Shadowlands Omega (Beasts of Gatamora Book 2)

15 | Yaron

Shadow Keep

The look that crosses Kiandah’s face isn’t at all what I expected. Shock, elation — I expected these, yes, and these are the emotions she wears, at first. But the disappointment? She slowly pushes away from me and reaches for a bottle of soap on the ledge behind her. “It would be a great honor, my Lord,” she says, voice sounding like a gash.

I frown. “Is that your answer?”

“You…” She concentrates on rubbing soap into her skin. “You didn’t ask me a question.”

“When I vie for you and…” — maim, claim, slaughter, annihilate — “…defeat the other Alphas who fight to have you for their own, will you accept my bond?”

“I can’t.” Her answer is immediate and the way she looks at me fills me with doubt.

She’s looking at me like I’m her villain.

I remove my trousers and toss the wet bundle out of the bath and onto the floor in the pile of other bloody clothing. My cock is fully erect and juts so high, the tip protrudes from the water when I tilt my hips up even slightly. Kiandah stares at it and then blinks again, more rapidly this time. I fight not to touch it, milk myself for her pleasure… And I will, but she must first command it — and she will again. Whatever I must do to make that happen, I will.

“Why?”

She stutters, a little frazzled, more than drained from the events of the day. I feel bad pushing her, but I need to know why she will reject me so that I can begin my plan to ensure she does not. Now that I have given voice to my desires aloud, those desires are already history. A rewriting of history, in fact. The Shadow Lord is taking a Lady. The how is the final missing part.

“When we…” She licks her lips. Her dark brown skin does not reveal her blush, but I know that she is blushing. “You said never again.”

“I was wrong. Is the Lord of the Shadowlands not allowed to be wrong, on occasion?”

She blinks brightly, her eyelashes thick and curly and accentuating the lovely shape of her eyes. Large and tilted up towards her hairline, she looks like a mirage, a figment created by steam. I have to fight my beast back not to reach out and grab her. “No, I don’t believe he is.”

“What about Yaron? Is he?”

She finds the soap and pours more into her palm, massaging her shoulders and the top of her head. Someone threw something at her — feces of some kind. I could smell it on her a mile away. I thought it was the mud, but the smell came from the top and back of her head. Even prostrated as she was in the dirt, the mud would not have spattered so high. It had to have been a farmer. I go through the list of those that I know and vow to repay their dishonor in kind.

“I don’t know. I don’t know Yaron as well as I should.”

I chuckle to myself. “You already know him better than most.” Better than me. “I’d like to discover him with you, though. Through you.”

Her pupils are blown but she still manages to sound coherent as she rejects me again. I’m not offended. She can reject me all she likes, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all but decided. I will win her, I will bond her and she will rule me forever. I am a battle strategist first and foremost.

“I can’t accept, my Lord.”

“Yaron. You call me Yaron.” I wade across the pool and come within arm’s reach of her, but not closer. I slowly pull the green-hued glass bottle from between her fingers. I pour soap into my own hands and rub it through my hair, hair that she criticized before for being greasy, though I know it was the blood on her fingers that made her nose wrinkle. Bloody is an understatement as to how I left Ugaros on the road.

“I have my suspicions, but I’d like to hear from you directly — why are you so determined to deny me?”

“Because you don’t know what you’re saying.” She licks her lips. I stare. She looks away.

“You think I am confused?” I smirk fully then, the thought hilarious in its own right. No one has ever made such an assumption of me, not even when I was a child.

“You don’t know me. You have my family trapped. My Omega bond is the only thing that calls to you.”

I nod. “These are fair assumptions. Is that all?”

“I think they’re reason enough.”

“Perhaps. But then am I to assume that, if I get to know you, release your family from their bonds and prove to you that I do like you beyond the signature of your pheromones…” Which are intoxicating… “…you will consent to take me for your mate when the red moon rises?”

She sinks lower into the water, letting it come up to her chin, but she holds my gaze above it. I can see the reflection of her eyes in the stillness of the liquid, holding fast, unblinking, trying to root out my lies. She’ll find none. Trying to root out my weaknesses. She’ll find one.

“Why are you doing this?”

I open my mouth, but I don’t answer right away. I wish I could tell her that I was swayed by her eclipsing beauty, but I have seen more beautiful females. I wish I could vow that my intent is purely the duty of a Lord to an at-risk Omega in his territory, but it isn’t. There are other Omegas who’ve passed through the Shadowlands underneath my rule and I felt no need to bond myself to them.

I wish I could tell her that it was more than her laughter. That one riotous laugh she released in my presence that made me sure I’d kill every other male in Gatamora before I let them have it. It’s mine. I don’t even want them hearing it. But causing it? Hearing it every day? Watching the expression on her face as she melts slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners, cheeks rounding and bouncing up to her eyes, making them appear as slits… If another Alpha or pack were to claim that laugh, I would have to renounce my title, offer up my claim to these shadowed lands. Because I would be distracted every day for the rest of my existence.

I wish I could tell her it’s more than her words, oaths of power delivered from a being who seems to reject the very notion of power itself. I wish I could tell her it’s more than the way she challenges me and my values, what I believe to be right.

I wish I could tell her that her commands and her mastery over my beast don’t make me mad and leave me wanting. I wish I could tell her that I’d kill everyone in the whole of Gatamora if I truly thought it possible for her to turn that knowing smile onto another male or pack of males and whisper those fateful words to them: Good boy.

I wish I could tell her it’s something selfless and not selfish, but it isnt.

I am curious about her and I have a crush on her like a schoolboy. I am among the most powerful males in Gatamora at present and I am in awe of everything about her. That is her.

I don’t know how to say what I want to say without scaring her off. I settle for something paltry, a vagary that’s not a lie, but a partial truth, leaving so many more important truths still covered. “I want to know you,” I tell her.

Her hands, which have been torturing me by working soap across her pert breasts, still. She’s covering her chest and I want to snarl and rip her hands away so I can see her. I want to see all of her. “You’re scaring me.”

“No, I’m not. You were frightened before. I can scent little fear on you now.” A little, but not a lot.

“I am scared. The Shadow Lord is clearly a madman,” she answers, shocking the hell out of me.

I grin with one edge of my mouth and feel a thousand times lighter, and very close to laughter. I try to remember the last time I laughed…but can’t. “Perhaps.”

“You know that whatever you feel right now, whatever madness compels you to want to bond me, is only because of our time in the woods. It’s only because I’m an Omega and you’re an Alpha beast.”

I cock my head and, for want of something to do with my hands other than grab her, continue to rub soap over my body, washing the Rider’s blood off of me. I wonder absently if he’s still breathing. He was alive when I left him.

“I will give you that, when you commanded me in the woods, you unlocked a secret side of me I have never met before. I like that side of me. I like who I am when I think of you. And I like who I am even more in your presence.”

I smile sadly. “I have lived a long time as the judge, jury and executioner of a justice I have created, that I know. But…” I do not know how to phrase what I mean to say next. That I’ve been blinded by my desire for her… No, no, quite the opposite. That my blinders have been removed. I cannot approach every problem the same way anymore. I must force myself to think from the perspective of others. To see what they see. To see the shadows in between what is right and what is wrong. “But there is more for me to consider now. Things I have not seen that you place before me in the light. I’m starting to realize that the Shadow Lord may be even more effective by sharing another perspective — the perspective of one even more powerful.”

“It’s pheromones,” she chokes, and I feel like a bastard forcing her to talk to me when her voice is so ragged. I can see the darker purple marks of meaty fingers against her brown skin. I wish there was a way to throttle her into giving up the names of everyone who touched her in anger today, and yet, even if I could, I suspect I’d lose part of her if I went after them like I did the Rider.

