Chapter 4 #2
“I’m feeling a little unwell,” I say. “I’m going to take to my room.”
Rafe’s eyes narrow. “You do look a little flushed.” He steps closer, bringing all that warmth with him.
I take a hasty step back.
He halts immediately, frowning. “Not going to hurt you, lass. Just want to check your temperature.”
No. That would not be a good idea. At all. His hands on me. I can scarcely breathe with him a pace away. Their scent is all up in my nose. It is all I can do not to lean into him.
My gaze drops of its own volition, and my eyes fix upon the faint bulge in his leather pants.
Not aroused. Merely the evidence of his manhood. A part of him I have, until now, chosen to ignore.
I swallow thickly.
Some distant part of me feels I ought to be more afraid. I am alone, many miles from home, far from anyone who knows my name. These men could do anything they wanted.
And yet I am not afraid at all. These two men are nothing like my sister’s mate, Elijah. Not once have they ever made me feel unsafe. Even now when I am staring at him in a way that is inordinately rude.
I shake my head, trying to rouse myself and tear my gaze away, only to catch Rafe’s eyes.
Tension is written all over his face. Underneath it is worry.
I steady my breathing. Remind myself that I know him in ways that go beyond mere acquaintance. I knew him that very first day, when he saved me from a runaway horse. When he pulled down my riding pants and spanked my bottom.
No, don’t think about that now.
“Mayhap the lass is thinking about that time you spanked her?”
“Shut the fuck up, Lark,” Rafe grits out.
Thankfully, it works.
“My apologies for… for the window,” I say. There. It’s out. Hopefully we can all move past it.
“No need,” Rafe says gruffly. “We’re simple men. You’re a beautiful woman. And while we should have looked away, we were momentarily stunned. But I don’t ever want you to be afraid of us.”
“I’m not,” I say quickly.
“Do you need us to send for a healer?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m just… tired. And not hungry. I really do think it’s best if I take to my bed.” Goddess slay me, why did I bring up the bed?!
“You’ve been riding all day. You need something to eat. And it might be many days before we’re in a comfortable bed again.” Rafe pauses. “Perhaps we should ask the innkeeper about extending the stay. A day or two, until you’re feeling better.”
For a supposed subordinate in my employment, he has a mile wide stubborn streak and overly firm disposition where my safety or wellbeing are concerned.
I nod.
“Aye,” Lark says, already moving toward the door. “And I’ll order supper. Even if you don’t eat now, I’ll have them bring something cold for later.”
The door opens and closes.
And I’m still staring up at Rafe.
He hasn’t moved closer. Neither have I moved away.
“Thank you,” I say.
“No need to thank us, lass.” He steps back, moving to the table, setting down the saddlebag he was still carrying.
It ought to break the tension, but if anything, it cranks it up another notch.
Rafe
I am sweating. It breaks out across the surface of my skin, the length of my spine. I don’t know what the fuck is ailing the lass. But now I think I have been infected with it too.
Thank fuck she takes to her bedroom and closes the door.
I want to go to her. A protective type of go to her, for clearly, there is something wrong. Only it’s not my fucking place. If she needs a healer, she’ll let us know. That lass is no fool, and she won’t take risks with her life.
The door opens as I am lost in these worries and rumination, and Lark enters. His eyes slide from me to the closed bedroom door where our mistress has gone.
“Sent for a cold supper,” he says. “Aye, thank fuck she has gone to her room. Her scent was near enough to choke me.” He swipes a hand down his face. “I know that scent. Last time was when—”
A knock sounds on the door.
I go over and open it. The tavern lass bustles in with a saucy smile and a laden tray.
She puts the tray down on the table before the window—it’s still fucking open from when Violet stood there—then throws another coy smile Lark’s way.
“It’s quiet in the tavern tonight. I could slip away for a bit if you—”
“No, thank ye, lass,” Lark says gruffly.
I’m still holding the door, and the lass flounces out.
“I thought you wanted a lass?” I say with a scowl as I shut the door. Why I’m giving him a hard time when it’s none of my business who he ruts—and further, he might shut the fuck up with his uncensored babbling if he ‘drained his balls’ as he put it—is a mystery to me.
“As if I could fuck someone else right now?” he says, giving me a pained look. He nods at the closed door where Violet went and lowers his voice to a hushed whisper. “I know that scent. There’s an omega in there.”
Words delivered like a punch to the gut, he stalks for the second bedroom and shuts the door.
