Page 17 of Broken By the Battleship

Does it matter? He’s feeding my brothers. They have somewhere to sleep tonight—his decree to start their training ensures they’ll survive until the morning—and if he’s willing to invest other resources, such as utensils, then surely he doesn’t intend to kill them like most alphas would.

My brothers may be young, but they’ll grow and become a threat. Since my parents were alpha and omega, the likelihood of my brothers presenting as alphas is high.

My father would have murdered them the day they were born if I hadn’t hidden them in the closet with me when he visited.

Yet the alpha who vowed revenge on my father feeds them.

The front door hisses closed. Scarred feet stride into view. I look up—and up—past the towel, bandage, and muscles to meet his cruelly beautiful emerald orbs.

The towel shifts as his cock hardens. My core clenches and slick smears between my thighs.

“I ate,” I murmur, but I’m not sure if I say them to myself or to him.

“And I promised,” he says as he drops into a squat.

My breath hitches as he strokes his thumb along my jawline.

“I keep my promises, kitten, no matter what it takes.”

“What about the promise you made my father?”

“What about it?”

“You told him you’d break us.”

Fear skitters down my spine as he smirks, but an unexpected softness brackets his eyes. Agony rips through me again, so suddenly I cry out before my entire body clenches and cuts off the sound.

When the worst passes, I haul in a deep breath and savor his pheromones as they mingle oh so perfectly with mine. An absent-minded hum escapes my chest as callused fingers frame my face. I lift my heavy eyelids and sink into green wonder.

“I promised to make you mine, kitten. The breaking is a bonus.”

His masculine rumble scrambles my senses, and, without my permission, my hands explore his thick biceps and shoulders.

“But breaking hurts,” I whisper.

“Yes, it does, and I won’t hold back. You won’t, either. Give me everything, kitten, and I’ll piece you back together on the other side.”

I shouldn’t trust him. Shouldn’t believe him. Shouldn’t even want to.

But I do.

His mouth covers mine and I gasp at the unexpected intimacy. He takes advantage and sweeps his tongue between my teeth. Desire roars through me, much gentler than the waves of estrous yet no less demanding, and I whimper as he dominates my mouth with firm intensity.

He lifts me into his arms and stalks toward the center of the room, but when he stoops to set me down, I cringe away from the mat.

Slick gushes down my thighs, wetting the tacky surface and puddling onto the floor as I straddle the edge.

“It’s gross,” I snarl.

I hiss as fabric hits my face, my alpha throwing the thin sheet at me as he walks away from me yet again.

Despair and fury snap through me, but another cramp erases them.

Instinct takes over. I spread the sheet over the mat and tuck the edges underneath so none of the blue shows. When I reach for the pillow, the sound of squeaking hinges pulls my attention across the room.

The Battleship opens the furthest cage and pulls out three folded quilts.

I want them.

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