by Leta Blake
“I’m fine, Urho. Back off before he comes in. He doesn’t need to see you looming over me like this.”
Jason bristled beneath the alpha quell, but in the space where there was room to dance, he kept it from showing as he stepped into the kitchen.
Rosen was at the stove, adding seasoning to a pot. Vale sat in a chair with one long leg hooked up on top of the rectangular dining table taking up much of the kitchen. His ankle above his bare foot was smothered in a small bag of ice. On the floor by his other bare foot, his black socks and shoes were abandoned.
Urho hovered behind him but moved away when Jason flicked a hard look at him.
Vale was beautiful, of course, but different, too. He obviously hadn’t shaved in a few days, possibly not since Jason had last seen him at his parent’s house. The beard was coming in scruffy, and Jason’s fingers itched to touch it.
Jason slid his gaze over Vale entirely, noting his nicely tailored aubergine pants and the much lighter purple shirt he wore with the shirtsleeves rolled up, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of a tattoo on his right arm. Small dark hairs gathered beneath his collarbones, visible where his collar was left open.
A quick glance around the kitchen showed that everyone else was dressed similarly—tailored pants and relaxed shirts. Jason fidgeted with his suit jacket and wished he’d known the dress code was going to be so informal.
“Are you all right?” Jason asked Vale, eschewing greetings to make sure his omega was safe. He started forward and brushed Urho’s shoulder as they passed in the narrow space between the counter and the head of the table.
Vale’s pale skin on top of his foot and his pink sole looked soft, except for the callus on the big toe and pinky where his shoes must have pinched over the last thirty-five years.
“I’m fine,” Vale said, rolling his eyes. “Zephyr tripped me and my friends overreacted.”
Jason leaned close enough to smell Vale’s skin and shampoo, and his heart rang with pride when he scented the musk of Vale’s slick, too. Just a small amount, subtle. But released for him all the same. It hadn’t been there until he’d drawn close.
He wished he could run his hand through Vale’s hair. It seemed absurd that he didn’t feel free to touch yet when they were meeting with attorneys in a day and a half to negotiate a contract to fuck, mate, and be bonded together until death.
He cleared his throat. “May I?” he asked, indicating the ice on Vale’s ankle.
Vale smiled. “Certainly, have a look for yourself. Oh alpha, my alpha.” It was a tease, but it brought heat into Jason’s neck and a smile to his lips.
Jason lifted the ice off Vale’s ankle, noting the redness of the skin beneath. He touched the slightly swollen place beneath the bumpy anklebone, and he ran his finger along the skin there, testing it softly. “You twisted it a bit.”
“Yes,” Vale said, but his voice had gone breathy and the smell of slick intensified.
Full of pride to have garnered such a reaction from so simple a touch, Jason added a few more fingers to his cautious probing. He slipped them over Vale’s skin, allowing the black hairs of his leg to scratch against his fingertips. “Yes, it’s twisted,” he said again.
“But not badly,” Vale reiterated. “It’ll be fine, though probably still tender, by tomorrow morning.”
Jason lowered the ice pack down on Vale’s ankle and then touched his cold fingers to Vale’s cheek. Their eyes held and Vale’s mouth opened, a soft sound escaping. It zipped up Jason’s back, and his lips turn up in a small, smug way.
Jason pulled his hand back and turned to the rest of the men in the room. “I’m sorry I was late.”
“Not a problem,” Yosef said, coming around the table with his arms out. “Why don’t you give me your suit coat, too? I’ll put it with your other. You’ll be more comfortable. Our little group doesn’t engage in much formality.”
Urho handed Jason a cup of hot tea enlivened with traditional Autumn Nights spices. He sipped it softly, letting it soothe his throat and keep his mouth busy so he didn’t have to talk. He stood near Vale but not too close, taking in the lay of the land.
The room was sparsely decorated for Autumn Nights. A centerpiece had been made from a fat candle of sweet beeswax, several gourds and a small pumpkin, along with a handful of mint clippings from the garden. Nothing like the ornaments Jason’s pater decorated with, and nothing like the massive centerpiece the Sabels ordered from Sanz’s Floral if they were entertaining. It was rustic in comparison, but everyone’s tastes were different. He liked Vale’s simplicity.
