Page 4 of Dark Company

Chapter 2

Altris

Stepping over more bits of stone and wood, I make my way inside their tent. Though it’s full, nearly bursting, others step aside, making room for my hulking size. That’s one major advantage of being bred as a High Echelon Guardian Alpha—I don’t have to force anyone out of my way. Just once glance, and they move.

As a child, it was difficult. I had very few friends since the other Alphas were afraid of me. But when I joined the training program, everything made sense. There were others just like me, and it made me feel far less alone. However, with just Leon, I’m back to being one of the few again. Most Guardian Alphas are fairly large, making it easier to blend in around them, but there’s still a menace that exudes from our very pores that terrifies most everyone else.

It’s another reason I never chose an omega as my mate. They are such delicate, fragile creatures. Just my personality would cause them an uneasiness that I could never overcome. However, as I stare up at Annora, I see nothing but strength exuding from her. Perhaps it’s the fact that she lived her life as a beta; or perhaps omegas are stronger than what we’ve been led to believe. Granted, she destroyed an Alpha with her bare hands. I can’t think of anything stronger than that.

When I was young, I dreamed of having a mate just like her. But after a year or so in the program, that dream dissipated like summer rain hovering over the deserts. The High Echelon made it clear that we were built for war, for protecting them, and not for sex.

It was hard at first. I remembered what it was like to have stolen kisses, to reach out and touch the trembling breasts of a beta when we thought no one would find us. But after years went by, that memory became a husk of what it once was. I can’t even remember their names or faces. It’s a shadow that haunts the corners of my mind that only came out when they forced the rut on me.

My hands are no longer soft and searching. They’re hard, callused, and used to causing pain. What female, omega or otherwise, could handle someone like me? It’s depressing when I let myself think too much about it. So, when those days come when I find myself looking for a companion, I take my frustration out in other ways.

My workout room becomes my haven, my sanctuary. There, I can work through my anger and rip apart dummies instead of harming a woman. It’s why I don’t dare take advantage of the betas or omegas in the brothels. My soul is already stained beyond comparison. Harming an innocent would make it blacker than True Night. Elex allows a lot of leeway for warriors, but Jarosh would see me pay.

I already owe so much. It’s too much to pay off, even in my lifetime. Harming a woman would be cause enough for damnation. And, as much as I’m not a sentimental man, I long to see my family someday. Tears gather in my eyes as their memory still haunts me, surrounding me like a mist hovering over the waters. It’s only dissipated by the burning rays of the sun.

Just like the mist, those memories have yet to be burned. The suns are never hot enough to make them fade. Though they leave for moments at a time, they’re never truly gone. The High Echelon made sure that I never saw them after being accepted as one of their chosen warriors.

When their demands on the people became too high, my family sought clemency but were denied. I never knew. No one ever told me. I had no idea that my sisters were forced to work the brothels just to allow my parents the luxury of food. It wasn’t my parents’ fault that they were born of the wrong lineage.

My hands clench into hard fists as I recall the day I found out about everything. The High Echelon seemed to forget we were there in their chambers, silent sentinels that guarded their every move, heard every secret. Perhaps they confused me with another Guardian; perhaps they didn’t care. Either way, the moment I heard my family’s name, I listened to every word, clung to it as if it were a life-giving sustenance.

But their words soon turned to ash in my mouth and soured my belly. My family was in trouble. They owed far more than they could pay. It didn’t matter that I was born of breeder stock, of an Alpha and omega pairing that was forced upon them by the same High Echelon that denied their pleas. They fell out of favor. I don’t know how. I can’t even fathom what they could have done.

But it didn’t matter.

They were stripped of their status. My mother and sisters were forced into the brothels after my father was executed for crimes against the gods. Whatever the fuck that meant. My mother didn’t last very long. Once she was at the hands of the other Alphas, she died. My sisters followed soon afterward.