She stared too long at the blood on my clothes and hair earlier and, remembering that, I quickly duck under the water, wanting to be sure it’s not spattering my face. I don’t like when she looks at me like I’m a murderer or a Lord or a savage. I want her to look at me like she did in the woods, in the moment right before everything changed and our bodies came together.

Like I’m a male named Yaron. A male sent to do her bidding and nothing more.

“Then how do you explain the other Omegas who have come through the Shadowlands? How do you explain the days — weeks — I spent with a powerful unmated Omega on the North Island, the Fallen Beast Omega? The witch of the woods? I was close to her. I could scent a heat not long passed on her skin and yet…nothing. There was not a hint of attraction between us.”

“But…” She sounds frustrated. She’s persistent, this Omega, but she must know that the battle is already lost. She is not a warrior. She only has a warrior’s heart. “But you left…”

“Left?”

“You never tried to talk to me after you brought me to your chambers, only checking on me or doing strange tours of your chambers that put me on edge… You never tried to actually say anything to me.”

Did she want me to? I don’t dare ask her that. Instead, I clear my throat of the desire, unbidden, rising within it. “Yes. Because I did not trust myself around you and at the time, I knew better than to test the limits of my self-control.”

She waits for me to say more. I don’t. I force her to ask, “And now?”

“And now I have made my decision.”

“What decision?” she says, voice hollow and starved.

“I will not deny myself any longer. Only you can do that.”

Her lower lip wobbles and her hands smooth over the curve of her head. She is a beautiful female, hair or not. Her features are elegantly arrayed. Overlarge eyes, a lower lip full to bursting, a cupid’s bow that’s pronounced and makes her mouth look drawn on by the hands of an artist, high cheek bones, a soft, pronounced jawline, ears small and delicate.

“How have you managed to remain unmated to now?” I ask, out of the blue.

She fiddles with more soap. She doesn’t need it. We’ve been in the bath long enough. “Lack of interest.”

“Lack of interest on your part or theirs?”

“Both.”

I find that hard to believe but don’t say as much. There must be more to it than that. “Your sisters also are unmated?”

She nods.

I release the valve at the bottom of the basin and she starts when water begins to slowly drain away. I step out of the tub and make no effort to conceal my erection. I take particular pleasure in watching her watch it, though it’s clear she tries not to.

I return to her with a towel as I ponder the dynamic of her family. I have a question to ask her, but struggle to phrase it in a way that doesn’t sound judgmental. She reaches for the towel, but I hold it away from her. She relents and steps out of the bath and into my arms because it’s what I want and because no, she is no warrior. A protector, yes, but she lacks all the bloodlust that I have in spades and plan to use to win her heart.

“Do you think that your sisters are unmated because of your family?”

She tilts her head to the side and blinks at me slowly. She’s tired. Beyond tired. But I don’t want her to sleep. I want her here, present, with me. “You mean, my parents? They’ve been happily married for thirty years. They don’t keep us from getting married.”

I wrap the towel around her and dry her weary body gently. “I don’t imagine they do. Not outwardly. But they have fostered a closeness within your family that I imagine may be difficult to replicate. Perhaps, the thought of losing that is what keeps…”

Kiandah turns within my arms, showing me her front. She has breasts perfectly proportional to her frame, a flat stomach with a softness beneath her belly button that I long to sink my teeth into. Her hips and thighs are thicker than they appear when she’s clothed and I love that about her, too. She has thickening curls that cover her sex and that my cock strains towards. But the bruises…I’m gentle as I work the towel over them, careful not to hurt her. My people and I have done enough of that, already.

And then something in her tone snaps. She speaks quickly and stiffly, “My Lord, it doesn’t have anything to do with family — why we’re not married. We’re not married because we’re poor. Do you know how hard it is for women in the Shadowlands? Owenna hates cooking. She’s tried to get jobs in the castle as a chambermaid and been rejected. Life might be okay for Betas in the Shadowlands but it’s hard to…to move when you’re a woman here. Meanwhile, Cyprus is offered jobs and daughters when we set foot outside of our home.” She chuckles lightly, her eyes glazing as if recalling a particular memory. Meanwhile, I stand there, stunned.

“No one wants to marry a poor woman with no dowry from a family of cooks. Maybe, if we were exceptional beauties, it would be different. But now, we’re killers so it doesn’t matter at all.” She coughs and lifts her arms over the edge of the towel, wrapping it around herself and taking herself away from me. She tilts her chin up, peering up at me as if challenging me.

I frown. “You believe it harder for a female in the Shadowlands than for a Beta?”

“It’s not a belief. It’s a fact. Perhaps, if you left your castle and talked to people, you’d know that.”

I hiss, trying to batten my anger. That she suggests she knows my people better than I do…of course she does. “You’re tired,” I grit.

She tips her chin up, the haughty little wench. “Yes. But I’m not wrong.”

“I will investigate your theory,” I finally concede. “And I will ensure you receive fresh, clean produce and supplies in the kitchens from now on.”

“Thank you, Yaron,” she says, gaze still on me piercingly.

My cock doesn’t mind the intensity of her dark brown stare at all. I reach out and cup the back of her neck. I pull her forward and she stumbles into me so that she’s fully flush to my chest, my erection pressed between us. “I won’t be sleeping in the throne room any longer.”

Her brow furrows. “You’ve been sleeping in the throne room?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I told you, I was aiming to keep my distance.” I dip my head. She doesn’t cower or canter back.

“Yes, but…you could have just sent me to sleep with my family. It’s what I wanted, anyway.”

“Yes, I could have.” I inch a little closer. “But I think I knew then already what I know now with certainty. Staying away was a battle I was always going to lose. I wanted you here among my things. I wanted to be fully wrapped around you. I still do.”

Her pupils expand and lose focus. I smile very softly, my breath feathering her lips, her face. She smells like smoke and cinnamon and only a little like my soaps. I don’t understand such a chemistry.

Just as she sways towards me, eyelashes fluttering, her body giving in, I pull away and deny us both. The first stage of my plan involves torture, yes. It’s what I’m known for — all she knows me for, perhaps. I’ll prove to her I’m all of what she thinks of me and so much more. This is my unspoken vow to her as I sweep her feet up once more and carry her to the sleeping chamber, to my bed. I slide her beneath the covers, covers that smell like her, and take a seat on the edge of the mattress.

She blinks up at me, surprise on her face. Her gaze flashes once, twice, to my cock, which is very unhappy with the chill of the room and would very much like to warm back up in her heat. I fist my erection and completely ignore the small puff of air from her lips.

I want her to fuck me fucking desperately.

But I don’t want her to just want to fuck me. I want her to need me with a violence that will give me my ultimate desire — her bond, as mine. Her everything forever.

“Rest,” I tell her. “I’ll return shortly. In the meantime, I’ll send Okayo to stitch your brow.”

After donning a tunic, trousers and boots, but leaving behind my cloak and axe, I leave her. I manage not to look back by concentrating on my next task and walking with purpose. I shut the door with a bang.

It takes me little time to find Okayo. He’s not far, in the east wing corridor, pacing restlessly at the base of the stairs leading up to my private chambers. He comes to an abrupt stop when he sees me. “I heard the Omega was injured by a Rider outside of Orias.” He’s approaching me, but I advance on him and don’t stop.

He stumbles, eyes flashing with surprise, but only fleetingly. He’s not one to be surprised by me. Not often, anyways. “Did you attend to the Rider?” I say, backing him into the wall.

