by L. V. Lane
Pike waves me toward the table, and we take a seat.
“I thought your whelps were all married,” I say, unable to stem my curiosity toward the pretty lass.
“Aye,” he says. “Excepting my youngest two lads who are apprenticing with my brother. There are greater needs for weapon skills presently than I possess, and my brother is renowned in the field. It’s been a while since I had to deal with a lass afore Hazel returned. Never marry a soldier, I told her. Did she listen? Of course not. He was always off somewhere fighting against the Blighten. No wonder she’s not had a brat yet herself. Then he went an’ died. She stayed with my sister for a while because I’m too old for this nonsense. Then her uncle went and got handsy with her. I gave the bastard a good beating for it, but alas, my sister begged me not the kill him unless I wanted her and her seven brats on my doorstep seeking food an’ shelter. So, he yet lives. Now, I’m lumbered with the whelp again. I should have sent her to my brother and his wife. But it is a week long journey, and Hazel refused to go, claiming that I needed looking after.”
Two giant tankards of ale are slammed onto the table between us before his daughter stomps off again.
I find myself smirking—the lass has spirit. Then frowning, for I suffer an irrational urge to visit this handsy uncle and administer a thrashing of my own.
Pike sighs heavily as he lifts the nearest beer to his lips. He drains half of it before he puts it back on the table. “The lass is a test. It’s been a year now. I’m seeking a husband for her, afore I strangle her.”
“Father!”
Two bowls of stew are deposited with a clatter and thud that sloshes the contents and nearly spills it onto my lap. I grin at her little tantrum, although my eyes don’t linger on the sloshing stew, for I’m captivated by her swaying ass as she flounces off again. No wonder Fen snuck off with her to the river. She is a true beauty with plenty of fire.
“All the finesse of an angry bull,” Pike says, shaking his head. “Her late husband took the strap to her bottom, not that it did much good when he was away so often. Some lasses need it daily, or they don’t settle into their place. Still, he never complained about the rutting, so there’s that.”
“I am right here!” she says, dumping a board bearing a loaf and cheese on the table, along with two wooden spoons. “Go on, lass,” Pike says, gesturing to me to take the first chunk of bread. “Mind your business when your betters are discussing you. Go an’ get us another beer. This talk is thirsty work.”
I cough to cover my laugh. When was the last time I laughed? I can’t remember, but this unassuming cottage is a bounty of delights.
I cut a thick slice of bread. It’s soft in the middle with a nice crusty outside. My mouth waters as I dunk it in the stew. Rich, warming, and full of vegetables and a smattering of meat. Simple and yet tasty—it has been some time since I experienced appetite of any kind.
“Try the cheese,” Pike encourages. “The lass is good with the food. Makes it herself. Learned that from her late mother. I shall miss her cheese when she goes.”
The lass takes a seat at the table, bowl of stew in hand, and eyes shooting daggers at her father.
I cut a slab of cheese and squeeze it between another slice of bread. I find it sharp and tangy, with a nice creamy texture. Pike is putting his stall out, committed to a somewhat convoluted, yet nevertheless effective, sales pitch.
He nods his head at me, seeing I’m enjoying the food. “What say you, Jack? A man such as yourself in his prime needs a mate. Don’t you have a lad as needs care? She was good with my sister’s whelps and with her younger siblings. Her other deficiencies are of small consequence to a man of your mettle who’s not afraid to deliver discipline with a belt or strap.”
“Father! Must you try to palm me off on every man who passes through?”
“My brother is a man now,” I say. For reasons I can’t fathom, the previously abhorrent idea of taking another woman has abandoned me. I also don’t like the idea of Pike trying to palm Hazel off on every man who passes through. In fact, the thought of someone else claiming all this beauty and fire brings an unexpected twist to my gut. “He does not need so much caring anymore.” At least not the kind delivered by a mother . . .
“Well, that’s even better,” Pike says, mopping a crust of bread in the gravy at the bottom of his bowl.
“No,” Hazel says, dumping her spoon before she has eaten a single mouthful. “You are not going there!”
