Is that why Brenya leaned toward the glass?
“You really should have brought her here sooner, Commodore Havel.” Said as Lucia reached across the table andset her fingertip under Brenya’s chin, turning her away from the suddenly grinning Alpha so her face might be inspected. “I’ve never seen separation sickness this advanced. Both of them are a mess.”
Jacques wasn’t banging on the glass again, but he might as well have been. “Brenya, tell him you want to be with me! Tell him to let you in so I can take care of you!”
And before Brenya might slap away Lucia’s hand or cover her ears to drown out Jacques’s growing volume, Lucia began to gag.
“I’m fine—” Voice faltering midsentence, she scrambled to collect one of the discarded covers, vomiting loudly into it.
Brenya had seen this kind of nausea in sisters that had been assigned gestational duties.
Though her stomach was still flat, Luciawaspregnant. That was why she mated with Jacques. Omegas needed tending in order for the fetus to survive. Jules had said so.
Lucia wanted her baby to live… and Jules had arranged it all.
So that Brenya would not have to take Jacques’s cock again.
Lucia washelping. She was a brick in the wall between her and Jacques.
So, Brenya would have to reconcile herself with that, or she might be the one forced to take his knot.
And… what if Lucia didn’t want to? What if it had been awful for her?
The ticking stopped.
A mental switch turned on the rational part of Brenya’s brain, honey eyes running all over Lucia’s uncovered arms, shoulders, and neck, looking for bruises. Looking for marks left by rough hands and a sucking mouth.
Sure… she’d felt Jacques’s pleasure, his efforts to manipulate her through the bond and friction found in Lucia’s pussy. And Brenya had been so caught up in her own suffering, and shame,and physical response, that she had not spared much more than loathing for Lucia.
Which was wrong.
Deeply wrong.
So Omega fingers put down her golden knife. They reached instead for the glass of water and pressed it into the struggling woman’s grip. Voice soft, Brenya urged, “Drink. Little sips.”
And Brenya could acknowledge the very real fear hidden under Lucia’s carefully manicured expression as she panted and worked to obey.
Only to vomit again. More that time.
It didn’t matter that Jacques was watching her like he’d love to eat her right there, clothes and all. It didn’t matter that Jules stared, unblinking. Brenya rose from her chair, circled the table, and helped Lucia hold back all her long, soft hair.
She even patted her back in a way she hoped was helpful.
“You’re gestating. You should be in bed,” said the female who knew little to nothing about babies or how to grow them. But Brenyadidknow standard protocol.
“No.” Grabbing Brenya’s wrist, Lucia forced the woman’s hand to the tiny, hard swell of her lower belly. Made her feel where Ancil’s child grew. “We must have our breakfast every day. It is important. You have duties now. Precious wife to Commodore Havel, mate to the Bernard founding family’s offspring and beloved Alpha. And as Jacques’s official mistress, it is important that we are seen together. It will make the Dome more peaceful, yes? Yes.”
That one gesture may as well have been a scream in Brenya’s ear, a silent plea and warning all at once—Lucia’s child would live or die depending on her compliance.
One rap on the glass, the Alpha no longer in his chair, his body was flush to the bars as his protests came out muffled. “Brenya, she means nothing to me! Do not think I would touchher by choice. Look at me, please! He promised me I would get a chance to explain.” The male started panting, running his fingers through his hair as it mussed up his scalp and further distorted the badly platted braid. “Look at her face, Havel! You have made her sad by bringing that slut here. I told you that bitch was unnecessary!”
But Brenya’s attention wasn’t on her expression or whether or not she felt sad. Or how necessary or unnecessary Lucia might be. She was fixated on something else. On the little hard swell of new life pressing against her palm. How strange it felt. How warm. “Can you feel it?”
“No.” Said with a soft, real, very personal joy, Lucia smiling at her baby, smiling at the life inside her. “She just makes me queasy… pretty much constantly. But fresh air helps.”
The offer was easy, simple, Brenya suggesting, “Then… you should go for a walk.”
“Excellent idea! Let’s go now.” Said with a mischievous grin, as Lucia set her container of vomit on the table and covered it with her napkin.