“Horace said his hands scented of the Omega. Even through all the blood. I took that as a bad sign and chose to leave him in the infirmary until I could confirm with you whether you wanted him relieved of his agony.” He waits, his eyes meeting mine unblinkingly. Then he huffs out of the corner of his mouth and adds, “Well, it’s not like there’s any saving him, not in the state you left him in, my Lord.”

“Good. How long will it take for him to die without assistance?”

Okayo shrugs. “Another hour? Maybe he’s dead already. I came here right away when I heard what happened. I’ve been waiting. What took you so long?” He blinks again, shakes his head quickly and tries to move past me. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

I block my hand against his shoulder, preventing him from moving forward, towards my chambers and my Omega within them. “She has bruises on her ribs and hips, torn knees and palms, the big toe of her right foot is bloody around the nail, though she complains of none of it, and she has a cut above her right brow requiring stitching. I expect you to tend to all of it respectfully. She’s just come from the bath and is naked in my bed. You will be respectful and appropriate.”

Okayo must read something in my expression or tone because he swallows hard, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “You know I like men.”

“And women.”

“Men more.”

“She is different. Perfection. I don’t want Horace or any of your other helpers anywhere near her. You’ll tend to her alone. Am I clear?”

“As the wind.”

And he’s off. I watch his back disappear around the next corner and my mind flickers dangerously with images of him looming over her, their skin tones so closely matched, their limbs intertwining sinuously and seamlessly as they bring pleasure to one another in my bed. My Omega. Mine.

The slow rage that filters through my limbs is something I’ve never experienced before and I find that I…that I…

My god.

I like it.

The rage brings clarity. It sharpens my mind and my muscles. My beast feels calmer basking in that rage. I inhale and the breezy corridor smells more fragrant than it did. I can scent her on the wind. I can scent her on my own skin. Okayo will scent of her when he leaves my chambers and I will have a hard time not removing the skin from his body just so I can covet it. Thoughts of murder make my lips twitch.

“My Lord?”

I turn and see Radmilla standing there wearing a perturbed and peculiar expression. “Yes, Radmilla?”

“You’re smiling.” She frowns. “It’s terrifying.”

I chuckle.

Her eyes round in alarm.

I laugh a little harder. “All is well, Radmilla.”

“Are you sure? You seem…”

I wait for her to finish, a slow rumbling coming from deep within me. She doesn’t. Her pale lips slacken. She shakes her head and takes a tentative step forward. “I just wanted to apologize profusely. By the time I realized she was gone, it was too late. The guards at the gates saw her leave, but they had not received orders from you or me to confine her to the castle, so they allowed it. I have rectified their misconception. It will never happen again.” She pauses before wringing her hands and continuing, “I heard the Omega was injured. For my failing to protect her, I would accept punishment, my Lord. If you wish…”

I inhale again, Kiandah’s scent so clear. Crisp, crystal, perfection. Its draw is just as clear. I understand everything. What I need to do. The laws that need to be set. The festival that needs to happen. The Fates that need to be killed. The undead that need to be rooted out. The Trash that needs disposal first, before the rest. These are too many risks — not to my people, to her.

I speak on the exhale, voice calm, words hopefully reassuring. “You are not at fault for this. The fault is mine and, above that, those that aggressed the Omega when she was in the village. I am, however, displeased that the Omega’s family has been receiving spoiled stock. How have they been preparing food for the keep uninterrupted?”

Radmilla’s cheeks glow pink. “I stopped several spoiled tuns of grain and meat at the gates. Other stock made it in…through staff that condemn the Ubutu family in the same way the villagers condemned the Omega today. The Ubutu family hasn’t complained about the spoiled goods they’ve received. Instead, they’ve made do with what they’ve been able to source in our stores — goods that have been canned and kept as reserves. I also believe they’ve been denying themselves meals in order to ensure there’s enough for everyone else. I know that you have punished them for what they’ve done, but they also punish themselves.”

I do not like her answer and my lips twist because of it.

“I will personally inspect every food store that comes to the castle from now on, my Lord, and I will ensure…”

I lift a hand. “No. You have too much on your plate to manage such tedium. I will handle this another way.”

She nods. “What can I do, my Lord?”

“The body of the Crimson Rider, the one who attempted to rape Kiandah on the road. When he’s dead, I want him dragged by hand to the village. I want him left next to the fountain undisturbed. I want it disseminated why he died and how. I will also take Kiandah and her family to the Orias market as soon as she’s well enough. Together, we will speak to the suppliers and ensure that it is clear that the Ubutu family is not to receive spoiled goods. Her family will not miss another meal.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Walk with me.” I turn around and head for the south wing of the castle, Radmilla rushing to keep up. “How go preparations for the festival?”

“I… They have been…progressing…since we last spoke.”

“I’d like it ready immediately.”

“Immediately.”

“Immediately. Right away. Shall I provide additional definitions for you?” I lift a brow and her incredulous look turns flat at my sarcasm.

“Don’t you get testy with me. I was running this keep when you were still in diapers, young master.” She pushes her heavy braid over her shoulder and chuffs between her teeth.

“As soon as possible, Radmilla. I do not wish to miss the next blood moon.”

“The next blood moon will be in four weeks’ time. It would be appropriate to host the festival then. Though it seems far, it’s going to be tight with the chaos in the kitchens.”

“What will you need to enable the Omega’s family to preside over the meal? The meal is the centerpiece of the festival, of course.”

“Of course.” Radmilla blinks at me as if she’s never seen me before in her life. “In addition to clean stores, the kitchens are rather out of date. If we could allow in some contraband equipment from the North Island,” she says on a whisper, “the kitchens could be prepared to accommodate the influx of food needed to supply the Red Moon Festival. As it stands now, the uhmm…traditional nature of the kitchen would render it impossible for the Ubutu family to preside over the full meal. We could, of course, outsource some of the preparations, but I don’t doubt that it would be seen by Kiandah’s family as an insult.”

“You think you’re rather clever, don’t you, Radmilla?”

She’s trying to fight a smile and look at me with innocence in her light green eyes. “Whatever do you mean, my Lord?”

“You know how I feel about the old ways.” I admire and stick to them, short of a few exceptions. Kitchens have never been among them, but I suppose that is a rather flawed way of thinking as I do not cook anything. “You know how I feel about the North Islanders and their precious technologies.” Their technologies are only meant to divide and conquer, all in the name of efficiency. They don’t even meet one another’s gazes anymore on the North Island, hiding as they do behind screen after screen.

“I know, my Lord. But modern plumbing and safer cooking practices are common staples of many South Island homes. To ask the most important cooks in the region to use fire and brimstone when they could use industrial grade North Island ovens and stoves to prepare food for hundreds of people is not unthinkable. The Lords who came before you will forgive you.”

“I care little for their forgiveness. They were madmen, the lot.” I rake my hand down my face, some of my earlier enthusiasm deflating at this change in topic. “And how quickly could you source such appliances?”

“Faster than you care to know, my Lord.”

“Fine. You know who to speak to for coin.” I don’t like that at all, but I do not want to know more. “And how many builders can be spared? I want it up and running within the next ten days so that preparation for the festival can begin.”

“I should be able to spare five builders from the southern highway lines. And that won’t be a problem at all. There is also the question of the cooks themselves.”

“Yes?”

“The Ubutu family was previously aided by over a dozen more cooks. Right now, they do all of the cooking among themselves. They are too few for everyday cooking if they are expected to feed the entire keep — your Riders are not small men and women — and they are far too few hands to manage the entire festival, particularly given that Kiandah is the one who comes up with most of their meal plans and many of their recipes and it does not seem you intend to give her back to them.”

“I do not.”

