Chapter 7 #2
I nod and go grab the pills. They won’t help me, not really, but they dull the discomfort a tiny bit.
I lie in bed after, staring at the wooden beams framing the ceiling, while Rus goes to put away the dishes and clean the kitchen.
When he starts tending the fire, I turn my back to it, closing my eyes. He doesn’t push or linger. For a while, he’s downstairs, returning with more firewood, despite the fact that there already seems to be more than enough.
He sits down with a book after, and at some point, I fall asleep.
I always feel horribly fatigued right before my rut begins, but it’s not like the sleep I get is any help.
It is a strange, nightmarish state where my mind races, coming up with feverish, nonsensical scenarios, and my muscles involuntarily tense up so much it hurts.
Even though I’m unconscious, I wake up drained and feeling worse.
Rus must have taken a shower while I was out, because the room smells of the same bergamot and shea butter soap I’ve used in there.
I slowly roll onto my back and see him in the kitchen. He’s singing again, a different song this time, his voice low but still perfectly on key. As I look around, I freeze at the sight of the bird perched at the top of the footboard’s rail leg.
Got free rein of the whole house now, huh?
As I move and pull myself up to sit, the magpie startles and flies away to perch on the mantel of the fireplace instead.
It looks at me, shits on the floor underneath, and glides down to the box that’s now placed on its side so that it can just walk in, with the water and seed bowls laid out in front of it.
Rus clearly heard the movements, because when I turn to him, his gaze already fixates on me. “Feelin’ better?” he asks.
I rub my face. No. I’m only going to feel worse and worse until…
I draw in a deep breath and force a smile. “A bit. What time is it?” My phone sits on the couch, but I don’t want to touch it, so I don’t waste the little charge I have left.
“Three…something.”
Damn. I slept that long? It feels like I closed my eyes only for a minute.
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry. I’m cooking some late lunch—basically dinner. Rabbit and carrot stew. My mother used to make it. It’s divine,” he says and turns his back to me again, stirring something in a large pot on the stove. “At least I hope it’s goin’ to be.”
I ignore the pinch of guilt and get up.
“It looks to be flying just fine.”
Rus hums in confusion before glancing at me and realizing I’m talking about our new companion. “Yeah, it’s gettin’ more lively. Was chirping a bit ago. When it flew out, it looked like the wing was a little sore, but hopefully, I’ll be able to release it back out when the storm’s over.”
I wonder whether the bird is male or female. Looking at it, I can’t tell. I was never good at noticing these things, and as far as I know, it isn’t super obvious in magpies, anyway.
“If it ever ends,” I say quietly, almost to myself, as I look out of the window. The snowfall is relentless. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s so much that it completely swallows up the entire house. It honestly feels like it might.
All at once, the hair on my arms prickles. I feel like I’ve been run into a corner. An uneasy shiver whispers through me.
“You’re feelin’ it, huh? Cabin fever. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry you got stuck in here with me when you wanted to leave.”
My stomach clenches at the genuine regret in his voice. Then it cramps even more at the realization that Rus can tell how miserable I am, and that might make it harder to get close. I have to stir up more than pity in him for my plan to work.
I approach him in the kitchen. “Do you need help with anything?”
Build rapport.
He looks a little surprised but nods and lets me cut the carrots. “You’re free to keep singing, by the way. It’s…nice,” I say without looking at him. I feel his gaze on me for a moment before he starts humming the melody again.
It’s not like I’m lying. I do enjoy his voice.
I’m not doing anything wrong at all…
Russell was right. The stew is divine. Rich, creamy, and satisfying.
If only the anxiety over my approaching rut weren’t ruining each bite I take and haunting my every thought.
In all my serious relationships, my focus would always be on my partner. They’d become more important than me and my problems. An unintended, pleasant distraction. Most of the time, I welcomed that. Other times, it only caused more issues.
It took me a while to open up, but Felix was the first to help me actually enjoy my ruts.
When it came, we’d fuck, and I would be his alpha and he my omega—the right way, the only way it’s supposed to be.
But even that is ruined forever because of what he did.
Because I couldn’t be good enough to prevent it from happening.
