Redeeming Her Alpha

 Redeeming Her Alpha 

Zinn is an omega in a tribe of feral omega warrior women, but she isn't one of them. Not only did her mother break one of their most sacred laws, but Zinn was injured as a child and is considered an unacceptable.

But she isn’t weak. When it comes to saving her younger brother, she will do anything. Even steal an alpha’s daughter.

This book picks up with Merrick, who has changed his name again, and started over. But life in the Un isn't easy. Hardship robbed him of his best friends and left him with a daughter that he will do anything to protect. 

He’s learned to cherish the small things. When someone tries to come between what him and what he loves most how far will he have to go to keep her safe?

Coming Soon

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CHAPTER 1

Zinn

Zinn paused for her half-brother Petar to shove the wood they’d gathered into the basket strapped to her back. They’d worked out a system between them to lighten the workload since he’d been assigned to gather kindling with her.

 Her bad arm, hurt in a fall as a youngling, made the simplest of daily tasks difficult. She was thankful to have the seven-year-old’s help. With one side of Zinn’s body useless and the other constantly aching from doing all the extra work, gathering wood was harder than she liked to admit.

“Quit moving. Bend down a little,” Petar commanded in his big-man voice.

The boy was getting tall, but he still had a few years before his voice would deepen, and his orders always came out squeaky like a mouse pretending to be a wolf.

“Yes, sir. As you say, sir,” Zinn chirped.

“For a short omega, you’re too tall,” Petar griped. It wasn’t a real gripe; he’d been practicing one-upping and teasing her whenever they had a chance. He couldn’t match her level of sarcasm yet, though.

He’d be taller than her before he reached twelve years old—if the elders even let him stay in the warren that long. Zinn thought they wouldn’t. Petar was an alpha. Neither he nor Zinn could ignore the nature he’d been born with. Although they shared a sire, the warren elders forbade male family members, and Zinn didn’t know how to save him from what the others would do.

He had a wild mop of curls the same color as her own hair, dirty brown. Although, some of that might be grime since their regulated baths never washed more off than the top layer. They shared identical slanted eyebrows others said made them appear sour-faced, set over dark, wildwood-green and brown-speckled eyes. Their sire’s eyes.

“Hold still, quit squirming.” The force he used to fill her basket almost shoved her to her knees. 

He was too strong already. Growing too fast.

“Let me finish this. Get to your own.” She brushed away a few unexpected tears as if moss had gotten into her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Focused on the task, he didn’t seem to hear the slushy, sad sound mucking up her voice. 

 The day was coming when the elders would decide Petar was no longer a child, but a dangerous enemy alpha to be sent away or killed.

They’d do it before he could stand up for himself, while they could still carry him away if they had to, while making a big noisy show in the warren’s main room. Hetete would point out all the dangers of his behavior, even though none existed. Bastete would tell of his ominous strength. The oldest among them would dramatically retell their shared history, reminding all the women of the warren why alphas couldn’t be trusted. Even little boys who hadn’t fully presented.

Then the sirrah would take him down to the valley where his own kind, the other alphas, could find him. At least, that was what the elders said they did. It was a badly kept secret that the sirrah themselves would make certain male children never returned from that journey.

It hadn’t always been this way. Once, young males like Petar received a celebration at their birth. They weren’t shoved off to the side and declared unacceptable before the sirrah, and then later taken away from the group. Mombie had shared stories with Zinn about living with alphas—the days when families built villages and survived in the wild lands together. It was all her mother had known before the attack that sent her people away from the valley. She had always insisted that gentle alphas existed.

“It’s almost full,” Petar said, ignoring Zinn’s request. He pushed more sticks down into the basket and Zinn rocked to the side.

“Hurry up there, you two,” Odessa, the sirrah guarding them, commanded from her perch on an upper ridge.

 Years younger than Zinn, Odessa had fulfilled her training and testing months before to become a sister-hunter. A big feast followed the completion of whatever mysterious tests the other sirrah put her through, and now Odessa demonstrated her newly found position by lording over everyone at every opportunity, swinging her authority around like the weight of her hair beads.

Zinn hadn’t celebrated Odessa—would rather fork out an eye or cut off her good arm before raising her cup to the first sister’s daughter.

“Hurry up there, you two,” Petar mimicked Odessa, his voice hushed. Sound carried down better than it carried up; they’d practiced to be sure. Private moments were rare. They took them when they could.

