Rough Rough (Alpha Brotherhood #3) - Sara Fields Page 0,4

closing me and the future king together in a single room with a reverberating boom.

“What is your name, sigma?” Magnar said gruffly. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought there was a slightly gentler air to his tone now that we were alone together.

“Ariana,” I dared to answer.

“You’re a very unexpected gift, Ariana. I was not prepared to take an omega,” he ventured, stepping down the slightly raised stage that the throne was on.

“I had not expected to be given,” I replied curtly. My mind was still reeling from the information about my genetic makeup. I’d always known I was an omega, destined to give in to instinct and beg to be rutted by an alpha through my heat once it took hold. All my life, I’d taken suppressants to keep my nature at bay, but I had lost them once the Cult took me as their captive.

His eyes turned back on me with a fierce haunted look. He stepped even closer to me and I was made aware of how much taller he was than me. How much bigger. How much stronger. Without any effort at all, he could probably lift me off the floor and toss me across the room as if I was nothing but a pebble in his way.

If he decided to claim me as an alpha, right here, right now, there would be nothing I could do to fight him.

Nature had done that. Nature had made it all but impossible for an omega to fight an alpha. It was my fate and when he finally stood in front of me, my body responded even more vividly to his close vicinity. I could feel the first trickle of my slick dripping down the bare folds between my legs. There was no doubt in my mind that he could smell it too.

His rough fingers grasped my chin, and he lifted my eyes toward his. There was a glimmer of recognition in those eyes, but he turned away almost as quickly as his touch had come. I could feel his fingers on my skin long after they left me, electrifying trickles of tension arcing between us whether we wanted them to or not.

“I do not want you. I am to be crowned king and I don’t need a woman at my side to weaken me or distract me from my duty,” he declared forcefully. He refused to look at me and I stared at the back of his tattooed scalp. As he turned, the fur pelt jostled enough to reveal a blood-red layer beneath. I took a brazen step toward him and grabbed the edge, turning it up to look at the fabric. It was the same cloth that the Cultists’ robes were made of.

“You are a Cultist yourself,” I observed, careful to keep any hint of interest out of my voice.

“That I am,” he spat. I let go of the furs as if they had burned my fingers.

I don’t know why I was surprised. It made sense for the Cult to put one of their one on the throne in a city as massive as Kingsworth.

“I am yours to do with as you wish,” I eventually whispered.

He shook his head, and for some insane reason, his refusal to accept me threw me off guard. I wasn’t ready to say I was upset by it, but it was unexpected all the same. I tried to rein in my emotions. It proved difficult.

“Let me tell you how it is going to be, Ariana. You will present yourself as a king’s omega is expected to. You will speak only when spoken to. You will kneel by my feet and serve me whenever I ask it of you. You will be safe at my side, but I will not touch you like an alpha touches an omega,” he said quietly, his voice just loud enough for me to hear.

“If you do not want me, why keep me?” I answered curtly.

“I cannot refuse a gift from the men that gave you to me. It would be disrespectful,” he whispered. His dark green eyes turned back toward me and I realized there were distinctive flecks of yellow in them. On further study, they were quite regal to behold.

A knock sounded on the door and he stiffened before it opened.

“Kneel, omega,” he demanded. He cocked his head to the side arrogantly and pointed cruelly at the floor. I reluctantly knelt down on the fur carpet and sat back on my heels, waiting for what