Page 3 of Prelude to a Revolution

Drawing in a deep breath, I lower my arm, allowing Annora to slip her hand into mine once more. The two men step back, their eyes going from my face to hers. The venom has not left their glares, but their bodies are far less rigid. Nodding once, I grip her hand and take her away to the transport.

Once there, I hold up my wrist, then let her hold up hers, waiting on bated breath until the doors open. My ears are pricked, attuned to all the surrounding noises. I need to make sure no one comes up to us while we’re out here, vulnerable. I thought I had more time. I thought the restlessness would either improve or at least dissipate. I thought wrong.

Now, I can no longer bring my daughter here, a place where she once thought she was safe, a place that now houses the memory of a true Alpha growl. I’m not naïve. I knew at some point she’d hear one and tremble, but I never thought it would be from me.

We step on board the transport and wait for the doors to close. Once they’re firmly in place, I press the button for our sector and allow Annora to sit over on the vacant seat. As we pull away, another transport hovers down to take its place, allowing more people to board, but no one does.

It seems we are the only non-sectored visitors that came here today. Annora hunches over her loot, poking at a vegetable here and fruit there, separating things into an order only she understands. She doesn’t speak to me. She remains so preoccupied with her task that we cannot engage in our normal rhetoric about the sectors and how she can do her part to keep them working.

In front of me is a girl whose heart has been shattered by her father. I never wanted to be in that position. Sonria, Annora, and Karis mean the world to me. Without them, there is nothing. There’s no reason to carry on or continue.

Turning away from the pitiful sight in front of me, I look over at the sector below, the signs of revolution no longer looking like markings of vandals. Instead, it looks like the birthing pains of a new era, one that I hope will afford Annora and Karis the life I cannot offer. Not yet, at least.

A large fireball ignites in one of the rundown buildings, the flames shooting high into the sky. It was good we left when we did. Even now, Guardian Alphas swoop in, their ships gleaming in the dying suns. All it does is reinforce my desire to keep Annora from this place, even if it’s just until some semblance of order can return.

I check my communicator, but thankfully I’m not called into action. The other Guardian Alphas seem to respect my decision to use my off time as family time. It’s the one thing they haven’t pushed back against. Luckily, family is the one thing that’s important to all Alphas. Granted, since they think my girls are both betas, they can’t fathom why I want anything more than a cursory relationship.

Daily, I get jabs about how my cum isn’t potent enough to create Alphas or omegas, that or Sonria just can’t handle my superior DNA. It’s disgusting. They speak about her as if she’s nothing. They act as though my children are nothing. But I can’t say anything. What would I say? Would I really sacrifice my children’s safety for my own pride?

That, and if they knew my beta wife produced not one but two omegas, they’d rip her away from me, forcing her into the brothels to be a broodmare. I’ve seen the women they force in there. Some are just past the age of puberty, their dynamics just coming into bloom. Eight years. I only have eight years before things become dire for Annora. Fifteen before they’re dire for Karis.

Hopefully, by time Karis is old enough, there will be a more permanent way to reassign dynamics. If that day ever comes, it will be worth all the gold I’ve put aside in hiding, just waiting for that moment. It’s wrong that I’m lying to my children like this, but I refuse to apologize for keeping them safe. As their father, that is my number one prerogative.

Annora mumbles under her breath as she counts the food, dividing them up even further, mentioning days of the week and mealtimes. As if this food will last as long as she imagines. Soon, she’ll realize that the little bit she spent would only last a day. Two at most. Many of the pieces are nearly spoiled, only good for a meal or two.

I use this as another training lesson. The money she buys the food with is her own. She earns it by helping around our house and tending to Karis. Though I’ve never asked her to spend her own money, she does so willingly, wanting to be a caretaker in the home, wanting to be an omega as her blood demands. And so, I indulge her, returning the money back to the pile she keeps hidden in the wall of her bathroom where she thinks no one can find it.

I let her purchase the food so she can count out her money and see just how far it goes. I’m training her for the inevitable day that she’s no longer in our house. Whether it be by her marrying someone or finally deciding to move, she will be prepared. Most of all, I want her to learn just in case the worst happens, and she finds herself without Sonria or me to guide her.