“I need a nap and this rock is digging into my butt cheeks,” Zinn mocked the other woman in a petulant, spoiled voice. Odessa was a sturdy, well-fed omega. Of the three of them, she did the least amount of work and got the most to eat.

Earlier, they’d even been certain they heard her snoring somewhere above them. She was supposed to be on watch, but she didn’t take her duty very seriously.

It had been months since the elders allowed anyone to leave the warren without a sirrah for protection. Not since a party of sister hunters returned from a trade visit with news that all the other omega tribes in the area were gone. Their homes had been abandoned, not raded. The last storm had washed away any tracks left behind. It was almost as if they’d planned to disappear.

Before her death, Mombie warned the elders and the sirrah that if they didn’t find a way to live with males again, one day their tribe might be the only one left in these hills.

“Let me help you,” Zinn said to Petar. He was trying to break a branch into workable pieces. One of the hand axes would make this so much easier, but as a male, he wasn’t permitted the use of tools with an edge.

“I got it. I got it. You start back. We don’t want her to get impatient.” 

Zinn looked in Odessa’s direction, frowning. The other woman’s muddy colored braids flashed between the spiked branches of the trees as she worked her way in their direction.

Letting Petar finish his tasks, Zinn did as he’d suggested. He was right. It was time to go. Best not to give Odessa an excuse to be cruel to either of them.

The entrance to the warren was hidden within a triangle of rocks between the trunks of two helpfully leaning trees—difficult to see from any direction. Zinn tried to make herself believe the footpaths worn into the soil by their people looked like game trails, and nothing more. One of Odessa’s duties when she escorted was to clear away any evidence her charges left behind, scrubbing away their presence from the hills.

Zinn new she never did it.

As Zinn braced herself on the side of a ledge and stepped into a deep divot in the slope, she caught a sound coming from lower down: an animal in pain.

No. Not an animal. A child crying, maybe? She scanned the bushes, trying to identify the source. Surely there weren’t any warren children outside. They rarely came out unless they were old enough to work. By then, they knew to keep their voices down. Sounds could travel for miles, to who-knew-where and who knew what.

Another wail went up, loud and unmistakable this time. A small female, screaming her head off. 

Zinn glanced around in alarm as a distinctive, rasping male shout joined the chaos, booming out slurred words that echoed through the trees. Zinn couldn’t catch what was being said, but the owner of that voice was definitely male. And angry. Some of the feral beast-like alphas could barely form words because of their huge, overgrown teeth. It could be one of them.

An alpha. Despite all of Mombie’s stories about good alphas, Zinn’s heart leapt to her throat at the unexpected danger.

he shouted again, but the noise dropped off abruptly. Then silence, as if he’d lost the ability to continue.

Such out of place noise ricocheting off the ravine walls didn’t add up. Whoever heard of an alpha traveling alone with a child? The elders told tales of bear men alphas bashing in the heads of babies so as not to be troubled with the constant screams of younglings.

Zinn ran through the list of possibilities. There could be a family. Others from the valley or some far away place, driven out of their homes by the bear like men they all feared. Would the sirrah attack a family? Would they attack the sirrah? She’d never heard of it happening. In fact, first sister Bastete always boasted that omegas did not attack other omegas. Not in a confrontation with darts and arrows, at least. Omegas were safe. They were a united sisterhood, sharing in a common suffering.

But Bastete was in the early stages of estrus and suffering a niggling irritation Zinn was very familiar with. She had even talked about getting new breeding stock recently. The one old toothless male and two feeble betas chained in the cell were barely fit for girls hitting their first real heat anymore. Zinn knew this was the sister’s way of getting everyone ready to search for more studs. All this week, she’d taken extra time hunting deer and setting her pit traps, searching for fresh studs under the guise of finding food.

In her mind’s eye, Zinn imagined the sirrah with blow darts ready, creeping down to the edge of the valley, listening for the sound of the bell on the goat they always left for bait, watching for signs of an outcast or lone male. They happened across them somewhat frequently, as if they too searched the hills for shelter and safety. The unwanted and shunned, weak, old, sick and challenge losers came here one by one, never expecting to face a circle of lusting females armed with poison darts.

In her prime, Bastete, went through men faster than the warren could consume a pot of rabbit stew in the late of the dead season. She used them, sometimes shared them. Routinely killed them.

