Page 44 of Her Broken Alpha
Stories about Nothonal Darre were the stuff of nightmarish legend. He was the evil in the dark that came to snatch you out of your bed and take you to the sector of the damned if you didn't obey your mother. He raped women, ate drone children, and fought every alpha he met to the death.
Naya tore the nest apart. Monster grumbled and paced.
He wanted to make her do this? She'd take her own sweet time.
She ignored him as he growled and snapped at her. She wasn't one of those betas and drones frightened of his snarls. She'd given him her mark. She'd obey him, but she would not fear him.
He didn’t want to talk? He could wait.
Darre turned up the glow on the lamp. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he went to one chest, unlocked it, and flipped the lid.
She shook out the pelts he'd given her and snapped them in his direction. They needed cleaning. This was no proper nest. But they smelled good, like their bond, so she positioned things with the crusty, soiled sides down and the fresh sides up.
He pulled something from the chest—a blade as long as his forearm.
Naya didn't bother humoring him with a flinch. She tossed a dirty shirt out of the nest and pointed to his clothes rack, which only had a few things hanging on it.
He grunted at her, opened the other chest, and pulled out a long, richly layered and embroidered piece of heavy fabric. He tossed it at her, smacking her in the face.
She growled at him, glaring in frustration.
His answer was more of his lust-stirring noise and a hiss. His face was tight, body tense. She could almost see the difference now between the man who’d set her in his lap to carry on an intelligent conversation and the predatory alpha, all aggressive, driving instinct, and animal brain.
This was Monster.
She looked down at what she held. It looked like an Administrator's robe.
Watching her, growling at her, he deliberately put his left hand on one of the trunks, raised the big knife high, and chopped off one of his black claws near the tip of his finger.
"Monster!" She didn't want him to hurt himself. What was he doing?
Unable to vocalize words, he pointed the knife at the nest and growled at her. Fix it. He wanted her to fix it.
"Bossy, crazy male," Naya huffed.
The robe was a challenge—a dare. Gold wire embroidery with seed pearl beading edged all the hems and covered the front of the ostentatious thing.
She thought it too rough and coarse for bedding, but if she threw it out, he might not understand the reason. She turned it inside-out to expose the softer satin lining.
She had nothing clean and nice to make a good nest in. There was not one fluffy blanket in the lot, nor even a colorful knitted pillow of angel hair yarn. No, she had to make do with his cast-off robes.
She glanced up as he chopped off another claw and inspected the damage, trying to cut the sharp edge of the nail. Why was he doing that? When the knife didn’t work for him, he chewed at the end of his fingernail and glowered in her direction.
He was working her up good with those noises he made. It was hard to focus on the finishing touches and get the space just right or good enough. She'd perspired between her breasts and down her back, and her vulva was swelling, a plumping she could feel when she moved.
Her unbound hair didn't help. It was too hot and in her way. There was too much of it, and like everything else, it was his fault.
This wasn't the same as her heat, but he made her ache with need all the same. The bundle of nerves between her legs answered his call, hopeful for his attention.
Her breasts felt heavy for his hands, nipples ready for the back-and-forth rasp of his thumbs. She felt him watching, thinking of where and how he meant to touch her, what he planned do with her.
By the time she finished, he had cut off three of his claws.
But why?
He had his fingers in his mouth, searching for rough edges maybe. He spat something on the floor and looked at his de-clawed fingers, rubbing them over his thumb to test them. Eyes on her, he waited for her invitation.
She took off her top—his too-big shirt—her pants, and her underwear and sat them outside the nest. She wanted to talk. Maybe eat a meal.
