Chapter 20
Oberon thought he’d finally gotten Fenrir talking.
But then the omega had gone quiet on him again.
At least he was still here and not trying to leave.
He spent the next hour watching his omega move about the room, giving him the contemplative space Fenrir so clearly needed.
O had returned to the bed, sitting on the edge, allowing the silence to stretch between them, until it settled into a comfortable sort of quiet that could almost be considered nice.
Truthfully, he’d been anxious. Afraid that Fenrir would try to run from this, from them, without even attempting to give it a chance. They’d been interrupted right at the climax, and he still didn’t know how the omega was feeling.
It had to be unsettling to wake up and discover you had a mate, but then Fenrir had said all that stuff about accepting him. About wanting to build.
About wanting in general.
Oberon could work with that. He knew nothing of the world if not desire. How to feed it, satisfy it.
Make it grow.
He’d do the latter. Stoke the flames within the omega the same way Fenrir was currently stoking the embers in the fireplace.
Fenrir had pulled it out of the corner and moved it to the center of the room, next to the large, square, black fur rug.
He hadn’t asked for assistance, not with that, or with the wood, or actually lighting the thing, though upon closer inspection, there was a telling furrow between the omega’s brows.
“Are you all right?” Oberon asked from his perch on the bed, keeping a close eye on him for any clues. Fenrir’s hand was gripping the end of the poker, holding it as far back as he could without losing control of it. “Are you afraid of fire, precious?”
The omega bristled but didn’t turn or falter in his task. “Fire is fine.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not,” he insisted. “It’s not the flames on their own it’s…” His head tipped toward the window, glancing outside briefly before turning his attentions back. “The idea of being trapped with no escape from the heat.”
“Heat? Does this have something to do with your abilities?” Fenrir could control the temperature, could make things colder. Were there perhaps conditions in which his ability would be prevented?
“Taking notes, King?”
“I trust you.” He meant it. “You’re my omega.”
Fenrir snorted, and O allowed the conversation to die for now, watching as the fire was finished and the omega got up and began preparing a meal from the ingredients on the shelves.
“Were you often left to your own devices as the Wolf?” he broke the silence a bit later, when Fenrir was nearly done.
“We’ve discussed my treatment.”
“Not at length.”
“Not now.”
O sighed. “What would you like to talk about then?”
“You remembered a stove, but no table?” Fenrir carried two bowls of noodles over. He handed one to Oberon, but as soon as O took it, he walked away.
O scowled when Fenrir settled onto the rug, then stood with a flourish and went to join him, a bit miffed when his omega gave no reaction and simply blew on his food before taking a bite. “I never expected to actually use this place.”
“That’s sort of what emergency safehouses are for, though, right? The unexpected.”
“I can’t tell if you’re chiding me.”
“Eat before it gets cold.”
“Definitely chiding me.”
Oberon momentarily considered fiddling with his chopsticks, but realized his injury was too low on the side, and he would never get away with pretending he couldn’t operate his hand.
It didn’t make sense anyway, just like it hadn’t made any sense back in the forest. He’d been fine, had dug the bullet out and was merely taking a breather.
The plan had been to go locate Fenrir, but then he’d heard the omega approaching and…
For reasons still unknown to him, he’d instinctively acted the part of the wounded animal. The pathetic, helpless, wounded animal.
It’d worked though. Like a charm, in fact. He’d gotten to see his omega worry and dote on him, and in turn, had quelled some of those anxieties within him. Fenrir wouldn’t have gone so far out of his way if at least a part of him wasn’t into Oberon too.
He wouldn’t get ahead of himself and ask for the other guy to like him, not yet anyway, but knowing he cared enough not to want him dead?
That was something.
But now they were sitting here, alone, and even though Oberon was the only thing there that should warrant Fenrir’s attention, suddenly the omega was acting like that bowl of noodles in his hands was the greatest thing on the planet.
Hell. Oberon could buy a million noodles.
A million noodle shops even.
“Look at me,” he hadn’t meant for it to come out so childish sounding, and inwardly cursed himself when it did, but it did the trick.
Fenrir sighed and then glanced up at him with his orange eyes, impatience clear. “What is it now?”
“I’m not sure.” The omega wanted equality? Wanted honesty? Oberon could do that, even if it made them both uncomfortable. “I just don’t like not being your center of attention.”
He scrunched his nose and straightened some. “Did you really just say something that cheesy?”
“It’s romantic.”