Jason hoped he might get another peak at the garden again before he left, so he’d have a better idea of what to plan for it. But with sunset coming earlier and earlier as the year aged, he doubted he’d get that chance. Not unless they finished dinner in a hurry.
“How was your day?” Vale asked.
It was better than being asked outright about school in front of Vale’s friends, but it was too close for comfort, too. “It was all right. You’re growing a beard?”
Vale’s fingers rubbed over his chin, releasing a scent into the air that went right to Jason’s dick, making it tingle and threaten to engorge. “Shaving was part of my routine for going into work. Now that I’m on this extended sabbatical”—the sarcasm was light but still evident—“I seem to have let it go. I noticed it for the first time tonight when I was dressing and decided it didn’t look half bad.”
“I like it,” Jason said, licking his lips. “It suits you.”
Urho chuckled. “It reminds me of the camping trip we took last year. You came home exhausted, bedraggled, and bearded.”
Vale sent Urho a small glare and then said, “Perhaps lay off the wine, Urho.”
“Why? I’ve only had a glass and a half.”
“Because I said so.”
Yosef clucked, and Urho raised an eyebrow but put his wine glass down. Vale turned to Yosef and Rosen, asking, “What grooming products do you recommend? You’ve both had beards for years now and they always look so well-kept.”
Yosef launched into a discussion of trimmers and beard oils that Jason didn’t imagined he’d need to know much about anytime soon, since he could still get away with shaving every third day if he wanted. Leaving his tea on the table, he decided to put himself to use rather than stand around gaping at Vale’s beauty. He crossed to Rosen as the other three began a quarrel over whether chypre or aromatic scented oils were better in a beard. That was yet another subject he wasn’t versed enough in to offer an opinion.
“May I help with something?” he offered. “I’m happy to chop or wash. Whatever you need.”
Rosen lifted a brow, considering, and then shoved four onions his way. “All right. Have at it. Let’s see how pretty you are when you cry.”
Jason took the knife Rosen offered and began to dice the onions.
“Were your parents reluctant to let you come tonight?” Rosen asked, smiling.
Jason shrugged. “They had their concerns, but Vale had reassured them. And they trust me.” Mostly. Sometimes. Not enough to live on campus, but enough to let him come tonight. “They know I want what’s best for Vale, and they know that I won’t be able to make good choices during negotiations if we aren’t allowed time together to be our real selves.”
“Wise of them.”
“My parents are good people.”
“Their reputation precedes them,” Rosen said with a smile. “But really, what is ‘good’? Not that I doubt your parents are, but don’t you ever wonder what makes a person or a thing ‘good’?”
“Philosophy professor, right?” Jason said, smiling. “Sorry, but I’m out of school for the long holiday weekend.”
Rosen laughed. “We can continue this conversation on Monday then.”
Jason chopped the onions and soon his eyes watered freely. He let them flow and didn’t stop until he had reduced all four white globes to a pile of tiny beautiful squares.
“Lovely,” Rosen said when he was done. �
��And prettier than Vale when he tries to chop onions. He goes all red and snotty, usually ends up wiping onion juice in his eye, which becomes a calamity of epic proportions. Then I burn something helping him wash it out, and Yosef snacks on whatever vegetables I’ve brought along and watches the show.”
“That sounds ridiculous,” Jason said.
Rosen laughed. “And loud. Your omega has quite the voice on him when he’s unhappy.” Then he steered Jason toward the sink to wash his hands again before moving ahead with preparing the meal. “Now go sit with Vale and be your real self so you can make good decisions during negotiations.”
Jason washed his hands twice, though the scent of onion lingered. He thought about Rosen’s assessment of Vale’s voice when he was unhappy, and he wondered with a combination of joy and dread just when he might have the opportunity to hear it. Anger seemed such an intimate thing in a way. Something new to learn about Vale.
