Rising Dawn

RISING DAWN A DARK DYSTOPIAN OMEGAVERSE DAWN OF THE ALPHA BOOK 1 SINISTRE ANGE CONTENTS 1. Death in the Street 2. Bravery & Stupidity 3. Grigori’s Vow 4. The Thwarted Warlord 5. Rewarding His Omega 6. Malachi Sent Us 7. The Son Awakens 8. The Death Bargain 9. Malachi’s Angel 10. Plans & Confessions 11. The Omega’s Heat 12. Wrong 13. Battle & Blood 14. Blood & Heat 15. Rescue or Death? 16. Execution 17. Uncertainty & Rewards 18. Tell Me Everything 19. Decisions & Confrontations 20. The Queen About the Author Sinistre Ange’s Books 1 DEATH IN THE STREET Jordan Blood exploded in his mouth, sharp and coppery. His jaw throbbed from the force of the blow. He strained, but the grip holding his arms behind his back was too strong. Cowards. They were no true Alphas. If they were, they would have had no need of the other’s help. A challenge of single combat would not be forthcoming. They were not here for dominance, they were here as assassins, sent by his father. Another coward, another Alpha in name only, for all that he ruled over the entire territory. Jordan growled, his muscles clenching, surging. Pain tore at his ligaments, stretching his shoulders as the males holding him tightened their grips. It would not be a quick death and he knew it. His would be a death with a message in it. See how merciless I am to my own son, my heir. Think of what I would do to you if you dare cross me. Not that his father had the guts to actually get his own hands bloody. Likely he was safely ensconced in his harem of Omegas, fucking and rutting to his heart’s content, and waiting to hear from the captain of his guard that it was done. The same captain who now grinned wildly at Jordan, fire in his dark eyes as he raised his fist again. Jordan spit blood in his smug face. He was pinioned in place, unable to move a single limb, but he would not go down without some sort of resistance. Snarling, the male swiped his arm across his cheek, smearing the red across his skin. “Whelp.” He backhanded Jordan, hard enough to snap his head back. In a true challenge, Jordan would have gutted him easily and they both knew it. That was why Morpheus hated him. One too many times shown up in the training arena and this was how he acted. “Beta,” Jordan snapped back, feeling the blood dripping down over his lip, across his chin and then to the dusty street. Morpheus’ eyes flared with anger. The fingers gripping Jordan tightened even more, pain streaking through him as Morpheus’ men pulled, his joints creaking in protest. “Hell, you might as well be an Omega in my father’s harem, you’re practically gagging on his cock already.” The flurry of blows to his stomach drove the breath from him, his kidneys screaming in pain. Another fist to his face, plowing through, rattling his teeth and breaking his cheekbone. The crunch was sickening. “Beg, whelp, and maybe we’ll let you live.” Morpheus’ offer was as unappealing as it was empty. Only a fool would have believed him, but many became fools in the face of inevitable death, grasping at even the faintest of false hopes. Jordan laughed, blood bubbling up in his mouth, spewing out from between his lips. It was the funniest damned thing he’d ever heard. No matter that Morpheus had been the one to initially train Jordan himself, that he’d been around since Jordan truly was a whelp, he’d never understood him and he never would. Another blow that snapped his head around. He laughed harder. The sound was unnervingly raw, and more than one of the males holding him shivered. They had all faced him, singularly, in the training arena and knew they would never have beaten him there. Even now they feared he would somehow rally and overpower them. But he knew he couldn’t. Death was coming, ruining all his plans, all his careful strategies for the future, and his hopes for vengeance, but still he laughed. There was nothing else to do. * * * From down the street he watched the son of Jeffos being beaten to death. While he had no love for the Warlord’s family, he had to admit he was impressed. The whelp was young. Eighteen at best. Yet he laughed, spewing blood and spit on his murderers. Five full trained Alphas on the Warguard against one youth? Even if they hadn’t sprung a trap on him, the young Alpha would have been hard pressed to defend himself. Now he was pinioned, one guard holding one limb apiece, keeping him spread eagle. They pulled at him, as though they were going to tear him apart, limb from limb, while their captain pummeled his body and face. The sound of his laughter echoed down the otherwise empty street. When the guard had appeared, the betas who usually occupied these sidewalks had scattered. He had remained, hidden in the shadows where he’d been watching the guard already, wondering what they’d been doing. When they’d sprung the trap, he’d been surprised. The young Alpha was known to everyone in the Warlord’s Territory, by sight. He hadn’t expected Jeffos’ son to be their prey. Nor that Jeffos would have sent them. Curiouser and curiouser. The young male likely wouldn’t last much longer. Even now his laughter was growing weaker, fading with every hard blow to his body and face. He had a decision to make. * * * Jordan Pain and blood. Somehow it seemed fitting that this was his end. The same one he’d meant for his father. Perhaps the old bastard had been right, and to plot against him was a sin. Perhaps this was Jordan’s just punishment for wanting to overthrow his own sire. The world was becoming cloudy. His ears were ringing and he could no longer tell