Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Lark
The lass is sleeping. Out cold. Thank fuck.
I share a rueful smile with Rafe, who returns a sleepy grin as he lies on her other side. The bed is small and cramped, but we were determined to make it work.
Rafe nods his head toward the door.
Aye, I need to clean up. We all do. But first things first, the lass has to be hungry and thirsty after going at it for days. We need to get her some fresh food and drink. We ease out of the bed, detangling limbs carefully lest we wake the sweet lass up.
She doesn’t even murmur.
I share another grin with Rafe and snatch my scattered clothes from the floor, then we creep over to the door and slip out.
In the main room, we share another deeper look as we don our clothes. Definitely need a bath and some fresh clothing.
“Shaking up a storm,” Rafe grumbles, holding his hands out in front of him.
“Not got the stamina, old man?”
“Kept up with you, whelp,” he fires back without heat.
And he did, so fair dues.
“Mayhap I should go and see what food I can find.” I sniff myself and grimace. “And a bath might be in order. Reckon we can take it in turns afore she wakes up?”
“Aye, go on first. Lass is sleeping. Might be a while before she rouses.” He suddenly smirks and nods at my throat.
My hand goes there. It feels sore.
“She savaged you,” he says with a shake of his head, still grinning. “Savaged me a fair bit too.”
“Lass has a wild side, for sure, and a taste for blood. Who knew what was lurking under her prim little bookworm facade… Has she—” My eyes slide to the closed bedroom door and back to Rafe. My voice lowers. “Marked us? Claimed us? That’s what omegas do, isn’t it?”
“I don't know,” he says. “They do so with an alpha, for certain. Whether it works the same with a beta—I’ve heard rumors that it can, but that’s all they are.”
“Until some alpha bastard snatches them away,” I add with surprising heat.
“She is not ours to claim,” he replies.
Is that what I want? To be claimed? Is it what he wants?
We are staring at each other. The look is loaded, and I don’t have a clue what it means.
“Wasn’t looking to be claimed by a lass, certainly not some highborn princess.
” I swipe a hand through my hair, feeling it sticking up all over the place.
Then I remember her hands in it, guiding my mouth toward her pussy and gripping to hold me there.
Her soft, breathy moans when I hit the magic spot.
I could get used to that.
I’ve had my fist inside her and watched her shatter around it. Yeah, that changes a man.
Rafe is still staring at me. I believe he just read all of that on my face.
It has changed both of us. And if it has changed both of us, it has to have changed her as well.
I’ve loved a lot of women—the no-strings kind of loving. I’m an attentive lover, and word gets around with the lasses. Been told often enough that I’m easy on the eye, and that doesn’t hurt my quest to spend any spare moments getting my fill of pussy.
Then a crazy princess crashed into my life, nearly getting herself killed on a stallion she had no business riding, and mayhap she left an impression back then.
She has been changing me ever since, with her sassy mouth and back talk with Rafe, her adventuring, and her grit.
“Aye, you’ve got it bad,” Rafe says dryly.
“And you haven’t?”
He holds up both hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger. And I didn’t take whatever you just went through in your head for five long minutes to figure it out.”
He has a point. Bastard. One I cannot argue with.
Violet
I wake up and groan, my hand lifting to my forehead as I acknowledge a pounding headache.
It’s daylight. The shutters are closed, but bright sunlight still peeks around the edges. I grimace—no, I wince—as even that small movement sends shooting pain behind my eyes. I have a vague recollection of the shutters being open at some point. Somebody must have closed them.
I glance down at the covers that are drawn up to my neck. I remember being hot, of pushing them off, of a cool cloth against my forehead, of Rafe insisting that Lark cover me back up.
Goddess… What has happened to me?
The pieces don’t fit together for the pounding of my head. I can’t remember anything else beyond the fact that both men were present in this room.
Did they see me naked?!
As the throbbing behind my temple eases, I become aware of aches in my body—unnatural aches. How I feel off… weak. My body is strangely disconnected from my mind, as though it has been used in ways it has never been used before.
I groan and slap my hand over my eyes as if to hide from this… only to remove my hand so my eyes can go to the closed door. Have I just gone through a heat?
It’s not possible.
It’s very possible.
Maybe even likely. At least a mild form of heat…
maybe even a false heat. Yes, that must be what it was, a false heat, as I have read about in books.
My sluggish mind scrambles, trying to remember all I can about omega heats, false or otherwise.
It’s more like having a fever, from what I can recall.