He retrieved his now-cold tea and sipped slowly, joining the other three at the table. Sitting across from Vale so he could see him better and keep a bit of distance between them so he could concentrate, he listened avidly. He was intent to learn about Vale—his likes and interests, the things he found funny—but the longer he sat in silence, the more uncomfortable he became.
Urho knew exactly what to say to draw Vale out of silence and rouse him with irritation. His cheeks would pale and his eyes grew a brighter green at every annoying word out of Urho’s mouth. It was a reaction so beautiful Jason burned that he hadn’t been the one to provoke it. And Yosef was so easy with everyone; it was like he was born knowing what to say. And Rosen would chip in when he felt like it, relaxed and at home in Vale’s kitchen. And Jason…didn’t know how to be a part of their group.
His tea slipped down his throat in cool, spicy draughts as the distance between himself and the rest of them grew. Bigger than the space held by the alpha quell. And as childish as he knew it was, he resented Vale’s friends for their inside jokes and easy rapport. He hated them for their education, travel, and life experience. He hated that he was a child in their presence. He even hated that he drank spiced tea while they drank wine. Wolf-god, he hated them all.
Except Vale. He didn’t hate him. Couldn’t even if he wanted to.
Stupid Érosgápe urges.
“Jason, do you tango?” Vale asked suddenly, turning to him with a smile that flashed bright in his dark beard. “I’ve been meaning to learn and, if you do, maybe someday soon you can teach me.”
Jason did not in fact tango, but he was absolutely going to learn to do so as soon as possible now. “I’d love to dance with you. We can take lessons together if you want,” he said. “That would be fun.”
“So you like to dance?” Vale took a sip from his wine glass, his moss-colored eyes glowing. “I love to dance and haven’t had anyone to dance with in a very long time.”
“It’s not my fault you have two left feet,” Urho said. “Don’t dance with him, Jason. You’ll live to regret it.”
Jason smiled tightly. “Vale is too graceful to be anything other than a dream on the dance floor.”
They all laughed like Jason had purposely made a joke, so he laughed, too. But he’d been sincere. How could a man who moved like liquid, and who made Jason’s insides quiver just by walking, actually be a bad dancer? Vale had surely only ever had bad partners if that was the case.
And if by some chance Vale’s friends were right, then Jason would wear the bruises on his feet with pride.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“How did you meet each other?” Jason asked what felt like hours later, after Rosen announced that dinner would be served in five minutes.
“Who? All of us?” Rosen asked over his shoulder.
“Yes, all of you.”
“Well, Yosef and I met first,” Vale said, smiling softly and taking the ice off his foot. He lowered his leg to the floor and tossed the ice bag onto the counter without rising to his feet and nearly hit Rosen with it.
A furry silver slinking animal caught Jason’s eye, and he turned his head to see Zephyr skulk into the room with a dark gleam in her green eyes. She kept to the wall for a bit, and then hustled toward Rosen with a plaintive meow.
“Whore,” Vale muttered and rolled his eyes. Rosen gave the cat a hunk of meat he’d carved out of the duck he’d prepared earlier. “Yes, Yosef and I met on campus,” Vale went on. “He was helping out a graduate studies law professor, another omega, actually, who’d gone into an unexpected heat and needed to take a sudden leave. The only person willing to step in was Yosef. We met over the last apple dumpling in the commissary. He wanted it and I wanted it, too. So we shared.”
“That’s nearly a meet-cute for one of those sweet romance novels Rosen’s always reading,” Urho muttered.
“Romance is the language of happiness,” Rosen said, opening the oven to check the giant bird inside. Zephyr had climbed up his body and now perched on his shoulder, her nails digging in, peering into the oven with him. He didn’t utter a word of discomfort. “You should try it sometime.”
Urho snorted.
“Urho’s right, though,” Vale said. “Why didn’t you fall madly in love with me on the spot, Yosef? I’m offended now.”
“I was with Rosen already,” Yosef said. “Or no doubt I’d have swept you off your omega feet and been utterly useless when your heat came on. A match made in heaven.”
