Corrupted (Alpha's Claim Book 5), Addison Cain [top 20 books to read TXT] 📗

in the past. Knotting his second stitch, he asked, “What did Jacques whisper in your ear?”

“That I was to lay back… and think of him.”

“What else?”

“That this would be a short-lived inconvenience.”

With a dry laugh, the man began another suture. The hooked needle delved back into her skin, she continued to bleed.

Trying to remain still so he might continue, Brenya asked, “Will it be?”

“That depends on your definition of inconvenience.” The final knot was tied. “You are my wife as of me stamping my claim as Commodore upon the contracts—”

“First wife,” she corrected. If he was like Ancil, he could claim a Beta as well.

Finished assessing his work, those terrible eyes bore into hers. “I will not be taking another wife.”

She had no response.

“I own you in the sense of Bernard law. But I possess you in the sense of your spirit, and I am disinterested in setting you free. Which means I cannot kill Jacques Bernard.”

Five people had died of Red Consumption in her precious home. Ancil had been slaughtered before her. Brenya could only sum up such a cold question to shock. “What happens if Jacques Bernard dies?”

His answer was direct and equally uninformative. “You will discover that for yourself the next time you see Lucia.”

Outside the red room, the sun had begun to warm the sky, Brenya taking in what was an even more remarkable view while iodine was blotted on her cheek.

“Are there other injuries that I have not seen?”

Sighing, Brenya felt exhaustion roll over her so suddenly she lurched. “Nothing Lucia didn’t already see to.”

“It seems the nature of our pair-bond is more physical than those I have observed in the past. What you are feeling is the sensation of Jacques being sedated. I can’t have him running wild, murdering my people in a tantrum over losing his favorite toy.”

It was an apropos comparison. “He told me you would give me back after you were done.”

That subtle smirk was back. “Did he?”

She needed this to be over so she might find a few hours of sleep;, otherwise, she was going to crack. “I would like to be excused from taking you down my throat until my cheek has healed. Kindly tell me, would you prefer that I brace on all fours. Or lay on my back. I was told earlier that I am expected to touch the male inside me, and I will strive to do so if that is what you wish.”

Stripping off sterile gloves, Jules Havel commanded, “Take off your dress, Brenya Havel.”

The name caught her even as her hands moved to reach buttons she would not be able to unfasten without help. Once she processed that in less than a year she had gone from being 17C, to mon chou, to Brenya Perin, to Brenya Havel she found nothing but that damn necklace in the way.

Lowering her hands to her bloodstained lap, she confessed, “I cannot take this dress off by myself.”

It should have registered sooner that he already stood between her legs. That he had been cradled there the entire time he had sewn the wound on her face—but the intimacy of the position only just sank in.

That was how tired she’d become.

Far too tired to resist when he reached around her neck to unclasp the necklace, Jules tossed it to the side as if it were nothing but rocks on a string. When he began on the buttons down her spine, she felt the fabric frill release her aching neck, and Brenya pulled in a full breath that was sweet with the scent of a hungry man.

Deft fingers undid one closure at a time until the gown parted and could be pulled from her shoulders. It was not her breasts he looked to when her dress pooled at her waist. It was the subtle swelling of her shoulders, the scratches from an Alpha who preferred to tear clothing from her skin, the fingerprints and bruises.

Each was inspected with naked fingers, her shoulder moved to test mobility, and scowled at when it was clear the tendon was inflamed.

“I have yet to see the footage of how you reached my cell, but once I have, I believe we are going to have a discussion about technique. This was an avoidable injury.”

Insult brushed aside common sense. Brenya bit back, “I guarantee my climbing technique is far superior to yours, Jules Havel. I was climbing before I could walk.”

“Hmm.” He took a step back, surveying her torso in another sweep. “Stand and remove your skirt.”

Silk and lace whispered to the ground, Brenya eager to be done with this.

“Turn.”

She did, facing away while he brushed her hair from her back. His touch traced down her vertebrae, stopping on occasion for a thumb to dig in until she grunted. Yet each pass caused something tight to release.

Fingertips moved to her buttocks, gently pulling apart her flesh. She knew what he saw, why he asked, “How long ago did he do this?”

“Hours ago.”

“Did you bleed?”

“No. He made sure I saw that I had not.”

“I see.” Physically turning her to face him, Jules met her eyes as he asked, “Any vaginal complaint?”

None that would impede whatever Jules Havel intended to do to her. “I was stretched with the pliarator earlier today. There should be nothing to prevent you from…”

“From what, Brenya Havel?”

The word was small. He made her feel small. “Penetration.”

“Then climb into bed.”

21

Greth Dome

Despite her previous urges to deny Shepherd a proper nest, she built one around him as he snored. Nimbly arranging the wonderfully soft new things he’d provided. Gifts brought before he had come to her in need of comfort only a mate might provide. Claire created a wonder for him to wake in.

Since coming to Greth, she had never seen him so exhausted. Nor had there ever been a situation in which her subtle movements had not instantly jarred him from sleep. For crying out loud, she practically slept like a corpse so the Alpha would get the rest he so clearly