes. She hoped she would have a chance to bathe again.

  A wonder of verdant hues filled her vision, from the mosses and vines clinging to the trees, grasses waving in the breeze, the vividness of the leaves themselves. A branch of a large, bushy plant slapped against the conveyance as they passed, and she plucked off a tender leaf. She stroked it, marveling at the smoothness, and raised it to her nose.

  “What are you doing?” The Commander frowned.

  She recoiled. “I-I am smelling a leaf.”

  He cocked his head. “Why?”

  Because she hadn’t been outside the BCF walls in a year. Because she hadn’t danced in a meadow, raised her face to the rain, woven a garland of flowers, or watched fallen leaves soar on the wind. Before she could devise a response, he asked, “What does it smell like?”

  “Pungent. Fresh.” Emboldened by his question, she held up the compound leaf by its petiole. “Do you wish to smell?”

  An indefinable emotion flickered before he shuttered his gaze and shifted the reins. She expected him to take the leaf, but he grabbed her hand and raised it to his nose. Her breath caught in her throat, and a flutter of whisperflies circled inside her stomach. He could have crushed her fingers, so mighty was his strength, but he merely held her secur
ely as he sniffed. His breath breezed across her skin. “I would agree with your assessment.” He released her and transferred the reins, clicked his tongue at the beasts, and increased their pace.

  She dropped her hand to her lap. His touch lingered on her skin.

  * * * *

  At a roadhouse, they stopped for a meal of fresh-baked panna, roasted meat, and a bowlful of the sweetest berries she’d ever tasted. They carried their fare outside to eat under the shade of a tree. She tried to pick at her meal delicately, but hunger overcame decorum, and she ate every bite of meat, every crumb of panna, and every berry. By the time she finished, her belly pooched out, and berry juice stained her fingers.

  The Commander eyed her. “For a little thing, you eat like an alpha warrior.” The amusement in his tone relieved the rebuke of his words.

  They boarded the conveyance, and this time he helped her at the onset, boosting her into the seat. He flicked the reins, and travel resumed.

  Wrought by a wakeful eve, the fullness of her meal, and the rocking of the conveyance, a heavy weariness pressed upon her, and Omra had to fight to keep her eyelids from drooping.

  A clank and jolt jarred her awake. Her head leaned on something hard but warm. She blinked and stared at the smoothness of the dark gray fabric upon which her cheek rested. A shoulder, she concluded. Then with horror: Alpha’s. She was leaning on the Commander! She catapulted upright, an apology quivering on her lips. “Begging forgiveness, I am so sorry, Commander, I did not mean—”

  “Do not concern yourself.” He brushed aside her worries. “It was a long ride.”

  They had halted under a portico, its roof supported by two massive stone pillars. Builders had constructed the lower portion of the main structure from gray Parseon marble, the top half from an opaque reflective material. In keeping with Parseon culture, which valued function over beauty, the edifice formed a square, its corners and walls plumb, with not a single stone misaligned nor a single adornment to soften the starkness except for veins meandering through the marble in an unruly way.

  “My domicile,” Alpha announced.

  A massive wooden door opened, and a tall man emerged.

  Corren, she presumed, and studied him from beneath her lashes.

  If not for his insignia and his brown uniform, he could have been mistaken for an alpha. Corded muscles bulged in his arms and rippled across his chest. His hair was of some medium shade, cropped short like an Alpha rather than chin length like a typical beta. He spared her not a glance but focused on the Commander.

  Alpha alighted from the conveyance, and the two men embraced in a Bridge of Amity, a sign denoting friendship or a truce, depending on the situation. The Commander clasped Corren’s bare right shoulder, and the beta touched Alpha’s left uniform-covered one, their arms forming a link between them. She studied the two men and redacted her impression of Corren as alpha-like. Next to the Commander, he dwindled in stature and comportment. He stood almost a head shorter, his shoulders were narrower, his musculature puny, his bearing common. But who could compare to Alpha?

  “Kianiko?” Alpha asked, in the Parseon greeting used with familiars.

  “I am well,” the beta responded. “Kianiko?”

  “Excellent. The ride offered a pleasant diversion.”

  They broke apart, and Corren retreated. He continued to ignore Omra but eyed the beasts and the sheen of sweat glistening on their coats. “I do not understand why you travel this way. But as you will. I shall have the stable keeper unbridle the animals and tend to their needs.” He paused. “Tell me about the female.”

  “She is unbred.”

  Corren arched his eyebrows.

  Dak yanked up her shift, nudged her legs apart, and flicked at the ring between her legs. The sun felt hot against her exposed sex, the finger that brushed against her warmer still.

  Alpha was focused on her, his head bent, so he did not catch the animosity that flashed in Corren’s gaze, but Omra did. She swallowed.

  “A fortuitous find for you,” Corren said. Equanimity filled his eyes now.

  The Commander let her smock fall. “And for you. She will serve your physical needs when you require release.”

