Page 7 of Dark Company

As someone that had not reached physical maturity, I was the perfect fit. There, I would wait tables, hoping to catch a rich Alpha’s eye, and then, once my body was of age, he would whisk me off to his home in the highest of levels, the ones that surround the High Echelon. It doesn’t matter that I’m a beta; my status is higher than the other free breathers that try to fuck their way up the ranks.

Sorrow lances through my heart as I continue scrubbing the clothes. Soon, I’ll be just like the unwashed people that mill about with nothing to do but eat, sleep, drink, and carouse. Since being out in the desert, my respirators are becoming faulty. Now and then, I can catch a whiff of the unclean males that meander through the camp, fresh from a kill.

I never had to worry about things like that in Stanlion. The meat Annora purchased for me was prepackaged with nothing abhorrent like fur or eyes in sight. In fact, since being picked up by the caravan, I’ve had to ingest mostly meats with very few vegetables or fruits. That’s the only positive to the dietary restrictions here. I can finally stuff my face full and not have to worry about how much it costs.

Granted, I end up paying for it later with a cramping belly, but at least I don’t have to worry about going hungry. Staring down at the water, I look at my reflection, sighing as I note the redness of my face. I’m still as skinny as when I left Stanlion. Of all the things that changed, my weight wasn’t one of them. Perhaps I was wrong to accuse Annora of keeping me skinny with her Sector One foods?

As Annora’s name continues to flit through my brain like a feather floating on a wind gust, my insides twist. I fled at her orders, but when I did, I was sure we’d be reunited soon after. When hours turned into days, which has now turned into weeks, I started giving up hope of seeing her.

As far as I know, she’s out there in some other commune, doing the same things I am. Though, granted, she’s far more prepared for hard labor than me. I sure as hell was not the one to take care of the house or prepare the food. That was all her, and I never once thanked her for it.

I shove that thought out of my brain, not wanting to dwell on anything that’s depressive. I have enough around me to keep me down, and I don’t need to add to it. Pulling the shirt out of the water, I stare at the sandy ground as I bring it over to the line to dry. Turning to go back to the next outfit, a strong hand grabs my arm and stops me in my tracks. I don’t have to face the man to know who he is. Brennen steps closer to me, the heat from his body washing over my skin. Since the moment I’ve arrived, he’s been after me like an anorackus with a bone.

“The Clan Mother wishes to see you.”

I keep my face trained to the dirt, unwilling to look him in the eyes as I turn. Big mistake. He stands before me, naked and without shame, his sacred rod tipped up to the sky. I want to look away, but I can’t. It’s the closest I’ve come to a divine shaft, and it brings about far more questions than answers.

At school, the other betas and I would hide away, giggling about our futures. In those hushed conversations, the discussion of divine anatomy would crop up, and we’d all throw about our ideas on what it would look like. Nothing we conjured up looked anything like this. The pale, pink tip dips down into a bronze, thick shaft. The more I look at it, the more it jerks about, beckoning a closer glance.

Clear fluid pearls up at the top, and, once more, I look away, remembering my training. Brennen is not my mate, and as such, any questions I have cannot be directed at him. It is unlawful for him to greet me in such a way; however, my unguarded staring is just as bad.

Drawing in a deep breath, I catch a whiff of the sweat that rolls down his unclothed chest, and I bite back a groan of disgust. Were men always so disgusting? Or was I just shielded on Stanlion? His deep brown eyes stare down into mine as I finally meet his gaze. He wants me. Though he has said nothing to me directly, I see it in every movement he makes.

He prowls around me as if he’s stalking me, hunting me, waiting until the day I come of age. But I don’t want him. It’s not just because he’s a beta like me; it’s because he doesn’t stir anything in me other than anger and revulsion.

“Your pants are hanging on your line. I have no problem waiting here until you get them on.”

Brennen’s lips slide up into a soft smile as he steps even closer. The tip of his divine shaft brushes against the edges of my shirt, and I nearly gag as the clear fluid smears across the dirty fabric, staining it with his wetness.

