Alpha Chief: Wilds of Wynmere: Sci-Fi Omega Mpreg Romance by Petit Jamie

Author:Petit, Jamie [Petit, Jamie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2020-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Canthor

Canthor’s fist slammed into the rock beside Merrick’s head. His cheek seemed to burn where he’d been touched. That was all he felt, barely registering the way he’d rent the flesh from the back of his fingers. His fist unfolded against the softened stone as he dragged his nails, his other hand joining along the other side of Merrick, until he reached shoulders and his hands moved over them to grip at the throat.

All the rage inside him couldn’t make him tighten his fingers and crush that vulnerable neck. It was as if there was a steel collar there. Canthor’s arms rippled with the effort of execution, but it wouldn’t transmit down past his wrists.

Then he was screaming. He screamed incoherently against the body before him. He began to shake him violently. “Why won’t you hate me?? WHY?” he roared. He repeated this again and again until he saw the smile on Merrick’s face. And it all subsided. It burned low and lower until it was all ember, and tears could come to end it. “Why won’t you hate me?”

The skin beneath his was… skin. His first touch of a human. His hands relaxed. It was like all at once Merrick’s words snapped into place. As if before they had been a puzzle scattered, and, in the next moment, each twisting, infuriating edge was flush against another. This was skin, indeed. He had expected it to feel different somehow. More rough; perhaps a film of something grotesque lining it. Instead it was no different than one of his own kind. Perhaps a bit softer, given Merrick’s officer life.

It was completely unremarkable. And in that it was utterly remarkable. It was one small truth made manifest from those very words that had churned up his wrath and driven their flesh together.

It was wonderful, sensual flesh—warm and gently trhobbing with an overworked pulse. Indeed, he could feel Merrick’s own heart, his blood, rushing beneath. Canthor searched for his anger. Yes, he could feel the blood, that filthy human blood that could never touch his own, much less ever be blended in a… a child.

Canthor seemed outside himself as his thumbs pricked up and began to ever so slowly ride up Merrick’s neck—and back down. He caressed there, where artery coursed against throat.

There’s tears, too. Canthor noticed those after he noticed his gentle caress. He could stop neither.

“What is this?” he asked. “What are you doing to me?”

“I’m not doing anything,” said Merrick.

“No, no, no. No. This is wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate you. I hate every one of you.”

“Do you really? Do you really want to hurt me?”

“Yes!” A pause. A hesitation. “Yes. This is my cause.”

“It wasn’t always.”

“How would you know?”

“No one speaks English as well as you do without having spent much time around humans. Without having cared enough for the cultures of Earth and the heart of man to have read deeply and widely.”

There was no response. Canthor had nothing. It was true. There had been a time…

“Why do you hate humans so much? Why did you start this movement?”

“I didn’t start it.

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