Radmilla is smiling, though the corners of her lips are pinched as she clearly tries not to. “So, how would you like to proceed then, my Lord? Many of those who worked with the Ubutu family in the kitchens were detained and released after questioning.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, my pace slowing. “How many are needed?”

“If Kiandah is no longer working full time, then perhaps we start with the eight that were detained and released…”

“You said there were a dozen or more.”

“Yes, but some did not survive the church fire.”

The church fire. My nostrils flare. “See about hiring an additional fifteen to seventeen for the kitchens.”

“Fifteen, my Lord?” She shakes her head. “Lord Talbot will not be happy with that.”

“Particularly when you tell him to increase their wages.”

“Wages?” Radmilla’s voice goes up shrilly at the end. “You mean for the new kitchen staff, not for the Ubutu family…”

“I mean for them all. You know as well as I do that keeping the Ubutu family caged in my kitchens forever will not work. It is not the way things are done. Prisoners are kept in the dungeons or not at all.”

The frown that crosses her face as we enter the south wing tightens the muscles across my chest. It is cooler here. Most of the castle is split into two levels except for the south and southeast wings, which are split into three. The lowermost level of the southeast wing is the lower dungeon where the Omega’s family was kept, but only briefly, but in the south wing, the lowermost level is occupied by servants’ quarters that haven’t been used in two decades.

They are half underground and as I take the double helix staircase down to this lower level, the sound of clanging and clashing fills my ears. I follow the sounds of chaos to the end of the hall, which splits into a T. To the left, I hear singing, and when I step into the center of the intersection, I see fractured daylight filtering in through the slits that older generations called windows.

“Omegas say boom…” comes the cry from down the hall. I follow it towards the old palace kitchens, wondering if I’ve ever even been down here before. Maybe once, when I was a boy? No, not even then.

The corridor feels devoid of life, the stone walls and floor bare and free of decoration. Such a contrast to the vibrancy of the voices echoing within them. “What are you…” Radmilla’s stopped walking at the T junction.

I turn to look back at her. “Yes?”

“You plan to free them?”

“Not without punishing them first.” Her frown dips even further down her face, but before she can speak, I reach out and, in a move most uncharacteristic of me, I place my palm on her shoulder. “Trust me Radmilla, I do not intend to lose her.”

Radmilla must be shocked, because for the first time in her life she doesn’t answer me. I smirk and cock my chin towards the kitchens. “Come. You will accompany me to the kitchens?”

“To…fetch the Omega a meal, my Lord?” she guesses, struggling to understand what I’m doing here — what we’re doing here.

I shake my head and look back at her over my shoulder as I near the door. “Not at all. You’re here for me. For moral support.”

She gawks and then stumbles in her effort to catch up to me as I take the long strides necessary to bring me to the open doorway in the left wall. There is no door set in the frame, just a large, gaping opening of rough-hewn rock. Stones are missing in several places.

I step into the kitchens, light washing over me stemming from the wide double doors, which are currently propped open. It seems that some foods — potatoes — are being either brought in, carried out or sorted. I feel…strangely nervous as I enter the vast space. I’m surprised by both the scale of it and how empty it feels, devoid of Radmilla’s precious appliances, with only the one cooking fireplace against the far wall and several long stretches of disintegrating wooden tables for them to prepare food upon.

I frown. This won’t do. This won’t do at all.

The singing dies with my presence and I look around the chamber at the members of the Omega’s family, meeting each of their gazes in turn. There is the youngest daughter. She stands closest to me and is kneading what I have to assume to be bread. I know nothing of food at all. She stiffens when she sees me and quickly begins smoothing down her skirts and rolling back her shoulders, but before she can fully preen and present herself, I flick my gaze to her brother.

There is fire in his gaze, a twin flame I see reflected in the eyes of his sister. Though hers is stronger, his is still bright green and fierce. I can work with that.

Next to him is another sister, though not the eldest. She has doe eyes, like Kiandah, and hair that falls down to her chest in twists. A sudden fleeting image interrupts my thoughts. Kiandah, with hair down to her mid-back, wrapped in twists just like these. We’re here in the castle and she’s hiding behind a corner, thinking I can’t see her watching me out of the corner of my eye. She’s with a friend. They’re both watching me and giggling like schoolgirls because that’s what they were. She was so much younger then.

I nearly stagger at the realization that this is not a dream but a memory. I have seen Kiandah before in the castle. What had she been doing there? I wish…my stare had lingered over her longer…that she hadn’t been a child… Had we both been of age and had I noticed the fire within her then, perhaps so much could have been avoided. Perhaps, her family would not have gone to such lengths to better their circumstances. Perhaps, I could have kept them all safe from me and the judgement they are owed. Perhaps, I could have kept Kiandah all to myself and so much time would not have been lost between us.

Staring at this sister of hers with the long hair, I wonder if she is older or younger than Kiandah. I cannot tell, for they look so dissimilar, now especially without a hair color to bind them. They do share the same skin tone, a skin tone shared also by their mother, while their father, brother, and youngest sister all hover on a spectrum of brown a few shades lighter. The oldest sister has a skin tone slightly darker brown than all the rest.

My gaze passes to her, but she will not look at me, and as I look between her face and that of her mother and father, sensing their guilt and sensing her rage, I wonder…who is truly in charge here?

Not being able to answer that, I look toward the elders. Kiandah’s mother stands at the open doorway, a potato in each hand, while her father feeds wood into the sticks in the bottom of the fireplace. He has sweat on his brow, pouring down his face. They all look dirty and unwashed, like the servants one might find in Hjiel, where violence is prized and the strong oppress those weaker. Is this what I have made them? In the realm of shadows, have we all become savages?

Behind me, Radmilla softly clears her throat. My annoyance flashes into discomfort. I realize that I’ve been standing there silently intimidating them for the better part of a minute and that was not my intent. “Hello,” I say. That sounds rather dumb though, doesn’t it? I clasp my hands behind my back and take a step further into the space while the Ubutu family glances around uncertainly at one another.

“Apologies,” I say, starting again. “I do not mean to interrupt your preparations for the evening meal.”

“Don’t worry, my Lord, the evening meal has already been prepared and taken to the great hall. We are beginning preparations for the morning meal. But they can wait,” Kiandah’s father says uncertainly. He stands up and wipes his hands off on the soot-soaked apron tied around his waist.

I stare at him, meeting his gaze, watching his discomfort with a mirrored discomfort of my own. “I…” I clear my throat. “I had not yet received my evening meal.”

“Normally, Lady Radmilla comes to fetch it. We have it here.” He gestures to his middle daughter, the one with the twists, and she steps aside to reveal a covered tray. It’s a long tray, always laden with far more food than I could eat in a sitting. I end up throwing a lot of it away. Meanwhile, Kiandah fought for her life today to try to ensure that the castle has fresh stores. And I discard mine… The knot in my stomach twists like a knife plunged in up to the hilt.

Grimly, I say, “Have you all eaten dinner yet?”

“No, m’Lord.”

I have five other questions ready to ask them, that I would ask them were they staff, but they aren’t…even though they are…so I don’t. I clear my throat. “Why don’t you all dine from the tray you prepared for me? It seems large enough to accommodate a family and far too large for a single individual.”

They look around at each other and I can feel Radmilla laughing at my back even though she doesn’t make a sound and her amusement is likely not visible on her expression — but I can still feel it.

“You… What will you eat, my Lord?” Kiandah’s father says.

“I actually came down here with a request. I would like to prepare a dish for the Omega…for Kiandah. I’d like to prepare it myself, but I am unfamiliar with cooking practices and could use some…help.” Help. I don’t think I’ve ever asked for help before from anyone for anything. “I can prepare for myself whatever I prepare for her.”

