by Tanya Chris
Enid came back in with the tea things and began brewing the tea, measuring out the leaves and setting them to steep like she was performing a ritual. She was lovely and naked and graceful, a contrast to the harsh subject they were discussing, and they took a moment’s pause to appreciate her beauty in the face of the ugliness at hand.
Succession was the key question these days. The laws they’d all worked so hard to pass, the social injustices they were still striving to set right, the safeties they’d put in place for omegas, and the welcoming attitude toward wolves from other packs—all of it could be undone in a matter of days if Prince Devin took over.
According to pack precedent, there were only two ways for Marta to step down, and the Council of Alphas—most of whom were staunch traditionalists who hated the changes she’d been making—refused to institute any new pathways to the throne. If Marta died of natural causes, Prince Devin would inherit the title as her heir. The only other option was for someone to challenge her and take both the throne and her life.
“You know I’d give you a fair fight,” Marta told Angel when Enid broke the spell of their silence by handing her a cup of tea.
“I know you wouldn’t. You’d throw it.”
“If I had to,” Marta said with a wink. “You don’t think you could beat me without some help?”
Angel probably could. He might not have been able to a few years ago, but Marta had grown older and Angel had grown bigger, the training regimen Leo kept him on paying off in visible ways. Angel was stronger than any of them in the Northern Pack, stronger hopefully than Prince Devin.
“Better the devil we know,” Marta reminded Angel. It was an old argument—one Quoitrel had sat through before. Marta wanted Angel to succeed her. Angel refused to kill his mother. And so they waited for someone else to make a move, whether it was Devin or Harrod. As a strategist, Quoitrel knew the benefit of being the one on attack. And as someone who’d survived more challenges than any head alpha in recent history, so did Marta.
But Angel shook his head, as he always did. “I’ll kill Devin. Not you.”
“If you were on the throne, Harrod would back off,” Quoitrel said, agreeing with Marta, much as he understood Angel’s reluctance. “He sees internal strife and thinks he can take advantage of it.”
“Maybe he’s really sad about Owen.” Enid handed Angel the next cup of tea per protocol. “I would be.”
“If Harrod cared about his son, he wouldn’t have tried to mate him to a bullying philanderer,” Angel told her as he passed the cup over to Leo. “Devin was never going to respect Owen or treat him like anything other than a piece of property. Wherever Owen’s ended up, he’s better off for it. And our laws say omegas have a right to make their own decisions.”
The laws might say that now, but if Devin gained the throne, they’d say something else soon enough. Quoitrel needed to make sure Daisy would be in safe hands if that happened, which meant Daisy shouldn’t open a brothel. Daisy should come home with him.
Chapter 3
“So it’s not illegal.” Daisy was completely naked today, refuting Quoitrel’s theory that the beaded dress he’d worn yesterday was sexier than nothing at all would be. Nothing-at-all turned out to be pretty fucking sexy, and it wasn’t exactly nothing. He had jingly chains around his wrists and ankles that reminded Quoitrel of the reference to bondage play he’d made yesterday.
“It’s not strictly illegal,” he said, which was the decision they’d come to as a group. Omegas had dominion over their own bodies, and the law only made procurement illegal, not prostitution. “As long as you’re not selling anyone except yourself,” he clarified.
“Hmm.” Daisy pursed his pretty lips, which had been painted a deep burgundy this morning. Quoitrel hadn’t decided yet which he liked better—the sultry red or the natural pink. To be honest, he would kiss either one. “I could share the space though. If there were other wolves who wanted to offer their services. A sort of co-op.”
“Now you’re talking about opening a brothel.”
“Well, yes,” Daisy said. “I came here to open a brothel. It’s too big a space just for me. I’m not that horny.”
They were inside the building today. There was work yet to do outside, but the light snow that’d started overnight was already picking up, so Daisy had his crew refurbishing the reception room, which was a miniature version of the palace throne room complete with a raised dais and a gold challenge circle etched into the center of the floor. Quoitrel had seen this knock-off of Marta’s throne room more often than he’d seen the real one—not something he cared to admit—but he’d never been in the office Daisy had brought him to before.
