December Read online

  The Sacred Omegas

  Book One - December

  By

  Merel Pierce

  © 2019 Merel Pierce

  and

  Reticent Desire Publications

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Editing: Rachel DaSilva of Radical Freelance

  Pierce, Merel

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7338370-0-2

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written consent of the author. This includes electronic or mechanical transmission, photocopying, recording, information retrieval systems or storage.

  Any names, businesses, places, or events used in this work are fictional. Any similarities to living or dead people, incidents, companies, products, or organizations are purely coincidental.

  This book is set in a world where criminal regimes reign. There will be strong language, violence, and scenes of assault that may trigger some readers. You may cringe, you may cry, you may rage, but I promise, if you can bear to fight through that darkness, light and a HEA wait for you on the other side. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. It is a work of fiction and intended for adults only. You have been warned.

  This book is dedicated to Addison and

  Anastasia for inspiring me, and to everyone else

  who offered encouragement and support as I

  embarked on this new adventure. Thank you,

  from the bottom of my heart.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Merel Pierce

  Chapter 1

  December woke slowly, fighting a drug-induced haze for consciousness. She was cold, and the stiffness of her body suggested she had been for some time. The unpleasantness of her situation was only made worse by the noises forming a morbid sort of music around her. It was the subdued echoes of other people’s misery.

  They sobbed and whimpered softly. They coughed and begged for someone to help them. The air stank of fear and desperation. She didn’t need full use of her faculties to know she was being held captive. That much was plain enough.

  She was patient, waiting for the influence of the medication to fade as she focused on her breathing. December tried to assess her surroundings using those senses currently available to her. Despite her impairment, she identified the scents of least four females and two males in close proximity. All beta, all scared.

  She could hear several other males nearby, but the quality of their scents and the casualness of their speech told her they weren’t victims like those nearest to her.

  Two, possibly three alphas… maybe as many upper level betas, but they were just far enough away that it was difficult to be certain. When one male ventured near enough for her to filter out his particular scent, she wrinkled her nose distastefully against the overt aggression and lust that burned its way through her sinuses. It was very telling, that smell. It spoke of ill will and a bad temperament.

  Her lashes fluttered, her brow knitting with the effort of forcing open her eyes. When she finally managed it, her eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light now filtering into her iris. Even as dark as it was, the faint glow of the LED lights still seemed painfully bright.

  Her vision remained blurry, and her view of the room before her was skewed by the fact that she was lying on her side. Still, she couldn’t help thinking it was better than the pitch black she’d been stuck in the past few hours.

  There was a chain link panel only inches from her nose. Judging by the two horizontal pipes running alongside one another at its bottom, it appeared to be a gate. December rolled her eyes purposefully upwards. A track of cool blue lighting ran the length of the industrial looking hallway just beyond her current resting place. On the opposite side of the hall, a raised walkway stood some four feet above the floor, a metal railing bordering its edge. Against this railing leaned an alpha, the first one she would see.

  He was bent at the waist, his arms draped somewhat casually over the metal rail. His eyes were focused intensely on something outside of her line of sight. What it was, she couldn’t see.

  He was dressed somewhat impractically, in a grey long john shirt and cargo pants that were both two sizes too small. Undoubtedly, it was a conscious choice meant to showcase the excessive bulk of his muscles. Mission accomplished.

  A square jaw full of stubble and a hawk-like nose were accented by frigid blue eyes that peered out from beneath thick eyebrows and a mop of shaggy wheat-colored hair. Large and imposing as he was, the male’s relaxed posture made it clear that he didn’t pose an immediate threat.

  The sound of booted feet approaching stole her attention, and she narrowed her gaze as another alpha approached from down the hall. Through hooded lashes, she watched the distorted image of the looming giant as he strode past with all the pent-up hostility of a caged tiger. The hair on the back of her neck prickled in warning. This was the one that smelled dangerous.

  The sound of his footsteps faded, but returned just as quickly as he seemed to reach the end of his track and turned to retrace his path. She watched his retreat less cautiously, her gaze focusing on the way the muscles of his shoulders and back bunched and twitched with impatience beneath his tan fatigues.

  Once he vanished from sight, she resumed her silent observations. Her vision was nearly clear now, and the added crispness to the images she saw renewed her focus. Behind the lounging alpha, a metal door with no handle broke the uniformity of the wall. An intercom and accompanying keypad were mounted at its side. Half a floor above, two windows of dark tinted glass were centered above the platform. It reminded her of the two-way wall mirrors used in interrogation rooms of police stations. It was easy to imagine someone standing behind the smoky glass, watching the happenings on the floor below.