The family seems momentarily frozen in time. Momentarily… And then the youngest sister snorts. “You want to prepare Kiandah food, Lord Yaron?” She laughs. “Why on earth would you want to prepare her food?”

I’m curious about the young one’s tone. She is young, perhaps, that can explain the slight bite behind it. But I don’t think so. Her jealousy runs deeper. Evenly, I answer her, “I intend to take Kiandah for my wife.”

That shuts her up so fast, she chokes. “A w…wi…” She never finishes that thought and I don’t wait for her to.

Meanwhile, Kiandah’s mother shrieks. The sound startles me and I reach instinctively for my axe, even though I’m not wearing it. I pivot and see her rushing towards me. I worry for a moment she means to attack — it would be no less than what I would do, were the positions reversed. But when I lift my hand to repel her assault, she grabs my forearm and shakes it vigorously. She is a very, very short woman — shorter than Kiandah by half a foot — and has to lift up onto her tiptoes to reach my face. She grabs my cheeks and pinches them to the point of pain.

“My son! My son, a Lord? My daughter, a Lady! Welcome to the family!” She moves in like she’s going to strangle me…or hug me…but her husband lunges from his position and races over to grab her by the shoulders. He drags her away from me while she bats at his hands.

“You can’t grab Lord Yaron!” he hisses in her ear. “We’ll be back in the dungeons before you can blink.”

He’s not right. But he has a point. Slowly, I nod and take a step towards them. He isn’t a short male, but I’m still quite a bit taller. I’m not wearing my cloak, but I don’t know how to shake the feeling that I’m still towering when I want to approach him as equals. “It’s quite alright. I just…am surprised you would welcome me into your family so easily.”

“She’s just excited, m’Lord.” He looks to the side, his displeasure apparent. With his wife, though? Or with me? “She’s been wanting her daughters married off since they were born. A lord is far better than any of them can do, given the fact that we’re just cooks, m’Lord.” Just cooks. Poor. Few opportunities. Female. I don’t like the words of the Omega echoing in my skull.

I nod, as if in understanding, though I’m not sure I fully do. “You would be pleased with a Lord marrying your daughters,” I say to Kiandah’s mother and father, “but would you be pleased with Kiandah marrying me?”

“Of course!” shouts her mother at a pitch that feels a little too high.

“Fuck no,” her brother growls at the same time.

Her father says nothing. He doesn’t need to. His eyes flit away before moving back to mine again.

I don’t say anything for a moment. I am in a particularly torturous position. I am Lord over them and I intend to mate and bond and marry their daughter. It is only a matter of time. Yet that time could be years from now. Having the approval of her family could condense my timeline by months — no, that’s not true. That’s a simplification. If her family approved of me today, I would have her hand by tomorrow.

I nod, not needing to hear more. As is the case with any war, I will need a strategy, but this one will take time to devise. I’ve never fought a war for a heart before, let alone for many of them.

“I understand,” I say. My heart beats hard and slow in my chest. So hard I can feel it in my eyes. “For now, let us begin with dinner for Kiandah. I would appreciate some direction as to what Kiandah might enjoy. She has had a trying day, after all.”

“Trying?” Her oldest sister.

“Is she alright?” Her middle sister.

“She okay?” Her brother.

“What happened?” her father and mother say together.

“She likes Orias rice,” her youngest sister says, voice high and strained. “I’m not a good cook like her, but I think I can show you how to make it.”

I turn towards her and am curious about the terrified look on her face. It is very unlike her, the little I know of her thus far. She is a male peacock, this one, all plumage, and though I don’t know her, I know her well enough not to trust her to have Kiandah’s best interest at heart. So why does she offer her help now?

Curious, I turn towards her and nod slightly. “Please, proceed. And Radmilla,” I say, turning to the woman who’s been standing by the door silently laughing at me. “Have the builders come by to take measurements as soon as possible.”

“Very well, my Lord.” She moves to leave, but before she does, she pauses. The old dame has the audacity to wink at me. “And have fun.”

The Omega’s family chuckles, and strangely, Radmilla’s insubordination seems to ease some of the tension in the room as I’m folded uneasily into their ranks. Working together with her mother, whose name I learn is Mercy, they show me how to make Orias rice. It’s harder than I thought it would be to make rice, and this rice has many ingredients. Red pepper, bay leaves, onion, garlic and a dried pepper that Mercy doesn’t let me touch, but handles herself while wearing gloves. There are many times when I sense that they’d like to correct something I’m doing, but Mercy is the only one who has the courage. She takes the knife from me after I chop the onions and redoes my work while I look on, frustrated that I’ve done it wrong. I’m not used to doing things wrong.

Zelie, the middle sister, suggests charred chicken wings to accompany the rice. I think that sounds awful — charred anything does, except for the bodies of Trash City I’d like to have hanging from the spikes on my gates — but I don’t say so. Instead, I have her show me which spices to coat them in and then her father shows me how to rack the “oven” firepit and at which point to lay the chicken on. Meanwhile, Audet, the youngest sister, continues to stir the rice through to completion.

I dust my hands off on the rag Reginald, her father, hands me. I notice that his hands are scarred worse than mine. Lots of his wounds look like burns. “Radmilla has encouraged me to consider breaking tradition,” I tell him, glancing from his scars to his face. “We will be upgrading the kitchens over the next ten days. The builders will be in and out. They will attempt to remain as out of your way as possible. You are free to give them direction as how best to assist you and where you’d like the machines placed. In advance of their arrival, if you’d like to come up with some sketches, or if you have particular machines you would like or other requirements, that could be helpful.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Reginald says.

Then Cyprus cuts in, “If it’s sketches we’ll need, we need Kiandah for that. She’s the only one of us that can draw. Her sketchbooks are in the old kitchens.” He has his hands on the butcherblock countertop of the massive island that dominates the space. His left, free hand drums angrily near the pile of onions he’s been dicing. His right hand still holds the knife. “Can you have one of your…people go get them, my Lord?” His tone is acerbic. I don’t let myself rise to it, but nod.

“You will fetch them with one of my Riders, along with anything else you might need from your old home.”

“It wasn’t torched?”

“My Lord,” I hiss.

“My Lord,” he says quickly, color rising in his face. The hard slash of his brows hardens further.

I nod, trying not to be infuriated by his obvious insubordination. I need to win his respect. I have his sister. He is an Alpha and he is right to worry. I have not been able to keep her safe thus far. The thought sinks through me like a stone. I swallow hard and my voice comes out sharper than I intend as I answer him, “No. It was not torched. You may bring your things here. Any that you need. And any additional requirements you may have to make your living conditions more…tolerable, you may give to Radmilla. She will ensure they are procured, within reason.”

Cyprus’s eyes flash with surprise before narrowing. His hand twitches on the knife he holds. “And after we get her stuff, my Lord, can Kiandah come help us draw plans for the kitchens?”

“She is not confined to my chambers, if that is what you’re asking,” though I know it’s not all he’s asking. He wants to know if she’s in trouble, if she’s safe, if she’s my prisoner, if he’ll ever be able to see her again. Answers I’m not sure he deserves. I’m also not sure he doesn’t. Carefully, I say, “But she is injured at the moment. I won’t have her up and walking around freely for the next couple days, or until Lord Okayo gives her clearance to do so, whichever is longer.”

“Injured how?” The tension in the room is palpable. Her family has stopped everything they’re doing.

I sweep my gaze around at them, wondering… “She was pelted with rocks and animal feces, strangled, slapped and nearly raped.”

“Raped?” Cyprus chokes. He rears back from the counter where he’d been working and the knife tumbles from his hand, clattering to the ground. “By who?”

