Chapter 8 Alphas #2
His nipples were the same color as his lips—almost brown. Perky against his firm chest, they were pebbled from the cold. Scars traced across his skin, though not nearly as many as some warriors his age.
From the recesses where it usually slumbered, Ridan’s omega perked up.
Like a cat waking from a nap, eyes sleepily parting as it lifted its dainty nose to the air, sniffing for anything of interest before deciding to fall back asleep.
He couldn’t smell the alpha over the water and forest, but he was surprised that he wanted to.
And was it really his fault he stared? His disinterest in mating didn’t go so far as to not notice an attractive alpha. Foreigner or not, the man was attractive. Even his face, cut from stone yet soft around the eyes and mouth, was appealing.
Peppercorn sneezed, breaking the spell. The man jerked, looking up with wide eyes. They settled on Ridan. A flush curled up on his tanned cheeks, as he sheepishly waved.
“Apologies,” he said, as if he had been the one to walk in on Ridan bathing. “I didn’t know this was a popular spot.”
Ridan felt himself sneer. He braided Peppercorn's reins into her mane to keep them from dragging and stepped forward, hands on his hips.
“You decided to bathe off a game trail and didn’t expect to be seen?”
The big alpha blinked. “Oh. I didn’t…notice?”
Ridan looked back at the trail he’d just come from. It was plain as day. How did the idiot miss it?
Rolling his eyes, he looked down at the balled up clothes Brune had apparently just shed. They bobbed in the water beside him. “You know we have a bathing spring.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Ridan seethed, feeling his cheeks heat. They had specific bathing springs for alphas and omegas. He’d never been this close to a near naked alpha before and it was…distracting.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Brune shrugged slightly. He stood, brushing the mud from his knees. Even standing in the creek, he was a head taller than Ridan. He wrung out his underclothes, pulling them from his skin to try to protect what little modesty he still had.
“Maybe you could show me?” he asked with another sheepish smile. After he asked, he froze, eyes going wide. “Er, uh, I mean…someone? I didn’t mean you, of course—”
“Why not me?” he snapped.
Brune seemed to look everywhere except Ridan. “I mean, you’re the prince.”
“The what?”
“Oh, do you use a different title? Sorry, we called them princes. But you’re um—the heir! That’s what you said before.”
Ridan ground his teeth. “Listen up, foreigner,” he spat, stomping into the creek so he could go toe to toe with the alpha. Even through his boots, he could feel the chill from the mountain creek.
“I’m no spoiled, useless prince. Call me that again and I’ll show you what clan dirt tastes like.”
Brune looked down at him, chin tucked. He grinned. “Think you’ve already shown me plenty.”
Ridan spluttered; eyes narrowed. He made to grab his shirt, drag the alpha down to his height, but he wasn’t wearing one. The best he could do was grab him by the back of the neck and pull his face closer.
He opened his mouth to spew a tirade at the idiot, but Brune lifted both hands up. “Before you start threatening me again, can I put some clothes on? It’s getting a bit cold.”
What?
Shocked, he released the man. Straightening up, Brune made a show of stretching his back before snatching his clothes from the water. He wrung them out, twirling the thin linen shirt and pants to rid them of water.
Still standing in the water, he stared at the man like he’d just grown two heads. He’d fought Ridan. He’d seen Ridan kill. How could he be so…was he not worried? Afraid? Brune was a stranger here! A foreigner!
He inhaled, ready to give the man a tongue lashing his mother would be proud of, when he noticed the dingy shirt in his hands. It didn’t look any cleaner than before he’d put it in the water.
“Is that how you wash your clothes?” he asked, incredulous.
Brune looked down at the sodden garments. “Yes?”
Disgust rolled through Ridan. He may not be afraid to get dirty, but he sure knew how to clean his clothes after. Ripping the clothes from the idiot, he stepped back out of the bank and began hunting through the reeds closer to where it forked. Brune watched him, head tipped to the side like a dog.
Finding what he wanted, he ripped the Soap Flower from the bank, trudging back over to where he started.
There was a decent enough rock, small, but it would do for just a couple of pieces.
Kneeling, he soaked the clothes again and laid the shirt flat on the rock.
Crushing the red flower between his hands, he watched as the seeds foamed up in his wet palm.
“Woah,” Brune gasped, eyes wide. “How did you know it would do that?”
