Conquering the Renegade Omega WIDE Read online

  Conquering the Renegade Omega

  The Hunt, book 2

  By

  M.D. Pentacles

  ©2018 M.D. Pentacles

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  *This book is intended for adults only and contains scenes featuring total power exchange which may make some readers uncomfortable.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Taming the Renegade Omega…

  M.D. Pentacles

  Chapter 1

  Renegade had a head start—one she’d bought with her pussy and mouth and every last centimeter of cunning she possessed. Sexual or otherwise. It wasn’t much, considering the size and skill of the men who’d be coming for her, but it was enough to serve her purposes. Enough to see that she would not suffer being kept as their pet. Beholden to them. Caged in the same den night after night, forced to raise their kits and mewl when they wanted to fuck.

  No, why have a few, when she could have many?

  Renegade grinned, dipped cupped hand into the quietly bubbling stream, and cleansed their scent from her skin as best she could. It would do little to mask her trail when they woke and found her gone, but it would go a long way to making her believe she was unattached. Make her forget how badly she’d fucked it all up and that there were now two toothy imprints marking her shoulders—to say nothing of the other four males sniffing after her. Six in total.

  “Fucking Alphas,” she grumbled, hackles fluffed up. That they’d wanted to breed her wasn’t their fault. Not really, given just how powerful her Canicule was promising to be this time. But Renegade was hopeful she’d taken enough Alpha seed to last her through the worst of the rut. And if not…

  Well…

  She’d have to carve herself another wooden cock or find an unattached Beta male. One who couldn’t keep her when she grew tired of him.

  Tossing the ends of her mane over her shoulder, Renegade stretched the sex out of her muscles, doing her damnedest to ignore the achy little twinge that begged her to return to that soiled nest of leathers and males. Her pack, whether she wanted to acknowledge their claim them or not.

  An enraged howl shattered the stillness of the night—followed by one, then four more.

  Renegade grinned and bolted into the brush, sprinting flat-out, for the hunt had begun anew. Her pack of six, denied and rejected—again.

  But in her haste… she failed to note the eyes glinting with feral madness through the gloom. Failed to realize her six weren’t the only ones playing this sordid game…

  Chapter 2

  With her pussy and belly stuffed full of that potent Alpha sperm, Renegade ran. Sprinting away from the six males who’d dared to stake a claim. Confident her efforts this night would be enough to see her through to the end of her Canicule, without needing to send another hapless male into rut. Shit, she might’ve taken in enough cum to last through the next Canicule, too—and she’d escaped from them before her final gate had bloomed and her cervix was seeded with a litter of kits from half a dozen sires.

  The mere thought saw Renegade lengthen her strides to the limit. Leathers whispering over her thighs as she slipped through the underbrush, she flew from those she knew were hunting her. Feet sure, muscles limber, her forehead grew damp with a fine, dewy sheen, but she would not slow. Couldn’t. After all… she’d gotten what she’d set out to get. This was the price. After the debacle with Silver’s pack, she needed nothing more from any male beyond the Krust or within it.

  As if to mock her defiance, something behind her crashed through the brush. Moving at speed. Trailing her and making no effort toward discretion.

  Renegade was being hunted, but this time, it wasn’t by her own design.

  But… how? How had Silver and his lot had managed to catch up to her so quickly? She’d left them inebriated on slick and Canicule, out cold in a heap of male flesh sticky with bodily fluids.

  A roar blasted through the thinning forest. Startling a scream from her lips, for in that single, fleeting instant, she knew exactly what hunted her. Knew just how foolish she’d been in abandoning her defensible den filled with possessive pack males, fuck-drunk and ready to die for nothing more than the rights to her womb.

  Heart in throat, she didn’t turn. Didn’t grace the hunter with even the slightest glance, or broadcast her spine-bending terror—merely redoubled her effort to flee.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Bellowing, the hunter crashed through the thinning trees at her back, closing the distance between them in massive, ground-eating strides. Driving her to the edge of the wood. Pushing her beyond anything that might be used for shelter and in doing so, eliminated any obstacles she might have put in his path. He had, in fact, left her nothing in the way of options. For beyond the forest, only gently rolling hills. Nothing to be used in defense but the startling certainty that she’d been herded.

  But the realization came too late, and Renegade didn’t have the time or breath to scream before the hunter took a swipe. Kicking her boots out from under her, the hunter sent her tumbling to the forest floor in a confused heap of limbs. It was only by the grace of the very lucky that she rolled to the left instead of right, for with a snarl, the hunter charged right on past her. Unable to stop or change direction as quickly as someone who’d had the incredibly good luck to be stopped by the trunk of a young tree.

  On her feet before the pain could register, Renegade did the only thing she could—she went up.

  Pulling herself over the lowest branch, she flung herself into that very lucky sapling and reached for the next branch above it.

