Page 10 of Choosing Her Alpha
Her face flamed.
"Get away from her!" Silas shouted.
Sasha moaned. "It's alright, Silas. Please take the girls and go. I can—”
"Shut up!" Merrick moved a hand to her throat and squeezed. "Shut up! You don't get to tell anyone what to do! When will you learn that? What do I have to do to teach you your place? Why don't any of you people know how to act?"
He shook her, grasp tightening and cutting off her air. Meeting her eyes, he watched her panic as it built, until Sasha was clawing at his hand. Then releasing her throat to capture and squeeze her head in both hands. He forced a nod from her while she gasped for air, heart beating hard against the case of her chest. "This is what you do. This is what you say. ‘Yes, alpha Merrick. Yes, sir.' Can you do that, Sasha?"
"He said get away from her!" It was Patrick now, who lived in the shed with the donkeys and took care of the kitchen garden. He had served as a grunt in the Administration military and understood better than anyone else not to confront a drunk, angry alpha.
What was he thinking? Had they all gone mad? Merrick might hurt Sasha, but he would kill them. They were nothing to him. Just common worker drones.
Merrick let out a growl that became a roar, turning on Patrick and barreling toward him. Patrick notched an arrow into his hunting bow, but Merrick wasn't a garden rabbit and the aggression rolling off him went right to Patrick's brain.
He loosed the arrow, drawing a line of blood on the naked meat of Merrick's upper arm.
Before Merrick could pounce and rip the drone human to shreds, Sasha darted between them. "Don't, Merrick, please. Please don't. Don't hurt him. I'm sorry. This is my fault. You’re right. I do take over. I don't know my place. Punish me."
Merrick picked Sasha up and set her aside, seized Patrick’s wooden bow, and threw it across the room. Facing his challenger, Merrick balled his hand into a fist and cocked his arm back to strike Patrick, but Sasha jumped on the alpha, wrapping herself around him as a barrier.
All her senses rebelled at the contact of bare skin under her hands, but she pressed in tight, clinging anyway. "It’s my fault. He was just protecting the child he has always known. Don't hurt him. Please. Punish me. It was me."
He narrowed his green eyes, hot with fury. "Punish you? And how should I do that? What will teach you and these drones a lesson?" He scanned the room as if searching for a way to make her hurt.
"Ditah," he called at last, "bring me my whip."
Their interaction had gathered a crowd. All the drones of the household, Merricks’s women and the males who had been with them, came into the barroom, drawn by the violence. Everyone was there except for Maura, too sick to leave her room.
Sasha caught the alarmed gazes of the drones, willing them to do nothing and stay quiet, to not make it worse.
Dragging her over to a table, Merrick pushed her face down over the edge. "This is the way breed should always treat breed. Pain makes the lesson stay, doesn't it? Or is that why you think you can tell me what to do? Did Daddy spare you a real upbringing? Is that why you don't know the proper way to behave?"
Merrick met no resistance as he tore her soft tunic top in half, exposing her. A helpless mewl escaped her at the shock of it, but Sasha quickly silenced herself.
The drones who had already risked their lives for her were forced to watch as patrons swam through the alpha pheromones that flooded the room. The pub guests watched the spectacle with eager interest.
Merrick hissed a breath and touched her back, a quick bush of fingers between her shoulder blades, tracing the marks already there. This wasn't her first whipping. He'd been wrong. She hadn't escaped breed lessons in pain. But her father hadn't been the one to administer them. He'd see that now.
"You'll take these lashes for your drone, who had the audacity to shoot a fucking arrow at me. And you'll take them for yourself, so that you won't forget who is in charge. Do you understand me?"
Her mouth dry, Sasha croaked out her answer. "Yes."
"Say thank you, sir."
His goading made her fear instantly evaporate. She had to try twice before she could force herself to say the words in a way that wouldn’t earn her more lashes. "Thank you, sir."
"Excellent. I'm giving you ten." He positioned himself to the side of the table. His hair was messy, hanging in his eyes, cheeks flagged with red, his face set. He smelled of anger, lust, and regret.
The long whip, a real bullwhip, was in his hand. The endless length uncoiled like an evil snake, leather wrapped handle thick in his fist like a club.
"You will count and keep your eyes on me, girl. I will give you an extra lashing if you close them or turn away. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
His lips thinned in ominous warning.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Sasha rushed to add.
