Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I’m beginning to wonder if, perhaps, I died instead of Zazt.
Did our enemies actually send me to Morfu instead of my older brother? Is the omega driving me insane simply the latest of a vengeful god’s seven torments?
No, I think dully, swirling the fermented brew in my cup. Remembering her swirling opal eyes. Nothing from any hell could ever be so beautiful.
My musk spikes automatically. Without looking up, Norabi kicks me under the large stone table. Reminding me of her many warnings and suggestions.
I’ve heard them all, but can’t say I’ll be putting them to use. After our one breakfast together, two things are clear: my omega wants nothing more than to escape my planet. And she supremely dislikes me. For good reason.
As gutting as it is, I think it might be for the best. If I’m going to give her what little freedom I can, it’s likely better that she continues to hate me. Easier for her, anyway.
Which is, quite literally, the only thing that matters to me anymore.
The Dome buzzes around us, filled with hundreds of my closest countrymen. It is Roktusian tradition for clans to take their evening meals together. While that likely worked better centuries ago, before our city sprang up, it’s something we’ve chosen to carry forward.
Instead of small groups, people who dwell in the capital dine at one of three collective halls.
My court and I switch between them based on the seasons.
With the Turn approaching, we’ve recently moved the feast here, to the palace’s attached Dome.
After the Equinox, we’ll make the daily journey across Rholoko to the hall by the Seas.
For now, I’m grateful my mate does not have to set foot outside my property.
If she deigns to show up at all.
She did not come yesterday, but Mortana assured me she will attend tonight. Apparently thanks to Cylus and some deal the two of them struck.
I’m not sure what makes me more murderous—the number of favors I now owe that male, or the notion of him speaking to my mate behind my tail.
New energy suddenly snaps through the chamber. The bustling Dome comes to an abrupt halt. Hundreds of Roktusians fall silent, each pivoting toward the large, arched portal across from the high table.
Mortana is there, her graying body wrapped in silver cloth to match Norabi’s. Behind her, I spot the sheen of dark hair. So warm and rich.
Brown, the color is called.
I used my Galactic Council security clearance specifically to access Earth archives and find the correct word for my new favorite hue.
The omega turns every single head while she follows Mortana down the central aisle. Before a single alpha can move, I’m on my feet, issuing a roaring ruff from the bottom of my very soul.
“Be seated.”
My command has its intended effect. Our subjects rush for their metal benches and tables, filling the room with noise as they settle. My mate clearly doesn’t like the flurry of activity. She hurries to reach the dais, pausing nervously to cast Mortana a searching look.
I clench my back teeth against the urge to bow. Doing so would unwind all the careful work I’ve done to avoid marking her as mine. A Zortaire bends to no one, aside from their mate.
What happened yesterday at breakfast was merely… an inescapable slip. One I’m grateful none of these people witnessed. Or my title would have snapped around her wrists like a pair of shackles.
At Mortana’s encouraging nod, Sofi bobs into a bow so graceless, my lips nearly twitch up.
Nearly.
Before I can attempt a smile, a low snarl interrupts our greeting. The omega and I both turn, finding Rask in his customary place at the Second Table, among my most favored warriors and viziers.
His silver gaze sails into on my mate first, burning with electric intensity I see as plainly as any arrow. Rask remembers himself quickly, wings rustling as he snaps his face forward, staring at his empty place setting.
Mortana still slaps him on the back of the head as she hobbles past, though.
Sofi blinks, dazed, before shooting me a sheepish glance. “My apologies, Zortaire,” she murmurs. Much meeker than the last time we spoke.
I loathe it.
“Where would you like me?” she asks.
The Dome is so silent, everyone gathered hears the quiet question. I work to swallow a wad of shame, knowing I am unworthy to sit next to her again. Even as I direct her to do just that.
She lowers herself into the spot to my right, flanked by Mortana on her other side. If she were my queen—or even my Zellina, as the staff have implied—she would have chosen a true lady’s maid. For now, our old cantankerous crone will have to do.
Sofi slants her luminous eyes at me, muttering from the corner of her lush mouth, “Everyone is staring.”
I dish the choicest cuts of meat from my own plate, pointing out, “You are an alien.”