“What?” Pike says all fake affront. “I’m only mentioning the practicality of bonding to both brothers.” He turns to me. “She’s twenty summers old, perfect for both of you. Plenty of breeding years left in her.”
The lass growls. It is as adorable as the tiny smudge of soot still on her nose.
“I’m not sure I’m inclined toward sharing,” I say. This was not a conversation I expected to be having when Sable pulled a shoe. Still, it is a compelling discussion, and despite the lass’ vexation, I’m halfway committed, as reckless as that might be.
“Well, that’s your choice,” Pike says. Picking up his beer, he frowns when he finds it empty. He turns to the lass, who scrapes her chair back as she rises gracelessly to her feet. “I’m only pointing out that should you take her on, it’s easier said than done keeping a lusty lad away from a pretty young lass like Hazel. Unless you marry him off. Do you have plans to marry him soon?”
Before I can answer that my brother is an Alpha and will mate and not marry, and further, I have needs to temper his ways before I unleash him on any woman for life, Hazel returns with a great jug of ale in her small hands that she dumps on the table. “I do not want a husband, Father. I assuredly do not want two! We have discussed this many times. Do I not wait on you like a servant? Do I not hasten to do your bidding?”
“You try,” Pike says. “But you are small and weak for a Beta lass, and not practical for anything but the cooking and other womanly things. And besides, what when I die? I’m no youngster. It breaks me to worry about you being left alone.”
“I could manage the business,” she says, small chin lifting defiantly.
Pike laughs. “Go on, lass. After hauling a few loads of coal, you need to take to the bedding nook for a rest. And the one time you tried to lift the hammer, you dropped it and nearly broke your toe. No, a small weak Beta lass like you is much better suited to waiting on a man of means. It’s not unusual for brothers to take on the same mate in the clans.” He turns to me. “Is your brother an Alpha? I never thought to ask.”
“He is an Alpha,” I say, fighting a smile for the lass is spitting mad.
“I’m not an Omega,” she hisses through clenched teeth. With a huff, she storms off. We both turn as the front door slams in her wake.
I push my empty bowl aside and pick up my beer. “You know she’s making a run for it,” I say before taking a sip.
“Aye,” he shrugs, lips curved in a smile as he reaches for the jug and fills his tankard to the brim. “But she has small legs compared to you. It’s only fair she be given a head start.”
I laugh. “Pike, you are an outrageous father to the poor lass.”
“Go on. I’m no such thing. Like to think of myself as being practical. An’ I saw you eyeing her ass as she flounced off after nearly dumping stew in your lap. You weren’t looking at her unkindly afore, either. The lass has a way that’s not for every man. My riling of her was more to test you than the lass. Although I admit, baiting her is fun. I was sorry to hear about your late mate. I respect a man who treats his woman well. A lesser man would have cast her aside. Hazel’s husband was a good man but never at home. Whelps, you can’t tell ‘em a thing.”
He drains his tankard while I take all this in. I feel fucking guilty thinking about taking another woman as a mate. But not guilty enough to stop. I doubt my late mate will ever be a subject broached without a measure of pain. Yet, this strange, unexpected moment is right.
Pike heaves himself up from the bench. “Despite what the lass says
, I’ve not tried to palm her off on any man afore. It was her aunt who tried that sensing her husband’s handsy ways.” He nods toward the door. “One of us better get after her afore she gets herself into real trouble.”
“I’m not a Beta male,” I say. “There will be no civilized wedding. We take a woman, and we claim. And my brother—” My brother will want the lass, of that I have no doubt. How I might tolerate his interest, I cannot readily decide. “Is headstrong.” Headstrong is putting it mildly. He tests his place with me daily. That he harbors an extreme kind of lust is not unusual in an Alpha. That I have forbidden him from fucking any lass’ pussy lest we end up with a dozen bastards on our hands is a sore point between us. Our clan’s young women are all besotted with him and only too eager to let him use them in all the other ways. “And an extremely dominant male.”