“One of my Riders.”

Cyprus’s chest swells with unspent aggression. The Alpha within him cannot transform, but Alphas all have a predilection towards beastliness and physiologically appear more swollen when enraged. He appears slightly larger than he did and he was not a small male to begin with. He could be molded, shaped, and honed to a weapon. Hm…

“You let a Crimson Rider attack Kiandah?”

“Do not test me,” I snarl. “Kiandah left the keep and was attacked, first by villagers — your friends — in retribution for crimes you committed and then was attacked on the road by one of mine. Him, I take responsibility for and he has been dealt with. But what I want to know is why she left the keep at all. Kiandah is a good girl, isn’t she? She would not have left for no reason… She would not have even thought of it.”

Cyprus looks down. Owenna is looking down. Her father is looking at the fire. Zelie and Mercy, however, both have gazes that stray. I turn to approach Audet, whose eyes remain fixed to the floor until I stand within arm’s reach of her. She’s got her fingers clasped. Behind me, her brother attempts to speak in her defense, “She didn’t…”

I hold up my hand — he quiets immediately — and I wait. It takes her a long time to look up at my face. Long enough for my irritation to bubble to the surface. “Do not keep me, child. My wife is waiting.”

Audet winces, then offers softly, “She wanted to go.”

I hold my right wrist in my left hand behind my back. I flex my right hand several times before curling it into a tight fist. Restraint. Restraint… “I am…certain she did.” I have to take a breath between each word, struggling as I am not to inflict pain. So much pain. I try to keep my words clear and pointed as I speak. This female may be younger than her sisters but she is no child. She is fully grown and knew what she asked of Kiandah. She knew the risks and she simply tossed her sister to the fire.

“Your sister would fall on her sword for you. And you used her love against her, for your own gain. I can guess that this is not the first time you have done this, and if allowed, I’m certain it will not be the last.” I lower my face until I’m looking at Audet at eye level, bending near in half to do so. “But it will be the last.”

Audet shivers. My nostrils flare. “You see, I have Kiandah’s respect, but I do not yet have her love, as you do. This means that, for the time being, you hold great power over me. I cannot bring harm to you as I would were you any other creature in my city, in Gatamora, for having coerced Kiandah into leaving the safety of the keep…”

And then the female has the audacity. She interrupts me, stuttering, color in her cheeks high, “I didn’t threaten her, if that’s what you mean, my Lord. She left on her own…”

“And her life means more to me than yours,” I snarl. I snatch her chin and squeeze it hard. “Correction. Your life means absolutely nothing to me while her life means…everything. If she did not exist, you would be rotting in the lowest cells of my dungeons. If she had died on the road, I would have ripped out your insides, and if I am ever forced to make the choice between your life and Kiandah’s safety, I will not hesitate, little girl. Do you understand me?”

She nods, the insolent welp.

“I want to hear it.”

“I understand, my Lord.” She’s crying, tears tracking down her cheeks. She is a pretty woman, yes, that’s clear, and I would gut her gladly if she ever crossed me.

I tilt my head very slightly to the side. “She was yours before today, but now she is mine. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand, my Lord,” she sputters out, blinking quickly to try to stem her tears.

I drop my pitch so that only she can hear, leaning in to whisper directly against her hair. “And if you pose a risk to Kiandah’s life again, ask her for something that she has no ability to give, or ever dare try to separate her from me, I will have you killed savagely and make it look like an accident. Kiandah will never know it was me. And as your corpse is lowered into the ground and your soul joins those of your ancestors, she will use my shoulder to dry her tears and I will comfort her and tell her things like, ‘Audet, such a pretty little girl, such a senseless tragedy.’”

Audet’s tears burst forth and she nods feverishly. I take that response as sufficient, for now, but I’m not certain just how much Audet has heard me. Taking advantage of Kiandah has been ingrained in the spoiled princess since birth. I’m not sure a few threats will simply undo it. I need more robust assurances and so, when I stand, I turn to Cyprus.

“She would have been raped bloody and left for dead on the Orias highway line had I not been informed quickly by members of my staff that she had departed and had I not immediately set off to follow her.”

The anger that barrels out of Cyprus is tangible to my beast and claws extend through my nailbeds. I drag them along the countertop as I reach Zelie, who is adding the final touches to Kiandah’s tray of food, fingers fumbling desperately.

She freezes as I drum my claws across the board. “My Riders cannot be trusted when it comes to her. They are Alphas, or they are savages, or they are angry, or they are all of the above. I need eyes on her when mine cannot be spared.” My fingers still and I turn away from Zelie to face her brother who is busy glaring at my back. “Would you wear a red cloak, Cyprus? Would you consider moving from the kitchens?”

Mercy gasps and claps a hand over her mouth. The older woman with too many laugh lines has desires for her children. And I am sorry it has taken so much of her lifetime to see them realized. A chance to don a red cloak, at this late age, is rare. My Riders are typically selected between six and sixteen. Alphas ascend in their earlier years and, by then, Betas’ and Alphas’ aptitudes for combat, battle strategy and border security will have made themselves known. To invite him to join their ranks now will cause a stir. Fortunately, I answer to no one.

Cyprus is giving me a peculiar look. He wants to hate me, but he cannot hide the desire in his eyes, which glitter at the possibilities. “You’d make me a Crimson Rider? Just like that?”

“Yes. You would of course go through an accelerated training regimen. If you survive it, then you’ll receive your colors. If you don’t, I’m no worse off for having rid the world of a suspected killer.”

“You know I’m not.”

I narrow my gaze at his insolent tone, but still I say, “No, you are not. But could you be?”

“My…my Lord?” he says, seeming to remember to whom he speaks. Showing me an ounce of the respect he’d denied me previously.

I turn to face him fully. “Could you slit the throat of an aggressor coming for Kiandah? Could you throw your body between her and the blade as she would do for you and has done for all of you at least twice over?”

“Of course,” he says without hesitation, without blinking, and I sense truth.

“Good. And as you are her brother, her heat cycles will not affect you. You are best positioned for this task.”

He snorts — insolence runs in this family. “To be her human shield?”

“If you cannot wield a sword, then a shield will do.”

He smiles a little more fully at me then and I struggle not to return it.

“I can do that.”

“You’ll stick closely to her until the threat has passed. And when it is time to move you, you will not lose your colors. You will be folded into the Crimson ranks, wherever Dorsten seeks to place you. Do you accept?”

“Y-yes. Yes, of course.”

“Yes, what?”

His gaze narrows. Yes, there’s fire there. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Report to Dorsten just before sunrise, when the sky is still dark. That is when the Riders begin first practice. You will have your work cut out for you.”

He nods and clenches his fist, determination fueling him. His gaze is glazed and as it returns to me, I have a premonition of what he will say next. Revenge… “What happens if I catch another Rider trying to harm Kiandah, my Lord? Am I…” He swallows. “Allowed to kill them?”

“I’d like you to try to keep them breathing, but kill them if you must. I imagine you’ll have to. It’s difficult to keep a good fighter that you’ve maimed but alive, and all of my Riders will be better fighters than you.”

He frowns. “Is that what you did to the other guy? Kept him alive after what he tried to do to Kia?”

I grin to show a mouth full of beastly and razor-sharp teeth. Cyprus takes a half step away from me. “Oh yes,” I hiss. “I hope he lives. I hope he lives a long time and, if another Rider makes a similar attempt knowing what is in store for them, then I want them captured so I can take them to my dungeons where they will live out a very long, very painful lifetime.”

Cyprus’ face betrays his shock when he says, “Are you…mad?”