Though I don’t wish destruction on our household, there’s something in my gut that tells me the worse is yet to come, and I always trust my gut. I am a great Guardian Alpha because of it. It’s what behooves me to allow Annora to play to her dynamic as much as conceivably possible while ensuring she doesn’t draw too much undue attention. It’s why I allow my little homemaker access to Sector One.

Betas from the other lower sectors come here to buy food at a discounted price, and no one thinks anything of it. No one else from the upper levels seems to come here. At least not that I’ve seen. As much as I would like that to change, I can’t force my brothers and sisters in arms to abandon their superior way of thinking and grovel like other betas. I seem to be a minority in that way.

They tout their higher ways of thinking and better breeding as if that somehow makes them a god above these hard-working betas. Until too recently, any Alpha that wasn’t High Echelon, or a Guardian, toiled along with them, taking pride in Stanlion as they worked together to make a better future.

Then, the High Echelon came with their poisoned, tainted way of thinking. They broke up Stanlion, putting in lines of division. It wasn’t enough to separate out the Alphas from the betas. They further divided this land, turning beta against beta in a race to see who was the best.

When the smoke cleared, the undesirables were sent to Sector One. It was heartbreaking to see. As a young boy, I didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t until I was taken in by the Guardian Alphas, trained to be a warrior, that it truly took hold. The nepotism and rampant favoritism were sickening. Instead of joining together as a band of brothers and sisters, some still saw themselves as better than the rest. Alpha of Alphas and shit like that.

Every one of them scoffed when I chose Sonria to be my bride. They cursed her when I made her my mate. But I couldn’t take an omega from the High Sanctum. I couldn’t allow myself to take advantage of one so innocent. They strip them of any sort of knowledge, forcing the Alpha to teach them everything, including non-sexual touches. They’re starved for attention and affection.

It didn’t use to be that way. I still recall stories that were told of omegas held in high esteem, still used as pawns, but able to flit about in their sanctuary. They were allowed to talk to the Alphas, befriend them, attempt to see if there was any sort of connection before they were mated. But now, they have the under lock and key. It’s disgusting.

As a Guardian Alpha, it was my duty to find someone in the hallowed halls of the High Sanctum, but one look at their faces, and I just couldn’t. I was jeered, mocked for my decision, but I held firm, content with never rising in rank. If the price of prestige was my soul, then it was far too steep for me to pay.

Even before I met Sonria, married her, and she bore me daughters, I vowed I would never have any child of mine brought up in that way. How hypocritical would I be to take a bride from the same High Sanctum I’m now shielding my own daughters from? My heart seizes as I look over at Annora, worried the commotion would upset her, but she doesn’t even look out the window.

She keeps her gaze down, averted. No longer the strong girl that cajoled me into standing down, she’s back to being the shell she was when I first growled. It breaks my heart that I did that to her. It wasn’t intentional, but there’s no proper way of explaining the effect an Alpha growl has on someone, not without opening up a discussion we are not allowed to have.

As an omega, even though she’s masking, she’s still programmed to respond more forcibly than a normal beta. Though the instinct is not as strong as it could be, it’s still far more than a blood-born beta. I’m not ready to tell her that her entire life is a lie.

For now, we’ve been able to shield her, and I want to continue doing so, not willing to show her just how much of her life is a lie. Though she thinks she knows some of it, the full magnitude of it will be a monumental blow. Just for a few more years, I want her to still look at us as the loving, doting parents we are and not have her memories tainted with our deception.

A sigh escapes my lips as I sit across from her, noting the shining tears in her eyes. They don’t fall. She never lets them fall when someone is looking. But I know her soul. She’s such a sensitive girl, even if she hides it away from others. She’s so fragile inside that she’s built up an entire icy wall around herself, cloaking her emotions in grit and determination.

Many praise us for how well-behaved she is or how meek and quiet, but it isn’t our training. She sees too much. She feels too strongly. She holds deep secrets in her heart that will break her into two if she allows even a hint of a word to spill.

I knew my Annora was an old soul the minute she came into this world. Instead of crying, she frowned at everyone, absolutely disgusted with being brought out into the bright, unwelcoming world. She stole my heart from that very moment. Even now, my body warms at the memory. It’s a tiny piece of her I carry with me always.