  December took a deep breath in through her nose, trying to locate the other people she knew were nearby. Though she couldn’t see him, she could hear one of upper level betas speaking in a foreign language somewhere down the hall. The clipped tones of the dialect were surprisingly familiar.

  Three of those that she’d scented were sharing space with her. There were two females and a male behind her. Feminine whimpers tainted the air, their fear making it stale and thick.

  She continued in this way for some time, lying still and simply observing the happenings around her and pretending to sleep. The men seemed to be waiting for something. They only spoke to each other in their old-world Russian dialect, a language that wasn’t common in Meron. In fact, there was only one faction she could think of that was known for speaking it. Nikolai Petrovski’s Bratva.

  From what little she gleaned, they were in a holding cell of sorts. A transfer station for prisoners accused of crimes against the Bratva. The destination for each visitor had not yet been cemented, but none of the “contract assignments” they discussed promised an improvement over th
eir current situation.

  Most people who committed offenses against Petrovski’s reign were “reassigned” to some sort of labor as a means of penance. Much like the schemes that promised freedom once the debt was repaid, it was very difficult to earn your way out once you were put to work. Death was the only alternative to indentured servitude if you refused.

  Slowly, she sat up. She felt behind her and found another chain link panel. Scooting back, she braced herself against it. Now upright, December sent a cautious glance towards the pen’s other occupants.

  The females were huddled together in one corner, the male in the other. The two girls were young, younger than she, even. The male was middle-aged and scruffy.

  A sudden cramp caused her to wince, and her hands instinctively went to her belly. She compressed her lips against the pain, grinding her teeth as she waited for it to pass. When she felt a small amount of wetness between her legs, she grimaced. While she wasn’t surprised, the timing was less than convenient. Unfortunately, it had been happening more frequently these days. The familiar nausea and headache would come next, accompanied by the sweats and overwhelming dizziness that had been plaguing her for weeks.

  December had been hunting for a doctor who had access to a lab, ultrasound, and radiograph equipment for days, but had yet to find one who was willing to risk taking on new clients. After all, this sector of the city was closely monitored, and nothing people did went unnoticed.

  She could understand the physician’s need for caution. The city wasn’t what it used to be. Now, providing any kind of service came with risk. The price of protection was an exorbitant tax, and broken bones if you didn’t pay your weekly dues. It wasn’t a unique scenario, but one that the citizens of Meron had been blessedly unfamiliar with until recent times. Now, most of its residents lived in a constant state of fear, scurrying around like nervous rats who were trying to avoid the attention of their feline overlords.

  A decade before, organized crime had been on the decline for more than fifty years. The Italian mafia had been almost completely eradicated, and their Russian counterparts hadn’t done much better. The smaller organizations and gangs had been stamped out altogether by a justice system that strived to make an example of each and every criminal that entered its courtrooms and prisons. The government's campaign against crime had been a point of pride in those days.

  When war ravaged the borderlands six years before, all able-bodied and honest men were asked to report for drafting into military service. Many answered the call, and nearly as many had been slaughtered in battle. The lack of respectable men in the city left it vulnerable and devastated its population.

  After the war took so many of its citizens, the justice system found itself fractured by the lack of enforcement officers and staff. It was overburdened, made weak by the constant assault on the city’s morality by criminals who hadn’t gone to fight alongside their brothers. It wasn’t long before a battle for the city’s soul erupted, and what few politicians and law-abiding representatives left standing at the end had defected. Those who hadn’t were slaughtered.

  Consequently, that was how they’d arrived at their current situation -- a rise in criminal enterprise. A growth that went nearly unchecked and unchallenged, save by other criminals.

  December let her gaze slide back towards the beta male in the corner and was inwardly dismayed to see his nostrils flare with interest. She couldn’t explain the pheromone-laden liquid that accompanied her pains. As if the discomfort itself wasn’t bad enough, she now had to contend with any males that were close enough to scent her when it happened.

  Thankfully, it was only ever a small, solitary amount that accompanied the arrival of each cramp. Had it been a steady flow, it might have been more difficult to manage. She met his gaze and mouthed the word ‘NO’ at him, her eyes promising violence if he dared to make a scene. She clamped her thighs together tight and tried to steady her breathing.

  While he didn’t move, his eyes flickered towards the apex between those thighs as he unconsciously licked his lips. December sighed. Whatever this ailment of hers was, it was becoming a serious problem.

  She stole a cautious glance towards the hall, immediately dropping her gaze to the floor when she noted the distant approach of their more dangerous guard. He clomped by their pen just as he had numerous times before, and she felt a small twinge of relief that he didn’t appear to have noticed what the more easily controlled beta in her pen had.