I bark out a laugh that surprises everyone in the room, myself included, and turn my back on him to collect the tray that Zelie has finished arranging so artfully. “Kiandah is hungry. I will be off. You, master Cyprus, will not trouble yourself with thoughts of revenge. Your allegiances now fall to Kiandah first, then to me as your Lord, then to your fellow Riders, then to your family, then to your people. Understand that and remember it when the time comes that those allegiances are called into question. And there will be a time.” I sweep my gaze over the group, settling it on Owenna. “Owenna. Walk with me. Select a wine for your sister that you think she’d like best.”

As Owenna retrieves a wine from the storage pantry, I bid farewell to her other family members. Her father grunts a goodbye, Mercy showers me with pats to the cheek and arms that I think are rather inappropriate but that I allow, Zelie whispers a soft goodbye and tells me to wish Kiandah well. Audet merely cringes and tries not to cry.

I carry the tray, laden with a large covered wooden bowl of the rice I helped prepare and another with a modest amount of chicken. I wasn’t sure how much of the chicken they offered me because they could afford to or because they felt they had to, so I wasn’t willing to take more than needed. Owenna holds a bottle of wine and a pitcher and looks as if she’s walking across a bed of nails as she follows me out into the hall towards the central staircase.

We walk for some time in silence, long enough for the sounds of clean-up in the kitchen to fall away and for voices from the great hall to echo through the walls as supper begins in earnest.

Quietly, I say, “It is impressive the number of people your family has been able to feed these past days, even when denied access to clean food, tools and support staff.”

Owenna doesn’t reply right away and when she does, it surprises me. “I didn’t believe we had a choice, my Lord.”

I smile with one corner of my mouth and glance down at the female with her hair neatly arrayed in a short halo of curls around her face. It’s a soft halo around a hardened face. Sharp lines she has not, but she carries a sharpness all the same.

“Is that why you have done what you’ve done? Because you did not feel you had a choice?” She does not reply. I do not need one. “That is what your sister believes because she is a very good girl, but that’s not the truth, is it? You are charitable with your family, but your real ambitions lie in the realms of power. I do not doubt that, had you ascended as Omega in that church instead of Kiandah, my Riders and I would now be a pile of ash. I also don’t doubt that if you had been the one to ascend, you might have considered new allies, like the Fates.”

She stares straight ahead, her lips pursed as she places one foot before the other. She doesn’t wear shoes. I wonder why. “Is there a question in that, my Lord?”

I laugh humorlessly and shake my head. “I have a theory that I want confirmed or denied. A dishonest reply will result in your return to the dungeons, alone this time, without your family. Do you understand me, Owenna?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“It was you, not your siblings or your parents, who brokered the deal — whatever nefarious deal was made between your family and Trash City.”

She stumbles. I shift the tray into one hand, despite its heft and awkward shape, and catch her elbow with my other. She jerks away from me, turning until her back is against the wall of the staircase. She stands with one foot on the stair below, as do I. I don’t crowd her. I don’t need to. She meets my gaze and my displeasure slices my stomach like a sword. The urge to gut her grows, but I flex my hand several times and force back my claws.

“It was me.”

Disappointment throttles me — that one of my own villagers would thus betray me, but also that one of Kiandah’s sisters would thus betray her. “How?”

“The story is complicated. There were whispers and rumors of North Islander refugees from Trash City on South Island shores. I was…connected with them. They weren’t hard to find. Their leader Merlin used to walk the Night Market without a disguise. And then when the Alphas first started disappearing, she went to ground, but by then she’d already told me when to meet her and where.”

“And where was that?”

She makes a rough sound and wipes her face on the inside of her arm, as both of her hands are occupied with wine and jug. “It changed every time. But they needed the kitchen cellar to embalm the bodies before they moved them. I never saw where they came from and I never asked, but…”

“But did you see where they were moved to?”

She freezes, turning to stone, her shoulders rolling up by her ears. “I…”

“You know how I feel about lies, Owenna.”

She clenches her jaw and blinks at me slowly. Her eyes…they are the same color as Kiandah’s, the same shape, but they look so different. Kiandah does not have that look. She does not have the capacity to generate it. I do not understand how a single creature can be so unique and distinct, even when born of the same blood and into the same family.

Owenna got all of Kiandah’s sharp edges. Kiandah got all of Owenna’s soft parts. Except for the bits of her that exist in the safety of my arms. I wonder…is Owenna a lamb when she takes a lover? That would be a sight to see, though not for me. I have only eyes for she who is master of me.

“The Cliffs of Oblivion is where Trash City takes the bodies.”

“That is not true. We have scoured the cliffs and found nothing.”

“Then your Riders are blind or not looking hard enough.”

“Or they do not know where to look.” I tilt my head and watch her eyes widen with knowing. She knows what I will say before I say it, what I have intended to ask of her for some time now. “But you do.”

She shakes her head. “No. No, Lord Yaron. Merlin already thinks I betrayed them. She’ll slit my throat…”

“Whatever you did to gain her trust the first time, I’m certain you’ll be able to replicate.”

“It’s suicide…”

“And if you do,” I say, speaking over her. “If you lead us to the bodies and to Trash City — for I’m certain the locations of both are one in the same — I will give you what that foul wretch could not.”

Owenna stills. The bitch is greedy and covetous, cunning and agile. I had been hesitant in asking her this, concerned that her allegiance to Trash City would be strong and even more concerned that a deceitful bitch was the wrong person to ask into an alliance. However, I can see the calculation in her eyes…and no matter what Trash City once offered her, I have a price that she cannot say no to.

“If you bring Trash City to me, I will move you from the kitchens.”

“To where?”

“Where would you like to go?”

“I want to wear a black cloak.” Her confidence astounds me, as does her ask.

I cannot help the grin that sweeps my features even as I lie in cold blood, “But no one wears a black cloak in these realms.”

Her gaze narrows and she clenches her fist around the wine in her hand. “You said you don’t tolerate lies, my Lord.”

I grin a little wider and cock my head. “Does your family know that you are a ruthless woman?”

“No.”

“They mistake you for a simpleton.” She doesn’t respond. “How do you know of the Black Cloaks?” A small elite group that rank among my soldiers, typically recruited from Crimson Riders themselves, but occasionally, a villager will show potential. They are spies, and occasionally, assassins.

“Everyone knows of them.”

“Not that they exist.”

“Your denial, if anything, serves as confirmation.”

Fire. Dear gods. Is her whole family infused with it? Kiandah is simply the visible spark. “You are a bold female. You think you deserve such an honor?”

“I never much understood concepts of honor, my Lord. I can’t buy anything with it and alone, it has no power. Information has power. That’s what I want and I’m good at getting it. I want to be rewarded for my hard work.”

It all comes together. “That is why you sought placements in the castle. And when you were denied, you found another provider. And since you are eager to join the Black Cloaks, it’s clear you have no issue with slaughtering for your own gain.”

“I didn’t slaughter for Trash City. I transported the bodies. That’s all.” She may be lying. She may be. And I cannot tell. She is a dangerous female and if I did not have need of her, I would kill her myself, break her neck and throw her down the stairs right here, and tell Kiandah it was an accident.

I resume walking and hear Owenna move in line just behind me. A dangerous place for a female like that. “You will have your colors, Owenna, if you can bring Trash City to me or if you are able to ascertain actionable information as to the whereabouts of the bodies they’ve stolen. Anything less and you’ll be bound to the kitchens forever. No one will ever know how clever you truly are.” I turn down the hallway leading to my chambers. “Or how ruthless.”

Owenna doesn’t respond immediately, she doesn’t need to. My terms are final, a threat, yes, but also an opportunity for us both. “Why me? Why offer me a chance to commit the same treason that once relegated me to the dungeons, this time for reward?”