I’m not sure why I am stating any of this. My interest in Hazel has taken me by surprise, and it cannot be denied. My reaction should Pike rescind his charity toward me as a man and Alpha would not be favorable.
Not since I took Lesa to my furs have I felt this level of possessive compulsion.
My hand shakes a little. “But I do want her,” I admit. An Alpha is ever a determined beast when he sets his sights upon prey.
“Aye,” Pike says, patting my shoulder. “You’re a good man and a good Alpha. I trust you to ensure your brother does the lass no harm.” He lifts his hand. “Now, I’ve got an inclination toward supping beer with old Pete down the lane. Don’t suppose I’ll be back until morning.”
As the door slams on him, I realize I’ve not asked him where the fuck the lass might have gone.
CHAPTER TWO
Hazel
I LEAVE HOME in a huff of indignation and tears. I’ve no idea where I’m going. I just need to go. I hate my stupid life. I hate my stupid late husband, who was forever off at war and died, leaving me all alone. I hate my father and his plans to marry me off to the warrior Alpha who happened upon our home.
I hate my arms that struggle to carry a bag full of coal for my breasts assuredly get in the way.
And I hate my skirts!
“Damn it!” I growl to myself as my dress snags in a branch. “Pox on the stupid dress!” I tug furiously, but it only snags it harder. I have barely made it more than fifty paces before I’m thwarted! Not that I was going anywhere, for it is dark and shadowy in the forest, and I have no desire to fall prey to either bandits or a wolf.
“It is not the dress’ fault, lass.”
His deep voice brings a flutter to my stomach even as I growl and tug harder on my trapped skirts. The barbaric Alpha is built like a bull and a wicked kind of handsome that ties my stupid girl parts in knots.
Both him and his brother, for I have never forgotten my first kiss.
“Oh!”
He crouches at my side, capable hands closing over the hem of my skirt and freeing me with ease. His head lifts, and we both freeze as he studies me in the fading light. His eyes are a stormy blue, and there is a smattering of freckles across his nose. Sensual lips and a rough beard, his face bears compelling masculinity, as does his built, warrior body.
His lips tug up on one side before he rises.
“Goodness.” I tilt my chin to take in all of him. As a young girl, I only glimpsed Jack from afar on the occasions when he passed through. His younger brother, Fen, was still a lad when we shared a kiss.
The Alpha before me is mature. I have never been in the presence of such a man so closely. He wears naught but hide pants and boots, leaving his broad-shouldered, upper body exposed. A thick leather necklace holds a polished amber stone nestled against the hollow of his throat. Intricate swirling tattoos cover one arm all the way to the wrist. They branch out onto his shoulder. The remainder of his chest and other arm are unadorned. This close, he’s impossibly more intimidating. He can’t mean to claim me, can he? He’s an Alpha. I’m only a Beta, and a small one at that. Everyone knows Omegas are different. That they are better able to take an Alpha’s cock—I swallow—and their knot.
And even so, he is a barbarian.
“Your father was worried you might get into trouble,” he says, eyes dancing with mirth. “But I see it was only a small amount of trouble—” he gestures toward the ground. “—From a small twig.”
My eyes narrow. Now he thinks himself funny! “Do not mention my father and his nefarious plans,” I say, planting my fists to my hips. Distantly, I recognize that I’m likely as intimidating as a small angry kitten, but my vexation does not lessen. “And it was assuredly a branch, not a twig!”
He emits a deep guffaw that lights a fire under my growing temper. “A branch,” he agrees. “On the small side . . . as might easily be confused with a twig in this poor lighting.”
He scoops me up into his arms while I’m still charging my temper. “Come, lass. Let us not linger in the woods. Best I carry you lest another small, twig-like branch assault your skirts.”
I am shocked into docility as he stalks back along the shadowy path. I tripped half a dozen times between the entrance to the forest path and the point where my dress got caught—he does not falter once. A cheery glow comes from the cottages as we reach the main street.
“I can walk!” I say, finding my voice again as we exit the forest.
