Taken, Lane L.V. [free novels to read .TXT] 📗

still coming to terms with my status as a broken Beta.

As I slip from the saddle and my boots make contact with the loamy ground, I reflect that I’m still broken.

Only now I’m a broken Omega.

I do not want another mate. I love Hawthorn, Caden, and Brook. It does not feel like there is room for anyone else, and even supposing there was, whom could it possibly be?

My head falls against Posey’s neck as I pat her affectionately. “I’m not sure this was a good idea, girl,” I say. “But we are here now.”

As I lean up, her head lowers to the ground in a fruitless search for something interesting to eat.

The stony ground is damp and slippery, and dark clouds hang low with the threat of more rain. We are closing in on winter, and the air is cold enough to bring a shiver. Drawing my old cloak tighter about me, I pick my way over the treacherous stones toward the tower.

The stairs are damp, and I go slow, lest I slip.

At the top, I’m rewarded by a bleak autumnal landscape that offers views no further than my castle and home. Above, the clouds gather pace, pulled by a gusty breeze.

I’m here alone. I should not be alone, and I will get in trouble when I return.

But I am fearful of returning. My breath catches, and my hands shake as I replay the scene in my room. The strange man with the tattered Imperium livery peeking out of his servant tunic, and the wildness as I struck him with the poker.

His curse of anger that spoke of consequence should he catch me, and that spurred me on to this flight.

I cannot stay here. I understand this. But I don’t know what to do for the best.

Clutching my cloak tighter, I draw the hood close to my face. It smells a little of Posey, and of silage, being left in the stable, but there are worse smells, I suppose. My hands are turning blue. This was a foolish idea. My numb fingers will be the least of my concerns when I return, for one of them will take the cane or crop to my bottom, and I will not sit for a week.

But they will also rut me, and when they are buried deep inside me, I can forget that I’m a broken Omega whose scent has yet to change.

A moment. Why can’t I forget for a moment?

The clouds part and I can see beyond the narrow estuary, all the way to where the river meets the sea. It is many days’ ride to where the ships jostle in the harbor of Darkmouth. Seafaring vessels cannot come this far inland, but smaller boats and barges frequently bring supplies to and from the castle and surrounding estates.

My eyes lower, caught by movement where the forest meets the castle ruins.

Movement.

At first, I think it’s Posey, but no, Posey is still where I left her. Her soft whinny snags my attention, and she lifts her head, turning in the direction of the sound. A wolf or deer maybe? A deer does not worry me, but a wolf might attack Posey, or at least set her to flight. She is curious rather than troubled, and my nerves settle a little. A horse is a skittish, ornery creature. A leaf can set them to flight, although Posey is a good mare and rarely alarmed. More likely, it was nothing bigger than a rabbit.

The wind picks up again, reminding me that I must return despite the risk. My mates and my brothers are somewhere within the castle, perhaps aware of my disappearance, and now worried and searching for me.

I don’t know why I fled.

Why didn’t I run screaming into the courtyard?

Confused and troubled by my actions, I shiver.

Posey’s head lifts suddenly before she snorts.

A rustle comes from the trees, shadows lurking near the edges that make me think of men. I freeze, breath caught in my throat as they finally emerge into the clearing.

Jerking away from the edge, I press my back to the rough stone wall.

Blighten or outlaws? 

My thoughts contract, and white noise fills my ears.

Trapped.

Low voices, the dull clack of boots upon damp stones before a call as they spot Posey.

Trapped. 

The sounds of footsteps upon the stairs are like the approach of death itself.

They are not our soldiers.

They are not good men.

Good men do not sneak.

I step closer to the edge as the footsteps draw ever closer, and my eyes dart around the tiny turret like a place to hide might magically appear.

The steps slow, become cautious . . . like they fear I may throw myself to my death.

I don’t want to drop to my death. The desire to live is fierce, even if I’m broken and my scent will never change. Why did I need to face death to realize this?

He steps out. A rough, bearded Beta wearing the tattered remains of an Imperium uniform.

My lips tremble.

I don’t want to die. But I don’t want to be taken by the Blighten either.

He looks from me to the open wall and back.

“Jump if you’re gonna,” he says, eyes apathetic. “You’re a fine prize, and I’ll get a tidy bounty when I deliver you, but other bounty opportunities will come.”

I don’t want to die. His indifference to whichever option I should take is disconcerting. But it also sways me from thoughts of dashing to my death. He is not about to snatch me up and rut me to death. I am a prize to him. Nothing more.

What will come later? I cannot guess. But this man is an opportunity for time. Time for my mates to find me, for them to scold me. I will gladly take a crop to my bottom if only they will come.

My teeth begin to chatter, but not from the cold. I swallow past the tightness in my throat, and even then, words are beyond me, so I nod. It satisfies him. He indicates the stairwell. I walk slowly,