“Because I am running out of time. I intend to take Kiandah for a wife and I want to do it knowing that she is safe. My Riders are too obvious in their searches and my Black Cloaks have thus far been unsuccessful. They’ve found whispers, but not their provenance. You are the only one I know that’s alive, that’s done business with Trash City directly. I could torture you for information on their whereabouts, but I believe a mutually beneficial solution may yield quicker results. And torture is a messy process. I don’t think Kiandah would want to fuck me anymore if she discovered I’d ripped your intestines out through your belly button and strangled you with them…”

Owenna balks. “You…ancestors be…you can’t talk about my sister like that in front of me. Regardless of what you think, she’s still my little sister…”

“And she’ll be my wife. I suppose I do owe you a debt of gratitude for that. If you hadn’t traded your soul for a few pieces of silver, I’d never have been thrust into her path and would have lived and died without ever having tasted her, and the taste of her…” I suck in a breath through clenched teeth. “It is exquisite.” We have climbed the stairs and made it to the east hall. Up ahead, the stairs climb to my private quarters. “We’re almost there now. It goes without saying, you’ll tell no one about our arrangement.”

“I won’t, my Lord.”

“You have four weeks. I expect some results by the time the next blood moon rises, either on locating Trash City and where they’ve gone, or what has happened to the bodies they’ve absconded with.”

She glares at me and it’s a powerful thing. I cock my head to the side.

“How much do you know, Owenna? Do you know what’s become of the corpses?”

“I don’t for certain, but I have my suspicions.”

She presses her lips together and I nod, deciding. “When you leave the keep, you will do so with an escort. My Crimson Rider Siphowill accompany you.”

“He’ll only slow me down and arouse suspicion.”

“And yet, I believe you are a woman of wiles. I believe you will find a way to make it work regardless. Find me what I want, Owenna, and you will have it — power. Softer, but perhaps even more than mine.”

Her eyes flash and she nods. I nod again in response as we begin our ascent to my chambers. “You and your family will join Kiandah and me in the village tomorrow where I plan to address your family’s crimes. A contingent of Riders will come for you around noon. Be ready then.”

Reaching my chamber doors, I turn from Owenna and shove the door open with my shoulder. I place the tray on the sideboard just inside of the room and turn to take the wine and jug from Owenna, but she pulls them back to her chest and tries to look around my body. “My Lord?”

“Yes?”

“Can I see her?”

Something softens in me towards this battle-hardened female, this viper in the grasses. I open the door, allowing her entry. She goes straight to the bed and places the wine on the small table abutting it. She stands next to Okayo, reaching past him to give her sister a prolonged hug before ascertaining whether or not she’s okay.

She’s fine. Okayo has finished with her stitching and has placed a small bandage above her eye and across her palms. I imagine she has others on her stomach, though perhaps the wounds were superficial. I am soothed by the warmth that radiates from between the two women as I approach. Okayo comes to me, his supplies packed away already.

“I was just waiting for your return,” he says.

“She will live, then?”

“Very well, if I’m judging by the look on your face right now.”

I shoot him a glare, but it’s mocking.

He smiles and gives me an exaggerated bow before I roll my eyes and nod, dismissing him.

The two females talk a little bit longer while I prepare Kiandah a plate. “And he’s treating you okay?” Owenna says, dropping her voice to as low a whisper as possible, not that it helps. She might as well be shouting to my beast’s ears.

Kiandah doesn’t answer, though I wish she would. I want to know how she’d answer that question, but she must give some sign or other because her sister says, “Good,” while my back is turned.

When there is nothing left to say for the moment, at least in my presence, Owenna excuses herself with a promise to see her sister tomorrow at noon. She gives me a knowing look. I nod, dismissing her before returning to Kiandah.

“What was that about? Where did you go?” she says to me on a yawn as I bring her a plate of Orias rice and charred chicken. It’s not as warm as I would like it to be by now, but it does not seem to matter much to her. Content. Content with everything she has and everything she’s given.

It makes me want to give her the world.

I watch her eyes grow wide as she takes in the sight of the food and I use her distraction to my advantage and lean in. I slip my thumb beneath her chin and stroke my fingers along her jaw and soft earlobe. I tilt her face up to mine and watch her whisper words, my name, I don’t care. I kiss those thoughts away from her. I devour her hungrily and am not surprised when it takes her a moment to melt. Her fire is stoked by my desire and, when I lavish her lower lip with my tongue, she parts her lips and meets me kiss for kiss.

Her tongue pushes into my mouth and tangles with mine. She tastes so fucking good. I growl. She gasps and, as if finally remembering that she and I are in a detente, she tries to pull back, but I hold her close, releasing her only when I’m ready. Before I’m ready, but when I’m willing.

In the closeness between us, filled with only the spicy scent of her food and the sweet smell of her breath, she says, “You are a naughty boy, Yaron, deserving of punishment, kissing me without permission.”

By gods. I’m hard instantly. The smell of antiseptic and blood on her skin does nothing to quell the sudden surge of need that beats through me. “Yes.”

“I’ve been thinking, while you were gone, how you should be punished.”

I cannot even remember what it is I’m meant to be punished for. And I don’t care at all. “And what did you decide?”

“Did my family make this for me?” she says, taking a bite from her tray before answering.

I debate telling her that I helped prepare the dish, then decide against. “Yes. What is my punishment, Kiandah?”

She smiles up at me, likely at the impatience in my voice. “I decided since you behave like such a beast, taking without permission, that you’ll sleep at the foot of my bed tonight, like the beast that you are.”

I grin. “In my beast form or as a man?”

“Beast, of course.” She takes another bite of the rice and her eyelids flutter.

My heart is beating hard. I can feel my pulse in my erection. I can think of little other than fulfilling her wishes. All of them.

I take my own plate and finish it quickly before shedding my clothing while her gaze moves with surety over my nakedness, falling to my cock and driving me to the brink of madness. Then I transform, shifting quickly into my Berserker’s true body, letting him take over.

The room shifts, everything taking on the silverish hue of night, illuminated by only the few sconces in the walls. Her jaw drops. The spoon she had been so diligently using to shovel rice into her mouth at a speed I found both hilarious and alarming hangs suspended in the air by her chin. She has seen me before as a beast, but in pieces. I don’t think she’s ever seen me before like this.

Fully formed. At her mercy — though she believes herself to be at mine. I prowl towards her, looming over her two human lengths high. I could not fit through the door of this room if I tried. I have an oversized bed to accomodate my beast’s form, but it only just fits my entire beast. I’ve never tried to share it before. But as she sits there, I step one paw up onto the bed and then the other three. I switch back and forth once before curling up into as small a ball as possible near her feet. I cover all of the bed, all of her legs. My head settles to their left, my snout pressed up against her hip lovingly…threateningly.

She no longer seems very hungry and slides her tray onto the side table before scurrying back to the center of the bed. There, she slides under the covers. “Um…goodnight, Yaron. Can you…understand me?”

I laugh, though the sound comes out a growl in this physical state. I move my head next to her legs, annoyed to be separated from her skin by the blanket, but I’ll allow it for this night and tomorrow I’ll work to be a good boy again and win my way back into her graces. With our planned excursion to the village, it will not be hard.

She reaches down and strokes her finger across my wet nose. Her two hands would span its entire length with her fingers spread wide. She scratches the top of my snout and I lean into her touch. She falls asleep with her fingers tangled in my fur and, at some point in the night, I burrow beneath the covers and press my snout to her stomach. She wraps herself around my massive head to the best of her ability and calls to me in her dreams.

“Such a good boy…” she whispers, her words laced with lust and promises.