“And I could put you down,” he says, making no move to do so. “But I find that I like you where you are.”
My chest heaves as delayed awareness courses through my body. His scent is pleasing, spicy, a little earthy, and of the forest. His body is strong and warm against mine. I’ve heard that Alphas emit pheromones that Omegas respond to, and yet, I feel tingly simply from finding myself in the arms of such a virile male.
The door to the cottage lays open. He needs to duck to step through. Inside, he lowers me to my feet before turning and pushing the door closed.
I look around, bracing myself for a stern chastisement from my father.
“Where is Papa?” I say. I have not called him Papa since I was a little girl, but I’m feeling small, alone, and vulnerable as it dawns upon me that my father is not here.
“Gone to sup with Pete for the night,” Jack says behind me.
My chest stutters. I feel a little faint.
“You mean to bed me, here and now,” I say quietly. My mind turns scattered. This cannot be happening.
“I do,” he says. I feel the heat as he steps up to me. Not quite touching, but close enough for his rich scent and presence to swamp my thoughts. His hand settles on my shoulder, skimming up, making me shiver as it spans the column of my throat and the upper swell of my breasts.
Goddess, he is so huge and powerful. He will break me for sure.
“I’m a Beta,” I say like this might douse reason on the moment. Yet, my body responds to his handling. I would be lying to myself if I claimed it was all fear.
“I’m as aware of your status as I’m aware of your body’s response to mine,” he says. The broad pad of his thumb brushes along the column of my throat, and it turns my insides to a riot of conflicting needs. “Betas can be trained for an Alpha’s pleasure. It’s true; it’s not as easy a path as might be expected for an Omega. Our pheromones do not hold the same potency. Your body does not weep the copious slick to aid the coupling.” His thumb sweeps back down. “Greater skill must be applied to ensure the Beta is ready to meet all our needs.”
I dare to peek over my shoulder at him. His hot, hooded gaze brings an instant tightening to my belly. I watch his head lower as if it’s happening to someone else. His eyes lock with mine. I try to turn away, but his hand holds me perfectly still. The fingers of his other hand thread through my hair. He grasps it firmly just as his lips enclose mine.
Air traps in my lungs. His gentleness disarms me in a way that brutality never would. I’m sinking under a spell so potent, I wonder if he needs pheromones at all.
His lips are oh so soft as they move over mine before his teeth, nipping gently at my lower lip, encourage me to open. With a s
mall sob of defeat, I part, and his tongue dips lightly inside, tasting me without urgency. It feels entirely natural for my tongue to meet his so that I might also taste. My hands make fists. I am so small before him, my neck stretched up for the kiss, and my hair held like a leash.
There is a slight achy discomfort to the position. My body arches, seeking to give him better access, but he seems in no rush.
His head lifts, and his eyes lower to my lips as he brushes his thumb across them. “What a sweet little Beta you are.”
I blink a few times. Nostrils flared, I try to find ground. He is an Alpha, I remind myself. He is not built like a Beta man in any way, but especially not in that way. His great strength and size would be enough to contend with, but a Beta could never take an Alpha’s knot.
He releases me and steps back. “You are worrying over nothing,” he says like he can read my mind.
I step away, my legs shaky, and glance back when he remains relaxed before the door. “Nothing? Do you not have a cock then? Unless you are a strange kind of Alpha, it is assuredly something.”
He chuckles, and his face lights up in a way that brings a flutter to my chest. “No, lass, that part of me is as Alpha as the rest.” He steps forward, and I find myself backing toward the table as he stalks closer. He had a presence when he was sitting during supper, but he dominates the small space while standing.
“We are not compatible,” I say, although I know of many Alphas who have mated to a Beta for Omegas are very rare. Now I’m wondering how that is possible.
“We don’t experience rut as we might with an Omega,” he says, approaching me with slow but steady steps. “But we can still scent when a Beta is fertile, and that can have rut-like effects.” He is before me once again. The table is behind me, and I have nowhere to go. “An Alpha naturally enjoys fucking.”