Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
The bright-eyed male nearest the front licked his lips.
Locking eyes with him, she hissed, “I will hate you and cry the whole time. You and all Alphas disgust me.”
“Silence, feral, before you earn yourself more punishment than you can handle.”
One thing Morgaine was good at on this ship was digging her own grave. It seemed the perfect time to pick up the shovel. “I would rather be burned at the stake in front of everyone I loved, than feel the touch of a single one of you.”
Thoughts a riot of ugly things and evil outcomes, she became stone, ignoring their growled responses to her rudeness, refusing to answer questions. They grew bored of her, and over the hours, began to scatter.
Morgaine had done her reputation harm, but she did not care.
There was nothing in the world to care about.
Oblivious to her heart-pounding anxiety, Alphas ceased strolling, moving aside in automatic formation. They left her cage abandoned for the first time since she’d been locked inside that morning, and gave her a view of the massive gallery.
A vast room that, aside from the shuffle of footsteps, was a suddenly, eerily silent place.
Bracing, sure the commandant was coming to cast an unfavorable judgment upon her, Morgaine swallowed and took a deep breath.
Maybe they’d cut out her tongue, just as these men had done to her aunt years ago.
Maybe they would see her raped at last.
From the glitter of armor on the opposite end of the room, he had arrived, as had several high-ranked Alphas at his back. Stiffening her shoulders, she prepared to look her tormenter in the eye as he decided her next punishment.
But his attention was not on her. Instead he stood at the front of his men… waiting.
Squinting to see, Morgaine could hardly make out what they were doing across the vast space. Columns supporting the room’s high ceiling made spying difficult, as did the bright backlight of glowing metal at their backs, but something of great consequence made the air buzz with inevitability.
Every soldier in attendance had stepped into formation, as if banking a parade. All eyes cast toward the front of the room.
A secondary group entered. Alphas by the size of them, but not dressed in the vivid vermilion armor of the thousands waiting in their regimented lines.
Nor were these males trimmed and barbered. Long hair, some sported beards… and skin.
Bare chests, corded arms, some wore little more than strips of tanned leather around their hips.
Whoever the group was, they didn’t look a thing like any Alpha who had ever invaded her settlement. Their wild state, the fact they paraded before armored soldiers with no care for their menace made her nervous.
Even from a distance, she could sense their contempt for all they saw.
Not a word could be made out, but the commandant bowed, as did all those glittering with rank at his back. The new males did not return the gesture.
If the older Alpha was insulted by the lack of respect, he didn’t show it. He gestured for what must have been their leader to join him.
For reasons unknown, she broke out in a cold sweat, knowing that if they crossed the length of the gallery, they would walk past her.
These Alphas, the savagely dressed dark-haired behemoths, needed to stay far, far away.
No soul in the room was looking at her. She had been forgotten. But trapped in glass with nowhere to go, she felt the most exposed of her life.
The reason was those in formation near her. Yes, they were riveted on the scene, but not one of them looked gratified. In fact, the taste of air she had beyond the glass was animosity, bitterness… even a hint of fear.
Who were these men?
Formalities aside, these guests… if they were guests… were not welcome. Nor could they have been expected. They looked like raiders; scoffed and sneered at all they saw, brushing off the formality staged before them as the two groups converged.
Commandant and dark-haired savage leader both turned, walking down the center path that would lead past where she’d been caged. There was no conversation between them. That would require the practically naked male beside the old man to reply to anything that was being said.
It seemed he pointedly ignored the high-ranked escort, staring straight ahead and walking with purpose. Upon their approach, Morgaine found these men to be even stranger. Her initial assessment was right; they wore their hair almost as long as she wore hers. On many, scars were prominently displayed: slashes across bared chests, shiny star-shaped splatters of mended skin.
Though she’d never seen a wound of that sort healed, she had seen many of her neighbors die from blaster fire. She’d seen the way the skin around the wound flashed out like a bursting flower.
Warriors?
Was this some ritual? Is that why so much skin was exposed?