“Because I’m not an idiot,” Ridan snapped, laying the soap down and beginning to scrub the shirt on the rocks. “It’s called Soap flower for a reason. Grows in the deep mud at the ford here and in one other place. It’s not as good as the soap the clan makes, but it’ll do.”
With fascination, Brune watched him clean clothes. Hands on his knees, he huddled over Ridan as he worked the clothes. They were nearly at the end of their life. Momma Sehleh would refuse to even repair these and Oosa would weep at the quality.
“Where did you learn to do this?”
“Clean my clothes?” he didn’t look up at the big alpha. “Been doing it since I could walk.”
Well, since he and Jonen started getting into trouble. They spent many afternoons washing their clothes, hoping Momma Sehleh and his mother didn’t notice the new stains.
“You really aren’t a prince, huh?” Brune asked, smiling wide.
Ridan tossed his wet shirt at his face, grinning when it slapped against him. “Rinse that out.”
Brune didn’t seem perturbed by the shirt to the face, taking it to do as he was told.
They finished washing the clothes, finding a low hanging branch to hang them to dry. Falling to the grassy bank, Ridan dried his hands on his pants. Brune joined him, pushing his wet hair from his eyes.
This close, he could finally smell the alpha. It wasn’t overbearing. Just a hint of rain. Not a storm. But a gentle shower just beginning to soak dusty rocks. It reminded Ridan of the mountains the few times he’d been, the first pattering of a rain rolling over the plains. It was pleasant.
“You know,” Brune began, eyes fixed on the creek. “I think this is the closest I’ve ever been to an omega. Well, except for when you pinned me.”
Ridan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. How could such a big man look so…non-threatening. His alpha fangs were sharp enough to kill, yet there he was, arms looped around his knees as he turned his face to the mottled sunshine pouring in through the trees.
“Why's that?” he asked, surprised to find he was genuinely curious.
Brune shrugged slightly. “There are not many omegas just walking around Kaledonea.” His voice grew wistful, punctuated with something that sounded a lot like regret.
“The omegas in Guttersnipe don’t last very long.
At least not…it’s usually safer for them to find a brothel.
Or a patron of some kind. And the wealthy ones aren’t allowed out on the streets. It’s too dirty and dangerous for them.”
His brows furrowed. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“You said it’s too dangerous for them,” Ridan explained. “Why just them? Why not everyone?”
Brune turned to look at him. “I guess because they think omegas are more delicate.”
“Do you think that?” Ridan asked hotly, hands fisting in the grass by his side.
The big alpha took a moment to think about it.
“I didn’t think much about omegas at all.
They just weren’t…relevant? It was all about my next meal, or the next place I could sleep.
” His face twisted. “Kaledonea is a selfish place, full of selfish people. I don’t think it’s all our fault.
It’s just the way you must be to survive. ”
Ridan didn’t understand. Even before he presented, no one said anything about him being an omega.
His mother had celebrated, telling him he would be just like his father.
He learned all the same things Jonen did—when he was taught to ride and sling, so was Ridan.
When he first drew a bow, Ridan was beside him, besting him at it all because he would always leave the alpha in his dust. Hell, even the Stone Blade founder was an omega.
The elders loved to sit around and tell stories at festivals.
When the herb and drink flowed, they would reach back and speak of Artrax.
It was a tale they’d all heard a hundred times, and they’d listen a hundred more.
Ridan’s heart would thunder in his chest when they got to the part about his ancestors fighting side by side with the great dragon, accepting death because they knew that to live without righting the wrongs was a worse fate.
But the part of that story he never gave much thought to was the rest. The walled cities were made up of the same ancestors. So how did they become so different?
As if hearing his thoughts, Brune spoke, “In Kaledonea we were told the Clansmen were monsters—feeding on the flesh of the dead. Mindless, violent creatures without magic to guide them.” His lips quirked. “But the longer I’ve been here, the more it seems that Kaledonea is the violent one.”
Ridan plucked a blade of grass. He stroked up the stalk, calluses catching on the edge. “You think?” he asked gruffly, keeping his eye on the piece in his hands.
“I do.” Brune watched Ridan work the grass into a ball. “And I don’t know where that leaves me.”
They lapsed into silence. He tossed the balled grass into the creek and watched it bounce between rocks on its way downstream.
It wasn’t an oppressive silence—it couldn’t be.
Not with the ambient noise, but it was more than that.
Ridan could feel that same sense of peace he felt on the battlefield when Brune was nothing more than a blur.