Page 17 of Choosing Her Alpha
She still had a little girl’s body, soft and chubby in the breasts and waist. The way Constantine called her a registered breeder, though, was like some heavy, sensual secret, sex and desire in the dark. She heard it in his voice, but her mostly sexless being couldn't translate it. She had to assume he was saying a business arrangement couldn't work between an alpha and a breeder, but she couldn't understand why not.
One eyebrow rose, and he was looking pointedly at her hand. There should have been two prominent round black dots and a long number there, proof that she had been lawfully vaccinated and documented. An examination at two years old would have shown she had all the healthy potential organs to reproduce. The all-important vaccination, represented by a perfect black dot, would have ensured her organs stayed whole and healthy, safe from the pervasive disease commonly known as cobweb womb.
Hundreds of years had passed since the disease took root in human women, sterilizing them before they reached puberty. Scientists had played with genetics, birthed the breeds, and invented a vaccination, but still the disease thrived. To keep her reproductive organs healthy, every female of the 12 Sectors had to have the vaccination before or at the age of two.
The other black dot marked her body's unique ability to do more than simply birth children. Sasha carried the genetic compatibility to produce more alpha and omega breeders as her mother had before her. She would breed true. Omegas were precious. They weren’t just baby makers; they imparted the breeder’s blessing. Omegas also had a known ability to heal. A full mating bond would ensure the alpha she chose a long life. The king and his breeder wife had thus far lived over two hundred years.
The unique serial number normally found under the prominent dots connected her to all her medical and family history. The information was obtainable to anyone with the means to look it up. The marks proved her a female of unique value, not just another beta or drone.
A powerful male like Constantine Kane should want her for that mark alone. But he didn't. He didn't want a bride-mate, a bond mate, or any kind of mate.
The marks were usually on the hand. It counted as identification. And protection. Harm to a breeder could be punished by castration, hand removal or death.
But her mother hated her even as a small child and planned for Sasha’s humiliation.
Constantine Kane. He was waiting on her, his insistence a silent force of will pushing at her.
She turned red, the heat of her shame pouring from the top of her head and down her chest as she stood. In the sheath of the drone uniform with its tight neck and fitted sleeves, she couldn't show him her mark without taking the whole thing off.
She shimmied out of the light gray fabric, forced to show him her chubby, soft, underdeveloped body—her white, slug colored skin, and the tight, puffy nipples at the end of her flabby breasts. The mark was right next to her left nipple, so that she had to show her whole boob to every Tom, Dick and Administrator Bully.
The alpha Warlord’s game face had returned. It made Sasha feel small. He examined her marks carefully, then typed the number into his data pad.
"You missed your last appointment," he said, his tone thoughtful.
"I don't have to go again until after my heat," she told him, holding the smock in front of herself.
He grunted. "Who said that? You were supposed to go to this one and then another after. This is the appointment to prepare you for the heat. They would offer you sedatives, a mild nerve dampener, pain medicine, and a nutritional tea. You are eighteen? The appointment was eight months ago."
"What?" She struggled back into the clothing, missing her own. "Maura said..." She let the worlds trail off. "Mother strikes again. Thanks for looking at that. I'll have to see about getting another one." She sat down.
He typed something into the data pad. "Tomorrow."
Sasha was shaking her head, stupefied by his presumption at making such a personal appointment. "Thank you, but I'll—"
Constantine made a sound, sharp and hard, like a bark. It was just a noise in his throat, but it was a strike through her whole body that made her muscles spasm in pain. Eyes wide, she looked at him, confused.
His full, sensuous mouth was hard now with disapproval. His black brows lowered over dark eyes in reprimand.
Her instinct was immediate, driven by breeder biology. She needed to soothe him. Please him. Sasha wasn't sure why he was angry, but her instinct didn't care a bit about explanations. A little purr came out of her throat, the same she used for unruly children and terrified drones.
One eyebrow rose. His mouth softened. A little.
He looked back down at the data pad, typing again. "Tomorrow." It was the final word they would have on the matter.
He was an alpha. Alphas dominated.
Setting the pad aside, he grabbed a wooden box off the desk and pulled a mass of gold chains from its depths. He spent a few moments untangling them before he singled one out. Next he retrieved a coin shape and slipped it on to the chain. He held it up to her.
"Do not take this off."
Without asking permission, he moved her braid over her shoulder and brought the chain to her neck. When his thick, clawed fingers brushed her skin, goosebumps rose, and she shivered.
"Quit fidgeting, girl."
Someone knocked twice.
"Yes?" His voice behind her was so deep she felt the vibration of it in her chest.