Daisy was obviously leaving the rehabilitation of his office for last, because it was in rough shape. The walls—a mundane wood rather than the stone of the reception room—had been painted white at some point, but half the paint had been scraped off and the other half was a filthy grey. Some of the floor tiles were missing, and something had been scuffling at the ground beneath them because dirt had gotten everywhere. Daisy sat behind a giant desk marred with grooves and graffiti and covered in papers. Apparently there was more involved in opening a brothel than Quoitrel would’ve guessed.
“I understand the restrictions,” Daisy said. “Anyone who works here would be working of their own free will, keeping their profits and making their own terms. Independent contractors, if you will, rather than employees. Very reasonable. Anything else I need to be aware of?” Aside from the chains on his wrists and ankles, he wore only a pair of glasses, big and round and rimmed in a color to match his lipstick. They made him look both scholarly and like he badly needed to be fucked. Like Quoitrel should push all that paperwork off his desk and throw him over it.
Quoitrel forcibly brought his mind back to the matter at hand. “I have to warn you that the laws could change. Like I said, prostitution isn’t technically illegal now, but that’s more a loophole than an intention. I’m worried the effort you’re putting into getting this place fixed up will be wasted.” And also worried about what would happen if Prince Devin and his cohorts came into power. Daisy’s plans for independence could be shattered in an instant.
“That’s a risk I’ll have to take,” Daisy said, his eyes extra-large behind those fuck-me glasses. “I’m not new to being a sex worker, Sheriff. I’m all too aware that I’ll always be at the mercy of authoritarian interference.”
Authoritarian inference. Daisy made it sound as if he and Angel were as bad as pimps. “We’re only thinking of your well-being.”
“Yes, it’s always my well-being that the alphas who want to control me are thinking of,” Daisy said dryly.
“It’s just that there’s got to be a better alternative.” He’d come there to let Daisy know the outcome of yesterday’s conclave but also to offer himself as a better alternative. A night of jerking off to the memory of Daisy’s every move had convinced him he’d found the omega of his dreams, that he’d be foolish not to jump at the wolf fate had dropped in his lap like a gift. “You could get mated.”
“And be controlled by a single alpha rather than a whole council of them? Not as tempting as you think.”
“Not all alphas are controlling.” Why was he talking in generalities when he meant something very specific? He took a deep breath, summoned up all his courage in the face of this sexy and determined omega, and made himself clear. “If you would do me the very great honor of allowing me to claim you, I promise I’d never try to control you. Only respect you and cherish you.”
And give you all the sex you need, he added mentally, but he didn’t say that part out loud because Daisy seemed thoroughly taken aback by his proposal as it was. He blinked several times, his lashes fluttering behind his glasses.
“That’s flattering. And unexpected.”
“You don’t have to sell yourself—”
“And unnecessary,” Daisy interrupted, more coldly. “Please stop trying to save me. I don’t need to be saved.”
“I thought I explained myself yesterday, as if I should even have to. I’m good at it, and I enjoy it. I’ve been fucked by a lot of alphas, Sheriff. You understand? A lot.”
Quoitrel held back the swamp of confused emotions the gibe aroused in him. Daisy was baiting him, expecting him to react like the possessive, controlling alpha he’d just promised he wouldn’t be.
“And I’ve been with other omegas,” he said calmly. “Few wolves come to a mating virginal, despite the tales we’re told as pups. I don’t expect it of you.”
“How magnanimous of you.” Daisy inclined his head. A light smile played over his lips, but Quoitrel could see it wasn’t the smile of an omega about to agree to being claimed. “Nevertheless, I must decline your offer. My path has been consciously, deliberately chosen. All that I ask is that you not interfere with it.”