“Yes, but dear Karis, they are not yet dry, and the Clan Mother has no care whether I am naked, just like everyone else here. You’re the only one that has a problem with it, but soon enough, you’ll be free of the curse placed upon you in the city you hail from.”

“Stanlion,” I bite out, no longer caring if he thinks I’m being polite or not. I’m far too hot and irritable to care about what some stupid beta thinks about me. “I come from Stanlion. I’ve told you this many times.”

“Ah, yes, but many here believe that if we utter the name, calamity will befall us. We’ve seen what it’s done to omegas like you. We don’t wish that on our own women.”

I want to argue back that I’m a beta, but no one here seems to believe me. If I were truly an omega, I would be safely tucked away in the High Sanctum, reclining on a bed of silks and furs, just waiting for my Alpha to come claim me. I wouldn’t be here with these backwards people scrubbing clothes or doing all the other menial work they require of me.

Once more, a pang hits my heart. Is this how Annora felt? Gods know I did nothing to help her. Not that I felt she was unworthy of my help. Once I found and snared my Alpha, we would have wanted for nothing. She just couldn’t see the future. Besides, until I reached of age, the High Council took care of me. They provided housing, food, and schooling. What more did she want?

She claimed to work, but where was all that money? With what the High Council gave me, her money should have allowed us to live like kings. Unless she was lying about working. Could she have been lying about everything else? Shaking my head, I once more attempt to pull myself out of Brennen’s grip, but he refuses to let go.

Grinding my teeth, I yank again, thrilled when I feel that pop of freedom as I slip free. “Stanlion, Stanlion, Stanlion.” His eyes widen as I snap out the name of my city out to him. “I would be careful when you sleep. You’ll never know when the monsters of Stanlion will come after you and slit your throat in the night.”

Brennen’s brow furrows as he stares at me, anger sparking from the depths of his eyes. His lips curl up into a small snarl as he reaches for me again. “Just you wait, little Karis. Once you are of age, you will be given up to the men of this commune as a sacrifice to Xiarius. I will have my way with you then. You sleep tight, little Karis. I can smell the days of your womanhood approaching.”

My insides quiver as he storms off. What exactly does he mean by those words? If I’m sacrificed, how can he have his way with me? Or does he plan to defile me after I’m dead? So many questions and not enough answers. The sweat that felt warm and stifling earlier starts to feel cold and clammy, twisting my insides into knots of dread.

As I move away from the spring, Alexi takes my place, flashing me a huge grin as she sits down. Right now, she and Ladria are the two that make me feel less alone. They both seem to know much more than I do when it comes to the relations between mates, but I don’t dare ask them. No matter what, it’s still not my place to know.

Navigating around the dusty tents and worn wood, I make my way to the center, where an enormous tent lives at the heart of this commune. I’ve been here only twice before. The first time was when I first arrived. The wizened older omega that took me in brought me here, telling me it was her place to lay her head.

She was the Clan Mother. I didn’t know that then, but since being here, she’s all that anyone talks about. They refer to her in reverent tones, calling her the Mother Omega or the First Omega. But that can’t be. I know the history of the lands, at least what bits I could retain, and in those lessons, they never once spoke of any deity except for Ilaria.

To hear these people talk, it’s as if she’s Ilaria’s mouthpiece, an oracle sent down to guide them. It was all a bunch of springbok shit and stunk just as badly when left out in the sun. The only other times I’ve been in here was to deliver the Clan Mother’s dinner.

I tried my hardest to stay away, unwilling to allow them to taint my mind with their false view of the gods. It’s true that Ilaria protects the omegas and other women that seek her face, but she demands chastity as payment—propriety that these betas and omegas know nothing about.

Ducking into the slitted opening, I step inside the cool, dark tent. The soft glow of the candles gives it an otherworldly feeling, and for a moment, I feel wanton. Perhaps it’s the wisps of smoke from the lit incense that beg me to come twirl in the foggy depths. Or perhaps my respirators truly are failing me and the scent I’m drawing into my lungs is messing with my head.