Usually, they’re tended to by other women and given herbs to alleviate the symptoms.
I seem to recall Rafe might have suggested sending for a healer, and that I insisted I was fine. Maybe one was sent for after all… Rafe and Lark were here at one point. Perhaps they heard me calling for help?
Thank the Goddess they had the decency not to linger.
There is no use in hiding here. My bladder is making demands, and besides, I can feel and smell the sweat upon my body. A bath is essential. I push the covers up and slowly sit.
There’s a glass of water and a jug sitting on the table, along with a neatly folded cloth, a pitcher, and a basin. It becomes apparent to me that they took care of me—perhaps applied cooling cloths to my forehead. Probably made me drink.
Suddenly, many things make sense.
My shameful act at the window yesterday. My wild, uncharacteristic obsession with their scent.
They have seen me at my worst. Have they gone? Fled?
Powerfully thirsty, I pick up the glass. I have to hold it in two hands, and I’m shaking so hard that I spill some of it down my chin. The whole glass is downed in one. It clatters against the nightstand, and I wipe off my mouth with the back of my hand.
Then I attempt to stand and nearly pitch over.
I reach blindly for the nightstand, catch the basin, and send it tumbling with a crash to the floor.
The door swings open, and Rafe is standing there. Lark is hot on his heels.
My eyes widen, and I emit a small squeal. This time, I have half pivoted toward the opening door, and when I pitch forward, there is nothing even to grab.
Rafe is right there, grasping me by the arm and setting me down on the bed.
“Gods, what are you doing, lass?”
They are both standing over me. Neither seems surprised by my state of undress. “I’m undressed!”
“The blanket,” Rafe says to Lark.
Lark quickly grabs a blanket from the bed and wraps it around my shoulders.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I say weakly.
Rafe blows out a breath. “All right, lass. Want us to help you dress?”
“No.” I chance a glance up at him, feeling his eyes on me. His expression is very stern, and his fingers twitch the way they do when he thinks I’m in need of a spanking. Clearly, I am too weak to be spanked. Or to dress myself. “Yes, please.”
Lark collects my saddlebag, which has been neatly placed on the small dresser. He puts it on the bed beside me and starts rummaging through it for clothes. Instead of handing them to me, he extracts my panties from the pile and gives them to Rafe.
My mouth is doing a good impression of a fish out of water even before Rafe kneels before me and says, “Put your foot in, lass.”
Shocked into compliance, I do.
“That’s it, good girl… Help her stand, Lark.”
With the blanket still wrapped around me, Lark takes my arm to steady me while I clutch the blanket, and Rafe pulls them up.
My shame level is through the roof.
Next come my pants, after which I finally revive my wits and shoo them out. “I can manage the rest myself, and while sitting,” I say frostily. “I shall call you before I stand.”
Rafe’s expression is particularly stern. “We’ll be right outside the door. Call us when you’re ready. We’ll walk you down to the bathing room.”
I nod. They leave. I finish the rest of my clothing and get my boots on. Then I try to stand. Because I’m stubborn.
Nope, no miraculous recovery.
Not only are my legs no more stable, but an acute soreness is emanating between my legs. I’m very sticky there. I try to convince myself that Rafe might not have noticed that the blanket covered my decency.
Do not think about that now when you need to call them back in.
“Are you ready?” Rafe calls through the closed door like he senses I am up to something nefarious… which I suppose I am.
“Yes.”
The door swings open.
They escort me downstairs.
I bathe. I do my best to finger-comb the knotty mess that is my hair—how it came to be in this state…
and crusted in places with what, I have no idea, and further I refuse to think about it.
By the time I am cleaned to my satisfaction, my skin is wrinkled.
I empty the bath and use a nearby jug to douse myself in fresh water.
I’m trembling with the effort of this simple task. My stomach is so empty it feels like a knot has been scoured out with sandpaper.
When I open the curtain, I find Lark leaning against the wall.
He pushes off it as soon as he sees me, his eyes searching mine. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrible,” I admit.
His lips curve up in a smile. “Hopefully not all terrible.”
“Also hungry,” I admit when he continues to study me.
His expression has a teasing aspect, like he is waiting for more, a further confession maybe.
The teasing smile fades slowly. I feel inexplicably sad, and also confused as to what I did wrong that would make it go away.
He holds out his arm, suddenly so formal and not at all like Lark. He takes me back to the room. Rafe is waiting at the table before the window where breakfast is laid out.