Chapter 71
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
My mate beams her opal-blue eyes at me, the sweetest question I’ve ever heard still hanging from her plush, swollen lips.
Fuck.
What she’s asking… What she’s offering…
It’s too much.
She’s already more than I ever could have expected. More than any of our miserable hides deserve. We can’t ask her for this, too.
Can we?
I feel Cylus hesitate, but our Zortaire goes rigid. His smoky musk singes, turning distinctly burned. “No,” he outright refuses. “Sofi, you needn’t—”
“I want to,” she cuts in, craning her neck to see the male still lodged inside her from behind. “I—My omega instincts won’t stop shrieking about it. How I need it. And you guys do, too.”
The thought of her needing anything and not having it is like a blade to the gut. I stifle a groan, papering over it with a purr. “Korryna—”
“No,” Zolkan says again, louder. And then quieter. “No, my queen. I will not—we cannot—”
I know he’s thinking about the public part of bonding. The Presentation. What an ordeal it will be—especially for us, given he is Zortaire and our “clan” happens to include the whole gods-damned capital.
But he cannot let his guilt get in the way of our omega having what she needs.
I start to growl, opening my mouth to argue, but Sofi cuts me off. She sits up sharply, disengaging their bodies and cutting us both off. “I deserve to know what everyone keeps trying to shield me from. Especially if it means we can’t have a bond.”
Morfu’s dick. She’s right, of course. But I have to admit… I sort of agree with Zolkan on this one.
I don’t even want to put the idea in her head. Or plant the seed that this is somehow expected of her.
I’d slaughter anyone who dared demand it.
But Sofi pins Cylus with a searching look. “Tell me,” she beseeches. “You always explain everything when no one else will, Cy.”
Fucking hells.
How is a male supposed to turn that down?
I can’t even blame the fucker when he sighs, furred shoulders slumping. “There is… an old Roktusian ritual. Before an alpha can bond with an omega, they must prove themselves worthy of their incredible gift.”
Sofi’s flat, adorable brow furrows. “That sounds like it would be a challenge for you guys, not me.”
“Technically it is,” I mutter, then wince. “But…”
“It’s… sexual in nature,” Zolkan grits, clearly furious we’re even putting this notion in our mate’s mind. “And it can be quite humiliating for all involved. Which is why we absolutely will not—”
Sofi huffs, turning herself around. Her little hands fly up to Zolkan’s cheeks, framing his severe expression with her dainty fingers.
“Zolkan,” she murmurs. “I deserve to know. And you deserve for me to at least hear what it would take and decide for myself if I can handle it. I want you to be happy.”
Our king drops his defenses on a ragged sigh. His forehead falls to hers. “Not like this,” he mumbles. “It is too much. And there is no point. I already know I am not worthy of you. No male ever could be.”
I try to be outraged at his statement, but, hells—haven’t I thought the same thing? She’s starlight and warmth and every precious gift from above. None of us are truly worthy.
Though, maybe, together…
Sofi rears back, a new kind of fire lighting her eyes. “Rask will tell me,” she snaps, whipping her hair over her shoulder as she turns the full force of her glorious gaze on me.
Oh fuck.
She’s right.
I’ve never been able to keep anything from this woman, and I never will be. The one time I even tried, I ended up falling from the gods-damned sky.
“We’d have to fuck you,” I blurt. “In the middle of the capital. On a stage. One at a time. To prove each of us can make you come.”
Hearing the words out loud puts them in perspective. I imagine the scene—Sofi, naked and soft, just like this, on display for every Roktusian in Rholoko. If I had spiked hackles like the demon prince of Drakos, they would be spearing the pillows right now.
Our human’s pretty lips part on a gasp, then stay open, hanging ajar. Her lashes flutter. “S-so you would—I would—”
“Let us each have you in public, for everyone to witness,” Cylus finishes, trying to sound matter-of-fact, despite his horns darkening with chagrin. He nods once, jerking his chin. “Yes.”
Sofi gapes at him, blinking. Behind her, Zolkan grits his teeth. “It is a very old tradition,” he grinds out. “Barbaric, even.”
Cylus gusts a sigh, explaining, “In the days of old, our people were clan-based. When an alpha took an omega as his bonded, we considered it a gift from the goddess that everyone must honor. So, omegas and alphas would display their compatibility this way, on a public stage. If they were successful, flying messengers immediately departed in every direction, spreading the news to the next closest clan, who then shared it with their neighbors. And on and on again, across the whole planet.”
Sofi is perfectly still. Actually listening, Stelaris help me. Considering.
There’s no way she will ever agree, though. I’ve already been given the most perfect mate in the galaxy. I couldn’t possibly be more blessed than I already am. It would be foolish to even want more.
But—oh gods—her perfume. It winds into the air, entirely too tart and sweet to be anything other than her delicious desire.
“So we would be in front of everyone. Letting them watch while you all—”
“Worship you,” I supply, smirking at her wide-eyed dismay and the obvious arousal hiding underneath it. “Aye, little one.”
Her only job would be to come as many times as she wants to. And let us prove ourselves worthy of her in the process. If the last few days of our confinement are any indication, that wouldn’t be a problem for either of my new “packmates.”
Besides. The alternative is downright embarrassing.
Sofi swallows, her spine gradually straightening. She looks from me to Cylus, then over at Zolkan. “Is this the only way?” she whispers. “For us to bond?”
Our Zortaire’s expression grows fierce. “No.”
My eyebrows jump, along with Cylus’s. Zolkan sees our faces and sighs. “Yes,” he amends, then forges ahead, “it is the precedent, but I am the king. And I will change every gods-damned law on the entire planet before I ever force you to do something you don’t want to do.”
Sofi’s face softens. She touches his cheek again. “But this is your tradition? And it’s important? To the clanspeople? They’ll expect a Presentation before we try to bond?”
Shit. There’s no denying that.
If the Zortaire were to bond an omega without Presenting them… it would be a defeat. Everyone on Khanos would assume he cannot perform for her and does not deserve her.
They would whisper about him forever, claiming he forced her hand and gave no proof of his own worthiness. Gods forbid they weren’t able to breed an heir—then there would be talk of curses and angering the gods with his refusal to Present his omega.
Zolkan’s jaw hardens. Hard-horned as ever. “Yes,” he admits again. “But—”
—but he’s willing to let the whole world heap humiliation on his head if it means sparing her.
Which means—fucking hells—I might actually respect this bastard.
Morfu’s ballsacks.
Sofi is too smart for all of us, though. She hears what none of us say, her pretty eyes narrowing to mirror the king’s expression. Full of regal stubbornness.
His perfect match.
Our perfect match.
“Then I’ll do it,” she decides. “Present me.”