  The feeling was destined to be short-lived. The sound of his footfalls halted abruptly, stopping just past their pen. Inwardly, she grimaced when she heard him inhale loudly. There was a grating sound as he pivoted slowly on his heel, and a moment later the shadowed bulk of his form was blocking out the light as he paused in front of her gate. The massive male inhaled pointedly through his nose, loudly enough that everyone in her pen winced and scrambled to make themselves seem smaller.

  From somewhere behind the mountain of muscle a voice called out a warning in the shared language of the men. “We do not touch unsorted arrivals, Riktor. You know this.”

  December heard. She understood. But this man called Riktor seemed not to care for the warning of his comrade. He was far too distracted by her scent, and to her dismay she could see his pupils already beginning to expand. His smell became overwhelming, the taint of his growing lust thick as a fog on the air around her. The alpha’s weight shifted, and with a wrenching clang of metal he jerked open the gate.

  Before she had a chance to react, he’d reached down to snatch hold of her arm. He jerked her to her feet so harshly that she wondered if it was possible to get whiplash from such handling. Despite her disgust, she stayed still when the alpha tangled his hand in her hair and jerked her neck back, bowing her at an uncomfortable angle and baring her throat so that he might press his nose to delicate flesh and draw in breath. Through gritted teeth she dared to address him in his own language. “He says no touch, asshole!”

  He growled viciously, and December gasped as the action sent dozens of tiny painful pulses through her body and saturated her core with searing heat. To her dismay, another wave of wetness saturated her panties. It was an unpleasant, unnatural feeling. She grunted as the hand in her hair tugged cruelly, angling her so that he might sniff the other side of her throat as well. He drew a long breath, another rumbling growl causing her to whimper in pain as she spasmed. Confused by her body’s reaction, she lashed out.

  There was no mindless thrashing or screeching. Instead, she used the steadiness of the hand knotted in her hair as leverage to rear back and land a well-placed kick to his knee. Even being so much smaller than him, the pressure of her heel and the angle of her kick could likely break his kneecap.

  As the beast of a man howled his pain, she pushed her thumbs into his eye sockets, digging her nails into the surrounding flesh and holding on for dear life. The beast went down, crushing her beneath him on the corridor floor and knocking the air from her lungs.

  He wrenched himself free of her grip on his head, roaring furiously as his hands closed around her throat, his bulk smashing her further into the ground. His eyes bloody and his vision blurred, he gnashed his teeth as his fingers tightened and bruised. The alpha’s lust had turned to rage the moment she dared fight back. What might have been only a brutal rape had quickly dissolved into a murderous need to see her punished.

  Chaos erupted around them. An alarm blared, men were shouting, and the frightened screams of female prisoners filled the air. Soon, the pounding of her own pulse had become so loud that she couldn’t hear anything but the desperate throbbing in her temples.

  Droplets of blood splattered down on her face from above, dripping from his injured sockets as she clutched uselessly at his wrists. There was a small bit of satisfaction in the knowledge that she’d damaged the foul beast of a man. Imagining the sort of fate awaiting her if she were sorted with the rest of the prisoners, she supposed death was really the more merciful option. Judging by how rapidly the world
was slipping away, she was grateful she wouldn’t suffer long. December closed her eyes and let the darkness engulf her.

  ***

  Men were speaking in aggravated whispers. She caught only the barest bits of conversation. Random words that were hard to string together. “Riktor has been detained.” “It’s dangerous here, she should be moved—” “Keep her sedated.” “It’s going to take several days for the drugs to clear her system.”

  She moaned pitifully. Her head throbbed, but at least the pain was cloudy and muted now. The voices faded, and the abyss yawned up to greet her once more.

  How long she stayed this way was difficult to say. There was no concept of time in the darkness of her sedated slumber. She occasionally neared consciousness, caught snippets of conversation, or the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment. But no matter how she struggled, she couldn’t force her eyes to open.

  As time wore on, she began to feel worse. She grew fevered, her stomach twisted uncomfortably and made her rest fitful. She felt extremely ill. Finally, when the discomfort grew too great, her pain was unexpectedly soothed. The source of her relief was unknown to her, but it worked so effectively she thought it must be a drug.

  As the days passed, however, she realized her initial assumption had been mistaken. The source of her comfort was a sound, not a medication. It was a rich, rumbling wave of white noise that forced the tension from her muscles and soothed her nerves. While she was grateful, it was supremely frustrating that she couldn’t identify its source.

  One day, as her mind floated closer to consciousness, she felt a tickle in her throat. She coughed. Her brow furrowed, lashes fluttering in surprise. She hadn’t had enough control to move, let alone cough, in what felt like ages. Cautiously, she flexed her fingers. There was movement. Her muscles grew rigid with anticipation. Whatever drugs she’d been given were wearing off, and similar to her experience in the chain link cell, December waited.