Raped before her maturation cycle, the first sister punished every male she rode during her heats, proudly making them suffer for every hurt of her past. It was her right. Her duty. According to her. Since becoming first sister she had done this in front of everyone, in the prized place by the big fire in their main room.

The bear like alphas were a murdering poison, and for every one that died, ten more replaced him, she said. Those males could not be bonded. An omega must never give her bite. That was the past. Worthy males no longer existed. The bear men had murdered them all. Only a weak-willed, confused female would try to bite one of the feral alphas that were left.

Mombie had believed none of that. But she was dead, as were those few others who dared to agree with her. 

The screaming child seemed closer now. Its outrageous noise filled up the ravine, calling for attention–the last thing anyone in the area would desire. The males of the valley rarely hunted this way though–they liked their big, clop-footed horses too much. Thankfully, those horses hated the hills. Small blessings.

The trees grew scattered and irregular in the areas between ancient stone debris and bushy plants near the warren entrance they’d been headed for when the noise began. From Zinn’s position, she caught glimpses of seven sirrah below. Bastete stood off to the side, holding something  that squirmed in her arms, trying to escape. The child, Zinn reasoned. The others worked together to cart what she assumed was the male she’d heard, who was overflowing the wagon they’d thrown him in. Bastete’s threats and promises echoed out, aiding the other sirrah in the chore of dragging the heavy wagon toward the lower entrance. Zinn new they’d be looking to get him inside before he stirred.

Hetete, the second sister and Bastete’s twin, trailed behind, further downhill. Her head popped up and down as she moved. Zinn guessed she was attempting to erase the evidence of their passing as best she could. At least Odessa’s aunt knew her duty to the warren.

Bastete’s bundle made more noise. Loud, outraged squeals and cries, calling to the unconscious man. “Da, Da, Da, Da!”

The body in the wagon bucked. Had the sirrah not been beside the cart helping to push, it would have tipped over. Hetete cursed, yelling at them. “Dart him again. Do it proper this time, you mules. What is wrong with you?”

The whole group disappeared behind the trees, and Zinn held her breath. A male, and a child. They should not have brought him here. Couldn’t they see this was different? That child clearly relied on him, loved him from the sound of it. If he abused her, would she still have called for him when the sirrah ‘rescued’ her? Zinn didn’t think so.

Petar finally reached her side. “What is all that racket? I heard the second sister. Did someone let a baby out? What are you doing? Why are you standing there?” He fired questions faster than Zinn could answer.

“We’ve got to go,” he added, gently nudging her good side. “You’re blocking the path and Odessa is coming. I think it’s your turn for a beating. You promised me you’d take the next one, remember? Zinn, why are you still standing there?”

A second later, an arrow swooshed into the tree in front of Zinn. “Why are you standing around, scat?”

Zinn’s hand went to her cheek. She’d felt the air move with the passing of that arrow. It had been much too close, and Odessa sounded pleased with herself. 

“You don’t hear them, see them? I’ve been watching them for a while. Hunting party coming back.” Zinn couldn’t help herself. She should stay quiet, but she just couldn’t. Odessa was such an idiot. She’d never met a girl more proud of her own stupidity.

Petar stepped around her, his overstuffed basket poking at Zinn’s side, anxious to be away from Odessa. “Are we going or not? I have scrub duty today too, Zinn.”   

Petar worked hard for one so young, hoping his usefulness might earn him mercy from the sirrah elders. Constantly trying to prove himself as a good alpha who was worthy of them, he always completed more than his fair share of work. He didn’t understand that his strength and dutifulness worked against him. He needed to be scrawny and stupid, weak. Otherwise, he was still a threat. Zinn reminded him over and over to act like a beta, to pretend to be needy and helpless, but he couldn’t go against his inborn nature.

“I’m just a dutiful midge, waiting for the big, strong sirrah’s permission to take my basket to the woodpile,” Zinn told him.

Petar glanced over his shoulder with a glare—giving her the full force of his moody eyebrows—silently warning her to not get in trouble with Odessa,

“Dutiful, my ass. Lazy, mouthy, worthless scum, that’s what you are. Or did you forget? Need me to help jog your memory?” Odessa poked Zinn in the elbow with the arrow she’d just retrieved. 

“I don’t need anything from you, Odessa,” she said sweetly.

“Yes, you do. You’re worthless. A feeder, because all you do is feed off the labor of others. Also, that can’t be the hunting party.”