Vale laughed and winked at Jason. “So then Yosef invited me out to dinner at the ever so trashy but delicious Cinco Manzanas.”
“Half-naked dancing boys and enchiladas are always an enjoyable combination,” Yosef said, a white smile gleaming between his lips.
“Rosen met us there, and he was his charming self. We’ve been friends ever since.”
“Urho came later,” Rosen chimed in, using massive gloves to pull the roasted duck from the oven. “He met Vale on campus, too, I think.”
“Campus seems to be the nexus of all my most important relationships.” Vale shot Jason a teasing look.
An awkward silence descended for a terrible second, but then Rosen bustled over with serving dishes full of delicious smelling food.
“This looks amazing, Rosen,” Jason said. “Are you a chef?”
“Rosen is a philosopher, an artist, and a chef,” Vale said, smiling at Jason while Urho cut the roast duck and Yosef passed the bowl of fragrant stuffing.
“Yes, Rosen is quite talented,” Yosef said warmly. “I hope you’re not opposed to ordering out for food, Jason. Your omega here is a terrible cook.”
“Oh, don’t start,” Vale said.
“He’s worse at cooking than he is at keeping house.” Urho dug into the bird with the carving knife.
Father made prettier cuts and so did Jason, but he wasn’t going to say anything negative about Urho. Everyone probably already thought Jason was resentful of him for having been Vale’s alpha during heats. And he was. But he wasn’t going to let that rule the rest of his life with Vale. Clearly Urho wasn’t going anywhere, so he might as well make peace with it.
“I like to cook.” Jason took the stuffing bowl from Rosen and added a pile to his plate. The scent of rosemary and sage wafted up, making his mouth water. “Though I can’t claim to be as skilled as Rosen, I’ll be capable of keeping us fed, I think.”
Vale’s brows lifted in interest. “Oh?”
“As I told Vale the other day, Father doesn’t keep house servants all the time. Too many people in his space, Pater says. They like their privacy. Father only hires them in for parties and special dinners. Otherwise, we take care of ourselves.”
“So your pater is a good cook then?” Yosef asked.
“No, Father is the one who makes most of our meals. Pater is sick a lot and…” He wondered for the first time if Pater’s weakness would reflect badly on him. “Pater doesn’t cook.”
“So your Father learned to in his place?” Urho asked.
Jason frowned. He hated the implication that it was always the omeg
a’s job to provide for the alpha in the home. Certainly alphas were usually the main breadwinners, and most well-to-do omegas ran the household, but those of lesser means often worked outside the home in whatever way they safely could. Besides, even the wealthy omegas did more than simply run a house. They were people. They had interests of their own.
Take Vale, for example. Left to his own devices, he was clearly not the stereotypical omega alphas were taught to expect, and Jason had it on good authority from Pater and Father that omegas came in all stripes of human, just as alphas did. Pater had always argued that it was appalling to strip omegas of everything but house duties. Father had never demanded it of Pater, and Jason wouldn’t demand it of his omega, either. If Vale wanted to return to teaching after they’d contracted, consummated, and bonded, then he’d make sure that was an option for him. He’d make sure Vale got whatever he wanted.
“Not exactly. Father loves cooking and Pater loves to eat what he makes. It made sense for them to stick to the part they most enjoy.”
Vale grinned at him and Jason’s heart grabbed hard like a fist. He wanted to see that pleased smile again as soon as possible.
“Did your father teach you, then?” Rosen passed a basket of bread while Urho finished piling a massive serving plate high with half-destroyed slices of duck.
“He did. Whenever Pater is ill…” Jason trailed off again, but Vale caught his eye and smiled warmly, encouraging him to go on. “When Pater is ill, which is more and more often, unfortunately, Father calls me in to assist him, and I’ve picked up a lot. When Father is away for business, I cook for Pater and myself.” He shrugged. “I make a lot of casseroles because they’re easy for leftovers.”
“My pater used to make a divine hot crab casserole,” Vale said. “It was my favorite.” His plate was filled with Rosen’s cranberry sauce, the stuffing, a huge helping of duck that Urho had placed there directly, green beans, and several rolls.