To my knowledge, they were never given a resting place. Like my father, their bodies were torn and scattered to the winds, no doubt feasted upon by the anoracki that roam the Dead Lands. It kills me every time I let my mind wander that far. I wanted to kill every member of the High Echelon, destroy them, let their bodies rot and bloat in the unforgiving rays of the suns.

Without Gemhardt, I would have been dead already. Despite my size and training, the High Echelon still held control. Somewhere deep in my brain lives code words, triggers, phrases that, when uttered, turn me into either a monster or a docile lamb.

I am unaware of these words. If I knew them, I would have found a mate and given them to her, ensuring that I would never harm her. But they’re locked in a cage inside my mind. Now and then, a phantom memory brushes across the membranes, words that are close enough to stir the urges but not enough to unlock me. With the High Echelon dead, the terror of turning into a mindless monster is waning but not completely gone.

There is always the chance that someone else knows. Thankfully, with just Leon and me, no one can fully destroy the city. Even that is a feat far too great for just the two of us. However, if someone wanted to destroy the king and queen, all they’d have to do was find the right trigger and execute it.

It’s far too ludicrous to think about, but the drip of unease is still there, eroding away at my sanity with every drop. I need to leave, to escape for a bit, just until I know things are calmer and all roots of the opposition are ferreted out and destroyed. With no way of knowing who programmed me or whom they imparted that information to, I’m a walking time bomb. Leon and I both.

I have to let Jaxxon know. I have to tell him I’m now a latent threat to everything they hold dear. But I can’t. My words are glued to the roof of my mouth, refusing to be uttered. Is this a product of the programming as well? Cold sweat beads across my forehead as I stare at the new ruler, his cold, blue eyes flitting over to me every few moments.

Jaxxon’s body is tense, every muscle primed to fight. Even now, his left hand rests on the furthest armrest of the throne that’s occupied by Annora. He shields her in the best way he can, with his arm as a buffer and his other hand resting on an aged blaster.

Though I don’t believe he’s wary of just me, I can’t shake the nagging suspicion that he still doesn’t trust us. Just because Gemhardt spoke to our loyalty, that means nothing when regimes change hands. If I were in a public forum with my mate, I would judge everyone as enemies until they’re proven otherwise.

Annora looks over at me, her eyes locking with mine for a moment before she tears them away. Fear and sorrow haunt their depths, similar to the sheen of hopelessness that coats the lives I’ve taken. Her small hands wring about in her lap, and I’m willing to bet all my gold that she’s not hearing a word of the matters being brought before them.

She keeps looking about as if searching for something. That longing is near palpable in the air, and I know Jaxxon must feel it. If I can feel the sorrow wafting off of her slim body, dense and unbonded to her as I am, then he must feel it like a knife to his heart.

His fingers drop from the armrest to her lap, gathering her hands in his mighty fist. Only then does she slump back and sit still—as if just his touch is all that’s needed to calm her. Then I hear it. The soft rumble under his words. An Alpha purr. I too have heard of such an action, but I was never taught how to do it, and I never needed to.

Enemies don’t need purrs to send them to meet Abenomed, the god of the dead that judges all by their deeds. He, plus the other warrior gods, make up the council of the dead, ensuring that my eternity is fucked for sure. There’s not enough good in my soul that they can justify passing me on. If I’m lucky, they’ll curse me to become a groden—a wanderer of the deserts, a phantom that howls in the night. In my heart, I know that no amount of service will make up for the lives I’ve taken.

It is enough.

I will not allow myself to wallow in depressive thoughts about the far future. Besides, until I die, all of it is conjecture, tales told by the same corrupt officials that took advantage of me in my sexual state. There’s a good chance that every word out of their mouths was a lie. I just wish I remembered enough of my mother’s teachings to combat theirs, but as with all of those memories, they’re so far away that I cannot even hope to reclaim them. Straightening up, I force my mind to stay on the people talking, taking in their concerns and their needs. Most of them are things I can’t help with, once more sending that poisonous barb of uselessness into my heart.