  The hunter roared again. Rattling her bones and eardrums as she crested the second rung in her makeshift ladder and narrowly avoided another swipe—this one aimed at pulling her bodily from the tree and back to the earth. Where she’d be utterly at the whims of fate. At his mercy.

  Renegade couldn’t help the terrified little squeal that burst from her lips. Couldn’t help the tremor in her hands or stop her thoughts from once again returning to Silver and his pack. But it wasn’t until the hunter jumped—missing the first branch entirely as he clung to the second—that Renegade screamed. That she called for her rejected pack and wished for the dull safety a functional unit could offer.

  The male bending the back of her fragile sapling was anything but safe, and when Renegade had climbed as high as she could, there was nothing left but to look. Acquaint herself with the male who would surely be her doom.

  His fur was a mess of mats and burrs, though beneath it all she could tell it might have once been beautiful. He was unkempt—as true ferals usually were—and big. Really, really big. Easily the weight of Silver and Balkazar combined, this feral
male was Alpha straight down to the middle. She could smell it on him as he struggled to reach her and scale her tree in one. Couldn’t ignore the scent of his pheromones wafting heavy on the air, or unsee that impressive bulge distorting the front of tattered pants.

  But it was his eyes that truly caught her attention. Gold. Streaked with green and flecks of chocolate. The mark of a Feral infected with the Trax virus.

  The evidence was on his very skin. Speckled with spots and stripes, the Trax had marked him. Deeply. Had mutated his genes and saw this male with gleaming yellow eyes grow far larger than any of those in Silver’s pack, yes, but the Trax took payment for those physical gifts.

  There would be no reasoning with this male. There would be no compromise, discussion of mutual satisfaction, or games with this male, for the Trax had taken his mind. If he caught her, he’d take exactly what he wanted. He’d try to plant a litter in her womb, and rut her until Renegade was little more than his slave. Addicted to Feral cum, Canicule or not. Enslaved to the weight of an Alpha purr, the likes of which she’d hoped to never encounter.

  No. Renegade could do little more than hope she had the incredibly bad luck to encounter a Feral on the hunt, and that he’d grow bored when something else caught his limited attention. That hadn’t caught wind of her Canicule… for if he had?

  Well… she was in heat.

  And he was an Alpha.

  All it would take was a single, devastating purr…

  Chapter 3

  For one sickening moment, Renegade thought her Trax-infected Feral would heft his massive body into her tree and bring them both down together. But the Feral was far and above too bloody big to climb a tree that was no more than ten seasons old, never mind that said sapling already held the weight of one very stupid, terrified Omega female.

  And she was stupid for exposing herself during a Canicule of this potency—there was no denying that. Not now, with a massive feral Alpha snapping and snarling at the soles of her boots and no pack males in sight. No matter that the first two branches shuddered and splintered beneath his weight, or that he fell back to the earth with force enough to make the sapling tremble and shake.

  But it wasn’t until he jumped—skimming the tips of her toes with hooked fingers—that she realized just how stupid she really was. Her lucky sapling was a pitiful form of shelter, if she could call it that with a straight face. She knew it the moment her Feral began to circle, inspecting that which kept her beyond his reach with a critical gleam that should have been impossible for one infected with the Trax.

  Snarling, he wrapped both hands around the base of her tree, and looked up. Teeth flashing with a bastardized smirk born of mirth and greedy victory, the look he shot her tugged at her nethers and sent her scrambling higher still. Clinging to branches too thin to hold her weight for long.

  And then he pushed. Bending the sapling as far as its flexible young trunk would allow, sending her tipping precariously toward the earth—before the still-living wood reached its limit and snapped back. Jarring her as she clung to the top-most branches. Threatening to fling her from the tree regardless of any harm that might befall her, for what did it matter to a Feral? What difference would a broken arm mean to one so desperate to rut, so long as her cunt was warm and drenched with slick?

  Eyes squeezed shut, Renegade wrapped her arms and legs around that spindly trunk. She clung like a burr on the back of a bucking stallion, literally unable to do anything but hope and pray.

  There were no gods beyond the Krust. None that might hear her desperate pleas and do something to intervene. There was only Renegade and the trail of rutting males she’d left in her wake.

  The Feral growled, deep and low, the sound reverberating through her skull, chest, and pussy all at once as he worked to turn her tree into kindling. Wafting his pheromones toward her with each muscle-bound heave and every panting, snarled breath. But it was his growl that drew a fresh wave of slick to soak the crotch of her leathers. Second only to a purr, it was all Renegade could do to resist the urge to drop from her perch and present her back. To submit to the rut and allow this worthy, massive Alpha his due.

  Who better to mount her when her Canicule was nigh? Where would she find a better example of male flesh? Certainly there was no option as virile as this within the Krust or beyond it, though perhaps Silver and his lot would have something to say about that.

