Page 7 of The Blind Hordesman

“I see no difference between the two of you.”

He steps back. “I expect you to feed me as well, and service me as you would your Alpha. If you do what I ask, I will ensure you’re well cared for in the Collector camp. Seer will simply turn you in to the Collectors and move on. He won’t give a shit what happens after he’s rid of you. You understand me?”

“I think you’re threatening me.”

He walks backward, gaze lingering on my body before he leaves. I stare out the window where Warlords and hounds have occupied every inch of the ranch and beyond, hoping I can keep my shit together and not try running or slapping one of them, namely the Hordesman.

Instead of taking my time with the meal as I would with King Father’s, I set potatoes to boil and cut whatever meat I first get my hands on. Plate piled with food, I add oranges for dessert and get the carrot cake we baked two days ago, but stop on my way to the cellar, wondering if the Warlord Alpha drinks wine. King Father liked wine, but only while here at home. He used to say drinking on the job was a weakness that impaired good judgment. Gonna grab the Hordesman a bottle of our finest wine with the highest alcohol percentage.

Hushed voices and the odor of a musky dry cellar greet me when I enter the cold place. The old cellar door I could never oil enough not to make noise creaks, announcing my arrival. The whispering stops. I pretend as if I didn’t hear anything and stroll along the wine racks. Hmmm. The Death Hordesman sounds like a bourbon kind of a guy. I can’t imagine him even holding a wineglass between those big callused fingers. Yeah, he’s a bourbon guy. He’d drink something fast and hard. I bet that’s exactly how he makes love. Hard and fast, pounding furiously into… Okay, then. I get the aged bourbon and climb the steps. At the top, near the door, I contemplate pretending like I’ve left and closed the door, but staying to hear my sisters’ whispers. If I take any more time, I might piss off the Alpha, and he’ll put me back in the cage. Not that he needs a reason to do what he wants with me. No Alpha ever needs a reason. They do what they want with us. I climb back into the kitchen.

I place the dinner setting on the tray, my gaze straying up into the sky, wondering when Daddy’s surveillance drones will make their round. Daddy keeps an eye on me. I don’t fear these males. Daddy won’t let them have me. Even as I think it, I know it’s not true. King Father would do anything for the control of the space gate, and last week, before he left the ranch, he told me the King of Regha sold his firstborn Omega child for a Telean alliance. Daddy sounded impressed. I wondered why he’d tell me that story only a week before he led the Death Hordesman here. Daddy knew the Hordesman would find this place since he knows this Hordesman hunts him like a hound.

Soft clicking over the wooden floor jars me away from my thoughts. By the door, my rooster stands, a terrified look on his face. I approach slowly. He doesn’t even preen or try to run. Poor animal. I pat his soft feathers and pick him up with one hand and the tray with the other. Juggling the two, I walk outside to where Warlords are almost done setting up their camp. Massive males, a little smaller than King Father, give me a wide berth as I walk through their ranks. They’ve dug out firepits in the middle of my ranch. Maybe they’ll forget the fire and burn alive.

At Death’s tent, I take a deep breath, not knowing what will greet me inside. Could be a naked Alpha telling me to get on my knees, could be his ax at my throat, could be the cage. He could’ve had dinner out there with everyone but ordered one from me just to piss me off.

Before I enter, I announce myself. “Dinner is here, dear.” Inwardly, I chuckle. Should’ve said “dearest.” Maybe next time.

“Come in, dearest.”

Dickhead. I part the tent’s flap with the tray and enter to find the Hordesman at his desk, pencil in hand, scribbling over a large piece of paper. I approach the desk and put the tray over whatever he’s drawing. In one swift move, he yanks the paper from under the tray and rolls it. He puts it inside a large brown sack and kicks the sack away. His nose wiggles. “You brought me dead red meat and a live chicken?”

“You can have red meat. This bird is the only male left. And if you kill him, I’ll poison you. I swear it, Hordesman.”

“You can’t poison me, Pup. I can smell that shit from a mile away.”

“That’s what the other Alpha said.”

The Hordesman widens his eyes, but recovers quickly. “My hound will eat your pet.”

Next to the desk, the hound’s ears twitch as if he knows we’re talking about him. He probably does.

“Order him not to,” I say.

“Ayo, don’t eat the chicken.”

The hound grunts, eyes drifting closed. I think he’s tired. I bet he is. The Hordesman is said to ride for days, never resting his animals or his army. King Father said this tempo will be his demise. Father will catch him when they settle and kill them all.

“It’s a rooster,” I correct the Hordesman.

He smiles. “A cock.”

“Rooster.”

“Cockster. Gonna name him Cockster.”

“You can’t name the rooster.”

“But I did.”

Annoyed, I pull up a chair and go to sit across from him, only then noticing a bucket full of steaming water by his feet. When I go to sit down, he tsks. “Return the chair to the place where you found it and keep it there. All things in this tent should be kept in their place the way you found them. I get testy when my quarters are messy.” He extends a hand and motions for me, then moves to sit right in front of the bucket.

I watch him.

“Come and kneel, princess.” He smiles.

I know he’ll have me serve him as an Omega would serve an Alpha. Rooster placed in the cage and door closed, I walk around Death’s desk and kneel.

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