Emma drags her heels.
Vraik laughs, nervously. “Think he’ll agree to it?”
“It’s the only way we get out of this predicament,” I say.
Emma nudges away from Vraik, running toward Rekker. “Hey, you—”
Vraik is too slow to catch her, and Rekker has already hoisted her around his shoulders.
He grins and winks at us.
He may have led us into danger, but he has somehow found a way into her heart, while my own sinks.
I am an alpha. That means, I do what I have to do. I invade, I conquer, and I take what I need to make mine. My will determines my future. Yet, I see a future with no value.
Even with the Earth’s Resnyx, with the power of the world in our hands, I see no point.
I stare at Emma’s rounded shoulder blades, oxytocin flowing through my blood. I observe the light reflect from her silky hair.
She turns her head, eyes filled with malice.
My heart seems to shatter in pieces, but I’m not sure why. I am an alpha. I am not supposed to feel these things.
Her lips part. Rekker lifts her thick waist, sturdy ass bouncing below. For the first time, my urges aren’t purely primal. They are guided by something that feels like unparalleled potentiality.
She is beautiful. No – she is the most perfect creature I have ever laid eyes on.
Suddenly, I understand why I’m feeling this way. We stand to gain so much more by understanding her.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” she curses.
I snap out of it, frowning. She can stay angry as long as she wants. This is what she wanted.
“Nothing,” I mutter. “I was just thinking.”
We have spent too much time appeasing her moods.
The sound of gunfire echoes nearby. Sharing glances, we run into the dark recesses of the walkway, near the outside marketplace.
Heavy boots clammer in lockstep rhythm. Low, chanting voices bring clanking robotic figures, dragging weaponry alongside their pack.
Frantic, I look around. On the other end of the street is a manhole. “We’ll hide there,” I hiss.
Their footsteps are coming closer. Their chants grow loudly, low incantations of pain and punishment.
Masks hide their viciously scarred faces, remnants of systematic torture by the Empire’s hand. Their past makes them unworthy of normal citizenship, so they are given free rein to commit terror.
As the death brutes round the corner, we lower inside and force the cover back in place.
Cupping my hand over her mouth, I whisper, “Don’t say a word. They’ll skin you alive.”
Their boots step over our heads, unaware of the threat below. When the line ends, I see a flashing sign loom above:
Avoid persecution. Sign up for the yearly lottery today!
I hang my head. “Listen, Emma,” I say. “This place is a thousand times worse than Earth. Keep your eyes glued to the ground, and avoid the sentinels at all costs.”
She cowers away from me, standing with tears. “What is the ceremony?” she asks. “Tell me, or I will scream.”