Corrupted (Alpha's Claim Book 5) by Addison Cain (read more books txt) 📕

say, with the blood of those who opposed the first Commodore of Bernard Dome—the defeated Alpha began to stir.

“How many times did I warn you to keep your hands and eyes to yourself regarding my mate?”

A tooth missing, mouth bleeding, Ancil struggled to say, “Peace, brother.”

“Did I not give you everything you desired?” Turning to face down the scattered men in the room, Jacques shouted, “Did I not give you all your every last whim?”

Stifled murmurs and stiff nods were offered by a few. Others, wisely keeping their eyes averted.

“Witness what I do to traitors!”

His foot came crashing down on Ancil’s neck with such force it cracked far more than bone. The stained floor, as old as the Dome itself, split beneath his heel. Ancil’s running blood swallowed deep enough between the floorboards that the red of the room no longer struck Jacques as garish.

It was exactly as it should be. A place for enemies to die.

So he silently vowed, meeting the eyes of his reeling mate, that it would be in this room that Jacques fed the blood of Jules Havel to the Dome.

Three floors down, an Omega screamed.

Quite a fuss had been made over her face once Ancil lay in a heap of protruding bones and blood.

“I don’t think her cheek is broken, but… a physician should be called to mend where her skin split along her scar.”

A raging Alpha roared, “Stand away from my mate!”

Woozy, Brenya held her finger to her face, unsure if the slippery red had come from her or from Ancil as he’d screamed for mercy.

The crowd was growing tighter, jostling bodies pulling her to and fro to see the damage. There was too much touching. Too much noise. Too much everything. “Don’t touch me!”

Like magic, all backed off save one.

The same older gentleman who had spoken to her at the state dinner, the one who had stood beside Ambassador Jules, bowed. “Madam, you need a physician, and the Commodore will need to be notified that you were wounded.”

Silent despite the age of the creaking floors, Jules stalked straight to where Brenya braced against the bed. Looking only at her, he addressed the Alpha who thought to stand in the way. “You had an hour in which to explain that you’d sold your mate to me for skin on your back, and instead, I find Brenya Perin bleeding and the Security Advisor dead.”

Bloody hand to his chest, Jacques faced down another man, heaving with the breath of an Alpha ready to kill.

“Control yourself, Jacques.” The new Commodore, Jules Havel, was still looking only at her, yet addressing a very serious threat as if Jacques were nothing but a gnat. “So much as look at me in a way I dislike and see what I do.”

It was hard to look away from such an intense stare, from a face that showed nothing, from a man who was as empty as she was full, but she did. Honey eyes darted to see Jacques offer a stiff bow.

Taking her chin, Jules studied the damage while addressing all onlookers. “Take the carcass and leave. Jacques Bernard will not get what we agreed to until I claim what I desire.”

Chilled by the coldness of such a statement, Brenya took her face from Jules’ touch, turning away from both males.

The room cleared.

Jacques had left her.

Blood smeared from the spot where Ancil had died at her feet all the way to the door. No one had even thought to wipe it away.

The Beta certainly didn’t; he just continued to stare until a knock came to the door. The unexpected sound left her jumping, squeaking out a noise that summed up exactly how she felt.

Small.

Apparently, one of the Alphas had indeed summoned a physician. One Brenya remembered from when she had first been dragged to Central, torn and in the midst of withdrawals.

The Beta noted her instant increase in anxiety, taking those too bright eyes from her face at last.

Addressing the physician bowing at the door, Jules offered an unaffected, “You are not needed. Leave your supplies and retreat.”

The doors closed, two cases left on the bloodstained floor.

“The archives are well-kept in Bernard,” the man said, moving toward the door to retrieve the physician's things. “This Red Room was designed to host the reigning Commodore. There are no access panels. The windows are practically unbreakable. Every piece of the design was constructed in such a way that the most paranoid of leaders might sleep with less concern they would be murdered for their title—yet the room was stained with blood. To remind them of the price of power. As you have noticed, there is no balcony and only one door. The guards outside that door have already received the updated registries. All of Alpha Sector is on alert, and Central is under their control.”

She didn’t care about the room or the fact that he claimed to have cornered her far better than Jacques might.

The man set the cases on the bed, rifling through their contents before snapping on gloves.

Wincing when he touched her face, Brenya closed her eyes and reminded herself to breathe.

“Had Jacques taken the time to pay attention to what was going on in your head, you would have been locked in this room ages ago.”

The prick of a needle entered the swelling flesh of her check, a shock of stinging injection that left her trapping a groan in her throat.

Sweet numbness followed. Until he pricked a new spot, and then another.

When the pain subsided enough that Brenya might unclench her jaw, she answered, “I have always enjoyed the color red.”

A hint of a smirk came to the man threading a curved needle with wire. “As have I.”

The Bernard flag was red. Commendations came on red ribbons. That is where her mind went when the first stab of the needle pierced her flesh. Though painless, the tug and pull of suturing skin was unpleasant.

Yet, Jules Havel proceeded quickly, as if he had sewn skin to skin many times