Now I’m alone, and I’m here in this place, and…
“So…you don’t have anyone close?” I blurt out.
Stupid fucking question. I’m getting impatient.
Messy. Rus looks up at me from his empty bowl, a curious gleam in his brown eyes.
“I-I mean, back when I still lived here, I remember everyone always got paired up straight away. Folks would match kids together before they even got old enough to care. Always found it weird,” I say, hoping to somehow save it.
He smiles softly and glances down. More of a faint smirk, really.
“Most people here believe an omega needs an alpha—as much as an alpha needs an omega—to be fulfilled. I reckon it makes sense with how hard life up on the mountain can be. To have someone by your side. But I’ve never… I just… I dunno.”
My heart flutters at the way his firm voice dips and goes uneasy at the end. He doesn’t look at me, only plays around with his spoon, running it against the rim of the bowl.
I hate how easy he’s making it for me by being this vulnerable and honest.
I hate myself, but I can’t stop.
Because I have to do this. I need these horrible feelings to go away, and this is the only way.
“Do you ever get…lonely?”
With his complexion, I can see the blush that appears on his cheeks and his neck, even down to his muscular shoulders and bulging traps, before they get hidden by his t-shirt. His hand stops moving, and I hear him swallow.
“Everybody gets lonely,” he says, the tender words nearly a whisper. His pheromones, no doubt released subconsciously, flow toward me, sweet and alluring.
“Have you had an alpha before?” I continue with my risky, direct questioning. Seems to be working so far. “I mean, how did you deal with your heats in the army?”
I think that the idea that my risque questions come from curiosity gives Rus back some confidence.
He shifts in the seat and glances up at me, his cheeks still a little flushed.
“You’re required to be on suppressants while you serve.
It kind of messes up your body, but it’s the only way they allow venusfolk. It prevents, um…complications.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that,” I mutter.
It’s not like we’re animals who can’t control themselves. But betas are the majority of the population, so they can make whatever rules they want.
“I just focused on myself and the work I was given when I was in the service and… Well, anyway, most alphas have always been kind of intimidated by me, so…”
“That’s a shame,” I say, stretching out my leg under the table until it touches his. Rus quickly meets my fixed gaze and doesn’t move away, even though I can tell he’s conflicted about it. “I don’t see why they would be.”
I’m telling the truth. Maybe not for the best reasons, but I am.
Rus might not be what one imagines a regular omega to be, but that doesn’t matter.
Everything about him is perfect in an unconventionally balanced way.
His voice, his wide shoulders, his large hands, and his height—it all somehow fits with the softness that is inside.
Nothing about him is performative; not a single thing he does exaggerated or insincere.
I see it in those sweet, rich brown eyes, and that’s what makes him so attractive.
“Those things about you? The things they find intimidating?” I say, my words deliberate and careful, “I find them very enticing.”
Rus’s jaw drops open, just for a moment, and I swear I can see his pupils dilate. His eyes dart down to my hand extended over the table. I tap my fingers lightly against the wood, not too far from him.
He must know what this is, right? To be sure, I try to let these feelings out in my pheromones. The want for closeness. The sheepish invitation.
Gulping again, he looks to the side. “Anyone else?” he asks. “Have you ever been with other alphas? Or betas?” There’s no judgment in his question, only some sweetly innocent curiosity. It’s almost as if he’s trying to figure something out in his head.
I smirk faintly. “Yeah. I have.”
At times, I did what I had to do to get high. It wasn’t always exactly what I desired or my first choice, but it’s not like I hated it, or like it was the fact that the other man was an alpha that was the problem.
And how ridiculous is it that the alphas I fucked to get my next high actually made me less anxious than omegas most of the time? All of that distrust and distaste and hurt my mother carved into me with what she did turned omegas into the least appealing option.
Not with Russell, though… I don’t feel the same uneasiness around him.
He’s demure and reserved, but not in that obnoxious way omegas sometimes play up around alphas, acting like submissive, insecure, weak little things just waiting to be dominated to appease some perceived need within us.
Rus is strong and determined in such a natural way that it doesn’t come off as aggressive or unfriendly. Quite the opposite.
I feel the energy building in the air between us, so I finally get my butt off my chair and lean over the table.