  “Thank you.” Corren nodded, but he did not sound at all grateful or appreciative, not to Omra’s ears anyway. “Now I understand why a courier delivered female uniforms this morning. I almost sent them back to the vendor, thinking it an error, but decided to check with you.”

  “The articles came? Good. That was fast.”

  “You are Alpha,” Corren commented drily. The familiarity Alpha allowed his beta heightened Omra’s respect for the Commander. Secure in his status, he did not dominate for the show of it.

  “Indeed.” Alpha’s mouth twitched as he exchanged a glance with his beta. He beckoned to her. “Come.”

  Omra scooted to the edge of the seat and jumped to the ground. She stumbled and would have fallen on the stone entry walk except that Alpha caught her elbow and steadied her. “This is my beta, Corren,” he informed her. “You remember what we talked about.”

  Obey. She nodded in comprehension.

  To Corren he said, “Her name is Omra.”

  The beta tightened his lips.

  Alpha arched an eyebrow. “You find her lacking?”

  “May I speak freely?”

  The Commander nodded. “Your opinion is worthy.”

  “She appears scrawny and weak bodied, and I predict she will be unable to bear the rigors of domestic labors, let alone produce your progeny.” He sniffed.

  Dak blinked. “You sound almost jealous.”

  Corren stiffened. “Would I care if you were to pat the beasts? I think not. But what am I to think when a breeder arrives snuggled on your shoulder?”

  “That it was long journey, and she grew weary.”

  “An indication of her lack of fitness.”

  Dak narrowed his eyes. “I conducted a thorough examination and determined she is healthy, albeit, as you say, scrawny. I suspect the BCF has not been feeding the breeders, and I have ordered an investigation. This one is quick in conversation, evincing no mental deficiency other than her femaleness. With respect to her ability to incubate offspring, she is superior to others because she has never been bred.

  “I have instructed her to obey you. If she misbehaves, call it to my attention, and I shall discipline her.”

  Corren’s gaze glanced off her bruises. “It appears she has already misbehaved.”

  Alpha touched the sudon dangling from his belt. “I did have to punish her once, I admit. But another inflicted those bruises upon her.” He tightened his jaw. “I do not condone striking females in the face.” He gestured toward the door. “Let us enter so you may show her the domicile.”

  When Omra followed the men inside, she gasped. While the upper surface of the dwelling had appeared nontransparent, from the inside, she could see clear through to the horizon. No wonder Corren had come out immediately; he’d watched them arrive, had seen her sleeping on Alpha’s shoulder. She tilted her head back and stared at the cerulean sky visible through the roof. At night, the purple moon would glow and the stars would shine. She pivoted, taking in the expanse, the rolling hills, the trees in the distance.

  The Commander’s domicile was, she suspected, a fortress with a view. She had read of reinforced reflective matter impervious to projectiles and suspected such material composed the upper half of the abode. The sovereign Commander wielded tremendous power, but fools existed who might challenge his rule.

  “I shall be in my office. When you have finished getting Omra settled, join me so we may catch up.” The Commander clapped his beta on the shoulder before disappearing down the corridor.

  “Follow.” Corren snapped his fingers and took off in the opposite direction at a fast clip. He stopped at a door and pushed it open. “Formal sitting parlor.”

  She peeked inside and spied tapestries gracing divans and chairs. Females who had expended their breeding capabilities sometimes were r
etired to textile-weaving facilities.

  “We entertain dignitaries and other officials of importance here. You are not to linger in this room except to clean it or to serve guests.”

  “Yes, beta.”

  “With the exception of a few, which I shall point out, you will not set foot in any of the rooms other than to maintain them.”

  “I understand.”

  Next he showed her the adjacent chamber. “There is a smaller, private hall for every day, but this is used for formal dining when we have dignitaries in residence.”

  A massive table spanned the length of the room, and she gulped when she counted seating for sixteen. A host shared more than food with his guests. He closed the door and strode down the hall. He pointed to a portal he did not bother to open.

  “The library.” A dismissive smile curled his lips. “You will have little use of that. But keep it clean.”

  He waved his hand at a corridor. “Guest sleeping chambers,” he said and continued on.

  She recognized the food preparation room by its gleaming metal tables, storage units, and cooking appliances. A wave of nostalgia swept over Omra as she remembered standing at her mother’s side while she prepared meals for her alpha. Though females did not eat until the men had had their fill, her mother would sneak her little tidbits as she cooked and had permitted her to lick the spoon she’d used to stir the batter of the sweetcakes, a favorite of Omra’s sire.

  “Can you cook?” Corren asked.

  “A little,” she said. Her mother had taught her everything she knew about food preparation, but that did not mean the Commander and his beta would approve of what she made. And her skills were rusty, since she hadn’t cooked since she’d entered the BCF.

  “Your first task is to prepare the evening meal. It should be served at sunset. Do not disappoint Alpha.” He pointed to a small table in the corner. “When you have finished serving, you may take your meals there.”

  He showed her several bathing chambers and singled out the tiniest. “You may use this one.”

  “How often may I bathe?” she asked.