Right. Well. That told him. Quoitrel got to his feet slowly, not wanting to walk away but short of other options. All he could do was remind Daisy that Head Alpha Marta might see fit to hand down a law prohibiting prostitution at any moment, and that if that happened, he’d be required to uphold it. But that would sound like a threat, like the parting shot of an alpha who hadn’t gotten his way. His parents had raised him to be better than that, to use whatever power and strength came with his caste in support of those who lacked it, not to oppress them.
He strolled to the door as if his heart and ego hadn’t both been stomped on, wishing he had a hat to tip—one of those broadbrimmed cowboy hats he’d seen in the movies. A man could make a retreat look like an exit in one of those.
“Sheriff.”
Quoitrel turned back to face the delicate omega swallowed up by a giant wingback chair sized for an alpha. The chair framed his decorative grace with its stark strength.
“Just because I don’t want to be claimed doesn’t mean we can’t engage in other ways.”
“Since you’re not doing anything illegal, there’s no need to bribe me.”
“Pity. But that’s not what I meant.”
“You want me to hire you?” If it weren’t for the fact that he might have to shut Daisy’s business down in the future, he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. He’d hired omegas who weren’t half as sexy as this one under much less ethical circumstances. He had no doubt Daisy would be talented in bed, and he didn’t even need to be. He could probably just lie there and Quoitrel would pop a knot for him.
“Or we could mess around without any quid pro quo at all,” Daisy suggested. He sauntered over, pinning Quoitrel to the door with his advance. “It’ll take at least a week to get this place operational. It’s bad business to hand out my wares for free, but a wolf does have needs.”
Daisy’s hand on his abdomen was like a jolt of lightning, zipping straight to Quoitrel’s cock. It lurched in Daisy’s direction, rapidly and noticeably expanding the stretchy fabric of his pants. Quoitrel swallowed, trying not to suck in Daisy’s scent with the air he breathed. He started counting to ten. To a hundred. To a thousand.
“You’d claim me, but you won’t fuck me?” Daisy tilted his head so the fall of his luxurious golden brown hair spilled over his shoulder in a fragrant cloud. He had it down today. Quoitrel had been resisting the urge to bury his hands in it and use it to drive him to his knees this entire time.
“It would be a conflict of interest,” he managed to stutter out. “There might come a time—”
“There might come anything, Sheriff. I want to make you come.”
“Why? I have no legal reason to harass you, and I won’t.”
“Are you so uncertain of your skills in bed that you can’t imagine I’d enjoy it?”
The truth was that Daisy did make him a little nervous about his skills. Daisy had been with a lot of alphas—a lot of alphas, as he’d just pointed out—and had probably faked his way through more orgasms than he’d enjoyed. He would judge with a professional eye. Quoitrel was both interested in how he’d measure up and afraid to find out.
“I promise to be gentle,” Daisy cooed. “Or to let you be rough. Whichever you prefer.” He let out a low, rumbling purr that was the sexiest thing Quoitrel had ever heard. “I can be whatever you want.”
“What if I want you to be real?”
“You think I’m not?”
“I think you’d say the same things to anyone.”
“Ooh, look who wants to be special.”
“I’d settle for honest.”
“I can give you honest.” Daisy stopped batting his eyelashes and straightened up. “Is this honest enough for you, Sheriff?” He palmed his cock, which was as elegant as the rest of him. Surprisingly long, but slim and silky and absolutely perfect. “I find you attractive. I dig this Halloween getup you’ve got going. Very authoritative. And if you can confine your authoritarianism to the bedroom, I think we can show each other a good time. I’ve got a few lonely nights to fill before I can open for business, and I’m willing to spend at least one of them in your bed. That’s me being honest.”
Quoitrel had gotten stuck at the point where Daisy had started stroking himself. There’d been words after that, but he wasn’t sure he’d heard them, never mind understood them.
“I could pay you,” he blurted out.
“Would that make it hotter for you?”
“You must have a lot of expenses, getting this place in shape and…”
“It’s okay to say yes. Alphas are supposed to be hopelessly possessive, but you wouldn’t be the first to like the idea of used goods. Makes me sexier, doesn’t it? That so many wolves have wanted me.” Daisy leaned in close enough that his breath fluttered over Quoitrel’s jaw. “That so many wolves have had me.”
