Her Broken Alpha - Isoellen Page 0,14

breeder ripe as fuckin’ springtime.

This little female was not his female—not his lost Alennie, nineteen with speckled caramel, sun-loved skin and streaks of gold twined in the elaborate mass of braids she always wore.

His omega was dead and buried, and he could not bring her back.

He'd seen her ashes, watched her husband-mate scatter them on the Red River. Watched them float away along with every hope of peace he'd ever had.

She was dead. And he was not. The rage of that injustice swirled in his chest in a blustering maelstrom.

Her loss had left him caught up in an incurable state, a half-life full of anger and need—a constant, nagging burn under his skin that nothing could quench.

His cock was always hard and ready for a mate he did not have. A mate who no longer existed, but who his body and soul refused to recognize was gone.

Allenie had been his potential bond-mate, and while serving his father’s interests, the man had given her away. Just passed her off as a bribe to a rival. Betrayal.

The low-banked rage in his bloodstream began to boil.

Darre inhaled the scent of this girl.

The wrong girl, but a good, tasty smell. He wanted to lick that right up.

But she was not his. She was the wrong female to ease his hard, raw cock. She was the wrong female to relieve the rut he'd learned to control with violence.

How rude of her to smell good.

Dark curls covered her face thoroughly, and he could just see the curve of her cheek peeking through the wonderful mess. She was curled in on herself, the groaning noises leaking from her lips sending a shock of energy from the base of his skull all the way to his tailbone and ricocheting through his hard cock.

Eat her up.

The wrong girl.

There had been no females around since he’d lost the woman he'd chosen to be his mate. Not drone. Not breed. No fuckin’ women to scream about his claws, his scars, and his face. No fuckin’ women to irritate his skin with their wrong smell.

Ages ago, as an apology, his father had offered him a parade of others to choose from, as if bride-mates were as interchangeable as the shirts on his clothes rack. Others had tried to tempt him with their daughters, but he'd refused.

Darre would not be a man like the one who killed his Alennie, taking any woman he came across.

It had been years since he’d shared space with a breeder girl, since he’d smelled one or heard those sweet little sounds they made.

Tenbel was sputtering and making little coughing noises Darre guessed were meant to be appeasing. The two men holding the female, upper faces covered in the masks all Tenbel's faithful wore, didn't bother to disguise their leering. They pulled the female taut between them, yanking on her arms.

A weak noise of distress escaped her. Fuckin’ pitiful, and small.

But she wasn't weeping. He smelled no tears. Youth and innocence surrounded her in a pleasant cloud, along with violets and biscuits—his favorite kind of treat.

Lick her up from head to toe, a voice growled hungrily in the back of his head. Want. Take. Keep.

Shaking that sound out of his thoughts, Darre sniffed at the air again and stepped closer.

What was that sweetness?

What the fuck?

There was something unexpected buried under the pleasant layers of her scent. Her sweetness was a little too rich, too ripe and salty with female musk.

Had Tenbel dared to bring a female here who was entering her heat? Was he insane?

That smell infected him. Went to cock and brain and took over. A tingle spread like fire through his pelvis and his balls tightened and drew up.

No. No. No.

One moment he was merely irritated, and the next he was enraged at the irrevocable injustice of his loss, and at the assumption that he could be appeased by an offering of the wrong girl.

A berserker's roar rolled up from his chest like thunder as red filled his vision. Everything dissolved, lost to the animal inside.

The man known as Darre slipped away, and the mad monster of Sector 2 took over.

Tenbel was nearest, his round, bald head shining like an egg. Darre gave in to his temptation to crack it, the sound so very satisfying. He grabbed, set his claws, and squeezed, twisted and tore, and smiled as Tenbel’s skin gave way and blood poured over Darre’s hands.

The pressure in his head and body eased. It'd been too long since he killed something.

The other two males gaped.