“I guess it’s not the hunting party, then.”

There was more shouting from the trees, from both sirrah and child alike.

“What is that sound? Not a stud, surely?” Odessa rounded an outcropping of rocks and, looking for a better view.

As a mature omega, and now one of the chosen sirrah, she was in line for breeding rights with a stud. But it was a long line. A very long line. Zinn knew Odessa expected preference as her mother’s daughter, but Bastete only gave preference for gain. There was no gain at all in letting Odessa take a turn with any stud other than old toothless, if Bastete could even be persuaded to give her daughter that. The girl had missed the fact that her mother and aunt didn’t let any unbreeched females near a stud. Odessa’s eyes glittered with the same look of greed she had when she got best choice of meat while so many of her sisters went hungry. Zinn was sure Odessa thought she’d have first rights to this male, too. Just like everything else.

Since the elders had decided Zinn was unfit, she would never get to mate. She’d long ago decided that was fine with her, because then she’d never have to leave a son in the valley, either.

A scuffle broke out down the slope that even Odessa couldn’t miss. Branches broke and rocks tumbled down down the with an ear-scratching rumble. Bastete shouted, and a flock of black birds watching the event decided there was too much noise, and   took flight.

“Get her!” Bastete cried from below. 

Zinn could see the small form of the child trying to escape, struggling through the undergrowth as the sirrah chased her down.

The screaming child grew closer, and Odessa stepped in front of Zinn, blocking her view. “Get back to work.”

 Zinn pointedly moved around Odessa to follow in Petar’s wake. Fine. She’d mind her own business and get her chores done. 

The temperature dropped as she moved inward, becoming cooler with every step she took deeper into these hidden tunnels. Winter still lurked in the corners, a damp slime over every uncared for surface outside the nursery and main room. The way was dark, the passage floor full of cracks and bulging stone. With the wood strapped to her back, Zinn’s balance was off, slowing her pace.

After a terrible attack, on the run, with limited resources and nowhere else to go, Mombie and others from her village had found their haven in this warren—a massive, multilevel stone structure. Zinn had tried to count the levels. She guessed six, from the roof garden to the lower water tunnels, a relic from times gone by. It was hard to say for certain since things weren’t linear here. The warrens were a mass of twisting tunnels and chambers, with multiple entrances and water sources. Ideal shelter for a group of omegas like themselves.

 

Zinn headed to the main room, where lamps, tallow candles, and the main fire provided warmth and light. She was more than ready to get the pack off her back. The straps dug into her shoulders and her bad arm was already aching.

The bulk of the tribe’s life transpired around the the central fire. The high ceiling and strategic gaps in the walls created perfect ventilation for the heat-giving fire. All the sirrah slept here. Zinn tried to avoid it as much as possible.

“Hello, Zinn.” A woman working leather greeted Zinn as she removed her pack.

 Some women in the warren made a point of acknowledging her. She didn’t know why they bothered with the fake kindness. After losing Mombie and watching the way they treated their own sons and lesser sisters, Zinn didn’t care to interact with any of them if it wasn’t necessary.

She didn’t want to earn more reasons for their ire, though, and so nodded her head in acknowledgment as she stacked her load of wood. The alpha and child the sirrah captured still nagged at her mind, a growing unease. Soon, they’d bring him to the great room for everyone to see. A grotesque spectacle. Zinn couldn’t help worrying what they might do with his child.

There was no wondering what the sirrah would do to him.

ZINN

Petar disappeared to do his scrubbing. There was always some kind of scrubbing to do. Pots for food or buckets for crap. He’d seek her out later when he could.

 Zinn sympathized. She knew all about the unpleasant jobs Petar got assigned. She too frequently shared the lowly cleaning and labor tasks. The sirrah cleaned nothing. Their duties were to hunt, protect the warren, and find studs for breeding.

The elders made laws and sat around all day thinking and talking. Sometimes they did something useful or minded the youngest of the babies. In the evenings, they told stories and sang songs for everyone. To Zinn it seemed like a show. There were eleven of them and no one seemed capable of changing an infant’s dirty pants or holding a nervous baby who cried all day. She was always finishing a task one of them started.

The other women in the warren who didn’t hunt and weren’t old, worked on the daily business of living. There was a garden that Mombie and some others had started back in hose first days. It always needed tending, and food preparation never seemed to end.