  Snarling, the Feral heaved on her tree trunk, the sound of his growl turning her into a malleable, mewling mess atop that sapling. Cluttering her brain with fog that ignored danger and forgot the strength of personality. The Feral had yet to speak a word or utter a single command, yet it was all she could do to plug her fingers into her ears and disobey that unspoken demand to come. To go to him and submit everything she was.

  So it was that Renegade was taken unprepared when he threw back his head and howled. Celebrating a partial victory when that spindly trunk began to peel and splinter… he drew her gaze down… making her really look. What she saw defied expectation or belief, for there, weaving and lashing behind his heaving back and solid buttocks, was a tail.

  Chapter 4

  Impossible. None banished beyond the Krust had a tail! They had all, without exception, been docked upon rejection from the Krust so they might ever be recognized as unfit for civilized life. That this Alpha male had a tail did not bode well for Renegade, for if all who lived in the beyond had been docked, it would follow that this male had never been evicted from the great sheltered cities.

  He’d been born feral.

  For the first time since the Canicule had warmed her skin and sent slick to run down her thighs, Renegade knew what it was to truly fear. Omegas were naturally smaller. Weaker. Vulnerable to those born Alpha or Beta, though with her sharp wit, Renegade had never felt the curse of her caste until that moment. And it was in that moment, as the Feral Alpha tore at the trunk of her sapling, Renegade turned helpless eyes back, toward the soiled, abandoned den filled with pack males.

  A terrible crack! shook the sapling. A death knell rung by the mad Feral Alpha with gleaming golden eyes, whose growl was ceaseless, and whose victory she could already feel imprinted upon her skin.

  But Renegade would not suffer defeat without a fight. No, she bared her teeth, fighting the bone-deep call begging for her submission, and pulled her legs beneath her. Balanced on her haunches, she swayed with the dying sapling, knowing timing was everything. Knowing that to miss now, was to fall and never rise.

  With a mighty roar, Renegade launched herself clear of the sapling when it was at the apex of its swing. She was flung clear into the field beyond the forest, and paid for it with a hard landing. Knees buckling, she rolled, knocking the wind from her lungs in a poof of exertion that left her gasping. Vision sparkling. Even so, she staggered to her feet. Clutching at her chest, as if that might fill her with breath and grant her the ability to sprint flat-out. To save herself.

  As it was, she hadn’t managed more than four steps before the weight of his palm landed between her shoulders. She hadn’t even the breath to cry out before the Feral Alpha had her face-down in the dirt. Before his hands kneaded at her hips and his breath heated her nape.

  Graceless brute that he was, the Feral pulled at her leathers, not going for her pants—as she expected he might—but ripping at the arm of her jacket. Tugging until he’d managed to tear the priceless garment straight down the middle. Leaving her in nothing but a black T-shirt, her arms reddened with the evidence of her struggle.

  “Please!” Renegade gasped, shameful tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. “Please stop!”

  The Feral responded the only way he could—he licked at the exposed, tattered flesh marring her right shoulder. Tasting Silver’s mating mark. Sending a perverse little thrill through her, even as she tried to crawl through the dirt to escape him. His saliva stung her still-open wounds, saliva that was thick with the Trax virus. It was only when the Feral set his teeth to overlap Silver’s
mark that Renegade was even dimly aware of the risk of infection. But helplessness had a way of inflaming the base needs of an Omega, so she stilled, pussy clenching at the seam of her leather pants. Feral pinching without breaking skin.

  Aroused and terrified all at once, hardly daring to breathe, she lay frozen beneath him lest he take the plunge and mark her shoulder with another claim. Not going so far as to press the round of her bottom back against his bulging cock, but not shying away when he ground his meat into her cleft.

  He growled, melting her with unspoken dominance. A drug to an Omega female drunk on Canicule. Overriding fear, logic, and all sense of self, his growl drew a flood of slick to dampen her engorged flesh. Prepared her to be mounted by the largest Alpha she’d ever encountered—readied her for rut with his weight at her back and his growl rattling her ribs.

  Exhaling against her ear, he released her skin without placing a mark. Pausing to snuff at her nape, no doubt scenting Silver and his pack, before licking her. Shoulder to earlobe. Tasting sweat and fear and sex.

  Renegade whined, tilting her chin back, trying to wriggle free and give him more. Trying to present even though he was crushing her to the earth and what little remained of her consciousness begged and pleaded for her to run!

  He pressed another savage snarl against her skin, soaking her lower back with precum as he began to hump at her bottom—and then he was gone.

  Gasping, Renegade twisted, finding him balanced on his haunches. Watching her. One hand pressed to the dirt between spread knees, the other working at the laces keeping his ragged pants about his hips. Licking her scent off full lips as their eyes met.