Quoitrel had never put his desires into words before, not even in his own head. But Daisy wasn’t wrong. The sweeter, more virginal omegas who glanced up at him beneath shy eyelids never managed to attract his attention. He was supposed to want them, but they lacked the sex appeal of someone like Daisy who was, well…. Sex was his job. What could be hotter?
“How about you buy me a present?” Daisy walked his fingers up Quoitrel’s arm. “I love a good tribute, really gets my motor running.”
Quoitrel nodded so hard he almost shook his head off. He’d be honored to buy Daisy a present—something he could wear, so that he could see Daisy in his clothes, think of him wearing them. While he was working even. Other alphas admiring Daisy in the finery he’d bought.
“So that’s a yes?” Daisy asked.
“Yeah, yes, okay.”
“Excellent.” Daisy went all the way up onto his tiptoes and brushed their lips together. Quoitrel grabbed his waist, longing for something deeper, but Daisy wiggled away. “Later, lover. I’ve got work to do. And so do you, don’t you?”
Fuck. Yes. He was on the job. He looked down at what Daisy had called his Halloween getup to remind himself that he was a sworn-in law enforcement officer of the Northern Pack on an official call, not a randy bordello patron.
“Give me your address,” Daisy said. “I’ll be by later.”
“I live behind the Sheriff’s Office. It’s not fancy.” He felt shy about bringing an omega there. He would have to do an emergency cleaning. He was tidy by nature, but tidy wouldn’t be good enough for Daisy. Everything needed to be perfect. He could stop in the market and get new sheets and also that present and some chocolates and—
“As long as there’s a bed.” Daisy patted him on the chest, then used his pretty little hands to steer him out of his office.
When Daisy closed the door in firm dismissal, the beta polishing the replica throne looked up curiously, but Quoitrel didn’t stop to chat. He didn’t have time to worry about what she might be thinking. He had a job to do and a lot to get ready.
Chapter 4
Quoitrel had been expecting Daisy—waiting for him—for half an hour, everything in order and prepared, but the sudden ringing of a fist against his door made him jump nonetheless. He tried to slow down his hea
rt, which Daisy could surely hear beating, but it was hopeless. His pulse was racing, his mouth was dry, and his head spun. He wasn’t going to be able to fool Daisy into thinking this was an ordinary, everyday encounter for him, so why even try?
He flung open the door with his dick front and center. He’d showered after cleaning his two rooms from top to bottom and back again and hadn’t put anything on after. He rarely wore clothes when he wasn’t on duty, but he hadn’t considered the effect of opening the door with an erection bobbing in front of him. His cock greeted Daisy before he could do it himself.
“Well, hello, handsome,” Daisy said to the appendage in question. He slipped past Quoitrel when Quoitrel continued to stand there, dazed by what a pretty picture Daisy made in a black bear coat dotted white with thick snowflakes. “Brr.”
Quoitrel closed the door, somewhat belatedly. He had a fire going, but he’d just let half the heat out. Being part Southern Pack and part Central, he wasn’t naturally acclimated to the frigid northern climate, but Daisy shed his coat without a care for the temperature. Quoitrel rushed to take it from him. Beneath it, Daisy was as bare as he was, no ornament except his own lush hair which gleamed with the moisture of a thousand melted snowflakes in the crackle of firelight.
“It’s getting bad out there.” Daisy crossed to the fireplace and rubbed his hands in front of the flames. “At least six inches already, and we might get two feet, so they say. You can talk at any point, by the way.”
“Sorry.” Quoitrel hung up the coat on one of the hooks by the door and joined Daisy at the fireplace. The flickering orange light played up the highlights in his skin and hair so beautifully that Quoitrel found himself momentarily mesmerized again. This tiny beautiful prize was his for the evening. It was too good to believe. “Have you eaten? I picked up something from The Content Carnivore.”
“Ooh, I love The Content Carnivore.”
“Sorry, you probably eat there all the time, since it’s right next door to… to your place.”