The din of approaching noise set Zinn’s teeth on edge. She could hear the rickety wheels of the hoist, and she knew the sirrah had managed to bring their prize into the warren. A wash of cool air breezed over her skin as the entrance they usually kept covered with a curtain of skins was opened to clear their way. Everyone in the room perked up, buzzing with energy at the sirrah’s return—as if they could already smell the alpha musk.

Unhurriedly dropping her sticks into the kindling pile like she was oblivious to the show taking place, she kept her eyes on the task at hand. It all had nothing to do with her, and she didn’t want to think about what would happen to them here.

Zinn emptied the last bits of bark of the debris from the basket into the fire and turned to leave. Head down, shoulders slumped, she headed for the nursery chamber where she spent most of her time. It was safe for her there, usually.

“You there. You’re good with children.”

 Hetete had seen her. Damn.Reluctantly, Zinn turned to face the sister who’d spoken.

She and another sirrah had the child tied up like a pig between them, a hood over it’s head. The little one hung there lifeless. It appeared they’d drugged her, too. Didn’t they know the potent mixture they used on alphas could harm someone so small?

“Take her to the nursery. Make sure she lives. Did you see what she did to the first sister? Can’t imagine what she’s been through with that big stud, so don’t trust her. Not until she understands she’s safe here.” Hetete had scratches up her forearm, and her knuckles were bloody and scraped. Zinn guessed that the little girl had tried to hide in some very thorny underbrush and they’d been forced to go in after her. 

The young one obviously disagreed about who was safe and who was not. She was connected to the male—his daughter, maybe.

Hetete and the other woman jostled the child, pressing her into Zinn’s arms. The girl was soft and boneless, forcing Zinn to hold up her full weight.

Standing closer than she’d like to the two sirrah, Zinn could smell the hormone-filled musky slick of their arousal. Being near the alpha had done something uncomfortable to them, which gave Zinn another reason to want to leave the room.

They all drank a special concoction daily that helped suppress an omegas production of slick. The elders said an omega’s scent as they soften and self-lubricate in preparation for their heat could draw males from miles around. Normally it was effective, but the stench was so strong… Hadn’t the sirrah had their cup today? The saturation of the salty, fermented honey and cinder odor in the great room warned her that Bastete and Hetete weren’t the only sisters dealing with an approaching cycle. 

Don’t look at them. Don’t smell them. Don’t care. Zinn buried her nose into the little girl’s neck, scenting the child instead. She smelled like honeysuckle, sunshine, urine and roasted rabbit. How old could she be? Two? Three?

Where had she come from? Where was her dam? Here in this tribe of women, the babe would have no one. No mothers or sisters to fight for her, to stand at her back. Whatever the first sister’s plans for the girl, they would not include kindness. Despite their declarations about all omegas being sisters, Zinn knew an outsider wouldn’t count. The child didn’t matter. Only the male.

In a warren of unmated omega, the alpha’s cock would rise to the task of serving the needy woman surrounding him. His instincts would override his good sense. He would be used, forced to service the chosen, never to be cared for or allowed to bond any female. Alphas who came into this room became little more than a tool, made safe with a gag and bound to the slab in front of the fire, starved into obedience. Just a glance as they brought him in told Zinn he wasn’t like the other aged and ill males who had laid on that rutting bed before him.

Did their catch have any idea what would happen to him here? Was he afraid? Would the never-ending stream of omegas using his body make him forget the child he’d been captured with?

Mombie had taught Zinn that a bonded omega lived a settled life. The haze of pheromones given off by others did not sicken true mates. True mates were stronger as a pair. Mombie had bitten Zinn’s sire, bonded him willingly, and given her strength to him. Briefly, everything had been wonderful. Mombie had been stronger and glowingly happy. Her mate’s health improved. He would live. But then they were discovered, and the sisters had killed him.

Hope and love died in this place.

“Mother, look at him,” Odessa said from over Zinn’s shoulder. A breath of awe. “He has all of his teeth. And they are white.”

“Get him on the slab,” Bastete commanded, and then called out, “Take care with that girl, Zinn. I have plans for her.”

Zinn flinched when the first sister spoke her name. She couldn’t help it, but hated herself for that little weakness. A flare of alarm at the instructions, like ice on the back of her neck, made her squeeze the child tight. Bastete’s interest in someone was never good. 

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