And breathtaking.
She gasps, an adorable expression crossing her pale, smooth features. Outrage, I believe. “I’m an alien?!”
Her open-mouthed expression melts into the first true bit of amusement I’ve seen her wear. Mirth quirks her lips. “Oh, God, I guess I am.”
Her good humor touches a new place in my soul. Melting it around her even more completely.
Stelaris above. She is perfect.
Her scent changes, shifting away from salty sourness. Growing sweeter and thicker. The perfection of it slices me to my core. Flaying my resolve.
“Here, stryllas.”
I purposefully say the word in Roktusian, hoping the obscure pet name won’t translate. I don’t want to trouble her with it. Bad enough that my attendants insist on referring to the human as my “lover.”
Sofi gapes at me for a moment before examining the food I offered. It is a nice leg of roffu. When I tell her, she frowns. Muttering something that sounds like “lamb.”
She winces, but nods, tucking in. My shoulders relax slightly as she chews, the knowledge that I’ve fed my mate easing some of my suffering.
“This is good,” Sofi mumbles, surprise coloring her voice as she peeks over at me. Slivers of true gratitude light her irises. “Thank you.”
Her appreciation is like ice on a burn. It hurts as much as it helps. Healing me with a bitter sting. I need it. I hate it.
Because I cannot keep her.
But, gods, what a privilege just to know her.
Watching her poke at her supper, a new realization crystallizes: this creature could not be more perfect—or more out of place.
There’s no way this was the result of chance. A mere coincidence could not possibly explain our fate.
No. I suddenly understand: Stelaris literally moved the heavens to give me this gift.
Even if I only have her for a moment.
This moment.
I watch my omega with renewed intensity, pondering the ache between my hearts. It’s true—she’s only here, within reach, until her heat ends. Then I will let her go.
What kind of impression will I leave? To me, she’ll always be the light of my life. A shooting star to herald the end of all that came before her—and leave me sitting in darkness.
But what have I been to her? A growling, stomping brute? The male who terrified her in her bathing chamber, interrogated her over breakfast, then let her marinate in silence and doubt indefinitely?
Shame and longing collide at my middle, solidifying into a slab of certainty. “I have been an ass.”
Sofi’s utensils clatter to the stone tabletop. She nearly chokes, coughing, “P-pardon?”
Her dainty, five-fingered hand hovers, empty but still curled, as if holding her knife. I resist the urge to reach for it and exhale deeply through my nose.
“I have not been a good”—mate, mate, mate—“host.”
The lie of omission burns my throat. Painful enough to inspire me to add a hard truth. “To be honest, I didn’t anticipate my reaction to you. Or the strength of it. But either way…”
I’ve been a beast.
I still am one, really. At this very moment, my cocks strain under the tightest breeches I own. Worn strategically, with the vain hope I might keep them locked along my thigh.
An insane notion, I realize now.
The soft curve of Sofi’s lips easily makes up for any embarrassment I suffer. “You are a terrible host,” she replies brightly, as if this fact delights her. “Thank you for noticing.”
Gods. She’s already too beautiful and fragile and rare. Must she also be funny?
A dry laugh sloughs out of me. The sound is hoarse from disuse—and must sound unfamiliar to the advisors around me, because several heads turn. I ignore them, absorbing the flare of surprise in Sofi’s gaze instead and pitching my voice low for privacy.
“I’m hoping, if I improve, I might regain my meal companion.”
No one could ever deserve the way this female’s eyes soften. Least of all me. Her flat brows pinch into a V of concern.
“It doesn’t hurt?” she peeps. “Being close to me?”
Morfu, strike me.
Did it scare her when I said that? Has she been avoiding our prescribed meals to spare me pain?
I bend my head closer to hers, putting us eye-to-eye. “Yes,” I admit, still rasping. “But it is nothing compared to being away from you.”
Pretty pink fills her cheeks. A tantalizing waft of sweetness swells between us.
“That’s more like it,” she finally replies, her joke a bit too breathless to be believable. “Zortaire.”
“Zolkan,” I correct.
“Zolkan,” she repeats, then smiles. “Okay.”