“It’s lame. I made a much better alpha.”
“Being an alpha isn’t a personality trait,” O pointed out. “Fine.” For all his talk about honesty, Fenrir clearly wasn’t ready. “An ice breaker, then. Let’s play a game…I know. K.B.F?”
“What?”
“Kill, Butcher, Frame.”
Fenrir set his chopsticks in his bowl and repeated, “What?”
“It’s a game. I learned it from a rival mafia member.
Well, I overheard him playing with his sister and I liked it, so I stole it.
It’s simple. Who would you murder, who would you make suffer, and who would you frame for both?
You had to have played games like this to pass the time when you were younger. ”
“When I was a grunt, we were usually too tired by the time we returned to the warehouse. Then later, when I was locked up, the pain was distracting for all of us.”
Oberon’s fury was swift, but he banked it down, careful not to let any of it show on his face.
He didn’t want to freak the omega out, and it wasn’t like his anger could be useful here.
“Later, I’ll ensure you get proper revenge for all that was done to you, precious, but for now, we’re just going to have to settle for pretend. ”
He considered it and then nodded. “All right. How is it played again?”
“You just think of three people you hate. It can be anyone.”
“Trick, Michelle, and Jose.”
“I’m not familiar with that last one,” Oberon admitted.
“He’s their driver. Sometimes assistant. Depends on the day and their moods.”
“Weird. Why does he stick around?” The Wardrobe had many regular job opportunities and that sounded like one of them. If he hadn’t been brought into Michelle’s inner circle yet, Oberon doubted this Jose person ever would be.
“Because he’s in love with Trick.”
That sounded like more of a reason for him to quit.
Oberon frowned. “Does Michelle know?”
“Yes.”
“And...she doesn’t mind?”
“She finds it funny.”
“Because?”
“Trick is fine with other alphas, but not men.”
“So she enjoys making him uncomfortable?”
Fenrir shrugged. “I think they’re all into it, to be honest. Trick doesn’t exactly tell him to stop whenever he openly flirts with him. Or he likes that Michelle likes it. Who really knows.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to allow others to hit on you, even if you enjoy it.” Because Oberon wouldn’t. No chance in hell. He was a bit surprised by how quickly the possessiveness had hit him. Typically, he wasn’t the type to grow attached to material things. People counted.
“Of course not,” Fenrir stated. “I’m not okay with anyone hitting on you either.”
He was just about to smile when the omega continued.
“You successfully altered my programming when you flooded me with your pheromones during the mating. The claiming bite took. I’m yours now, and you’re mine. That’s how it works,” Fenrir sounded so matter of fact.
It pissed O off.
“You aren’t a damn machine,” he snapped, only for the omega to lift a brow.
“I run on energy like one.”
“You aren’t a tool or a weapon, Fenrir.”
He leaned back. “Why are you getting so upset, King?”
Oberon had known, on some level, that biting a man he hardly knew would lead to this, but it was still infuriating. He didn’t want Fenrir to submit because he had to, or because biology told him to. He wanted the omega to want him.
To want him back.
“Forget it.” There was no point it talking about this now. Baby steps. That’s how this had to go. “Let’s get back to the game.”
“There’s more to it?”
“You didn’t say who you would kill—”
“I would murder Trick,” Fenrir cut him off. “I’d torture Michelle. And then I’d frame Jose for it and watch him rot in prison for the rest of his life.”
Something about that made it seem like Jose was a lot more than a mere driver.
“That’s a lot of animosity,” Oberon tentatively prodded. “The first two, I get, but—”
“Jose is the one Michelle has watch me when she and Trick are both busy,” Fenrir said.
“Has he hurt you?”
“No…” He cleared his throat, suddenly sheepish, and mumbled, “He just doesn’t shut up about how great Trick is and it’s fucking annoying.”
Oberon laughed.
“Your turn.” The omega looked at him expectantly.
“Jose, Trick, Michelle.”
Fenrir set his bowl to the side, interest piqued. “Why?”
“It looks like Jose is a nuisance but not the worst, so I’d offer him a quick death,” O explained. “Trick is a follower, so I’d torture him. Get names and any information out of him I could.”
“And Michelle? Why would you let her live?”
“Because death is too kind for some people. I’d make sure she suffered every day for the rest of her miserable life.” Oberon ate a bite of his mostly cold noodles but didn’t complain. Then asked casually, “Does that bother you?”
“That you would torment someone?”