I sit down at the table.
I dare say Lark’s senses, even as a mute shifter, are far superior to mine. I was skeptical when he talked about his mixed blood… which is probably why he never mentioned it before.
The cold supper is laid out in front of me—bread, cheese, some sliced meat—and I cannot look at any of it. I pour a cup of ale and set it down without drinking.
Omega.
Two of her younger sisters were omegas. Both of them left under suspicious circumstances. Soldiers talk. You hear things. There were hushed rumors that Elijah tried to rape one of them…
Weak bastard. I never liked Elijah, nor his bitch Queen, Elisa.
But now I’m seeing the past and events through a whole new lens. Violet’s sudden desire for adventure when the lass is a bookworm through and through, and the least adventurous woman I have ever met.
Does she know what she is?
It seems likely.
And still she led us blindly into the fire with her.
Gods! I want to be fucking mad. I want to give the lass a damn good spanking and demand to know what the fuck she was thinking running off like this, an omega, with two men she barely knows.
But how can I be mad when I think of such a sweet, kind, clever lass being trapped thus, of her being terrified of that bastard Elijah or her sister finding out? She must have been desperate.
The sudden change to her scent, one even I can detect as a beta, brings a whole new trouble to our door.
If I’m not mistaken, she is going into heat.
Thank fuck Lark extended our stay, for we cannot move until this is done, and will need to guard her closely through this.
There are yet rumors about omegas, about what heat does to them, and what it can also do to certain beta men chosen in place of an alpha.
The desperation of it. The way it strips everything back to something animal and urgent.
My eyes go to the closed doors. Behind one is Lark, with a spare bed for me. Behind the other is Violet.
I reach for the ale, and this time I drink it. Then I sit very still, and I listen to the silence the way a man does before a battle.
I cannot fail her.
I need to keep her safe.
The window is still open. The night air comes through it, cool and indifferent.
And then, from behind her closed door, I hear her moan. A sound so small I might have imagined it. Soft. Confused. Like someone waking in a strange place and not quite knowing where they are.
I set the cup down.
Another, deeper moan comes from behind the door.
Violet
I wake up disoriented, my body bathed in sweat. For a long, stretched, terrifying moment, I have no idea where I am.
And then the haze slowly lifts. The room is darkened. The window is shut, but the shutters are open, allowing moonlight to spill into the bedroom and across the bed where I lie.
My hand goes to my chest. Hot. I’m so hot.
I have vague memories of arriving at the tavern, of Rafe and Lark stabling the horse.
Something about feeling unwell… I heard them saying they would extend the stay until I felt better…
And then… taking to my room. Here, a pitcher and basin with a soft towel had been left out for me by the tavern proprietor, and I’d used a cloth to wipe the worst of the travel from my body.
That had calmed me some before I had slipped into bed.
The covers are rumpled like I have tossed and turned.
I’m naked. I didn’t even bring my saddlebag through with my nightgown.
This omission momentarily stuns me. My body feels strange, like it is not part of me.
A rattly sound erupts from my throat, soft, low, almost like a purr.
It has a strange cadence that shifts as I breathe in and out.
I become aware of sensations, of a tingling between my thighs. Of the sensitivity of my skin as I draw my fingers slowly along my thigh, lost in the wonder of how delectable it is, even so gentle a touch.
My legs part. I have no idea why I part them, only that it feels good. There is a throbbing sensation deep in my core, an ache, a pervasive need to be filled.
My fingers slide further up until they find my pussy. I’m drenched. Just how much so is truly shocking. My fingers smear through the stickiness. I lift them from out of the covers, brows puckering as I examine them in the moonlight.
“Help me,” I whisper. I don’t know who I’m entreating, only that I need help.
“Oh.” My next moan is deeper, louder. Slave to the strange sensations rippling through me, I plunge my fingers into the needy place between my thighs and pump my fingers erratically, desperate to assuage the terrible ache.
Distantly, I sense that this is all wrong.
That I shouldn’t be doing this. Yet the fear and confusion do not take hold.
Nothing can touch me in this hazy, carnal cloud.
Soon, my hand is drenched. The bedding beneath me, likewise. I cry out openly now, lost in the throes of pleasure, as I coax my body toward a climax until it finally, blissfully, crests.
I pant into the aftermath, already moving my fingers, albeit slowly now, for the climax offered barely a hint of relief. Faint sounds emanate from the other side of the wooden door—low voices. I pay them no heed.