Sweat & Honey

Chapter One

Jude

The leather of the chair is cold against the back of my bare thighs as I sit. It feels especially cool in the suffocating warmth of my father’s office. The air is thick with his patchouli aroma. Heavy. Dominant. It clings to the walls and furniture, filling my lungs with every shaky breath.

I sit perfectly still while I wait for my father to finish pouring his drink, my hands curling around the hem of my shorts. I keep my gaze fixed on the single, immovable knot in the polished oak of the massive desk, trying to be quiet and obedient.

I know I did something wrong. It’s the only time he calls me into his office, but I don’t know what.

“The acquisition of Sterling Tech is complete,” Father says as he sits in his big leather chair.

“This is a lucrative merger. It will solidify our position for the next decade.” He swirls the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip.

“I’ve worked hard to grow this company into something impressive and strong.

” He sets his glass down. “But now it’s time for you to do your part, Jude. ”

Fear grips me, even though I know what’s coming next.

The moment Father started talking about a ‘new partner’ a month ago, a cold dread bloomed in my gut. I’m twenty-two years old, never mated, and an omega. Omegas are rare, pretty things. Assets. And my father is nothing if not a master of asset management.

“As is customary in such high-stakes partnerships,” he continues, finally setting the glass down with a heavy thud, “a bond is required. A gesture of unity. Of trust.” He lets his words hang in the air, each one a nail being hammered into my coffin. “You will be mated to Bruce Sterling.”

I feel a phantom tremor in my hands, but I crush it. I will not give him another reason to be disappointed in me.

“Do you have nothing to say?” he asks coolly.

I want to beg to stay, to promise I’ll be better, but it makes sense that he would want to be rid of me.

I manage to shake my head. “No, sir.”

Father’s eyebrows lift, like he’s impressed. “That’s a pleasant surprise,” he says with an approving nod. “I expected a fight from you.”

I know better than to fight. Fighting only makes it worse.

“Bruce will be here shortly,” Father says as his dark eyes scan my face, then my body. His expression sours, a deep frown creasing his brow as he takes in the simple v-neck T-shirt and casual shorts I’m wearing. A flicker of disgust crosses his face.

My mouth opens, ready to apologize for not looking more presentable, but a sharp knock on the door cuts me off, sealing my fate.

The door opens, and the family butler, Reynolds, steps inside. The beta’s posture is stiff and unyielding as always, his face a mask of professional neutrality.

“Mr. Sterling to see you, sir,” Reynolds announces, his voice a dry rustle of paper.

My father’s entire demeanor changes in an instant. The cold, calculating alpha vanishes, replaced by a booming, gregarious host. He’s on his feet, adjusting his tie as he moves toward the door.

“Bruce, my good man!” Father extends his hand. “Come in!” His voice is loud, echoing off the bookshelves, a performance of camaraderie that makes my stomach churn.

And then the man himself fills the doorway.

Bruce Sterling is a mountain in a black suit.

He has to duck his head to enter, his shoulders so broad they seem to scrape the frame. He’s older than my father, with a face that looks like it has been carved from granite and then left out in the rain with a jaw that could grind steel, and a scent that hits me like a physical blow.

It’s the smell of an alpha in his prime, but worse. It’s aggressive, suffocating.

Pine and motor oil and something else, something sharp and metallic that tastes like blood in the back of my throat.

My own scent—honey and rain, the soft, pathetic smell of a submissive omega—shrivels in his presence, trying to hide.

The two alphas clasp hands, their laughter a deep, rumbling thunder that shakes the room.

They slap each other on the back, like two old friends sealing a deal.

But their eyes, when they slide away from each other, find me.

The warmth vanishes, replaced by a cold, shared appraisal. I’m the deal. The merchandise.

“Bruce,” my father says, his voice dropping back to its usual commanding tone as he gestures toward me. “I’d like you to meet my son, Jude.”

Mr. Sterling fixes me with a pair of dark, beady eyes. He devours me with a hungry glare, stripping me bare, assessing every weak, soft inch of my body. I feel my breath catch in my throat, a panicked little gasp I can’t swallow.

I am a lamb, and this is the wolf.

“Jude,” Mr. Sterling rumbles, his voice a deep vibration that seems to resonate in my bones. He doesn’t move to shake my hand. Why would he? Property doesn’t shake hands.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” my father says, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. He claps the other alpha on the shoulder, a gesture of easy familiarity between monsters. “I trust you not to get too handsy with him just yet. You have to wait until after the mating ceremony for that.”

Leave us alone?

For a split second, I think Father is joking. Maybe testing him, or me. But he’s already turning toward the door.

A cold, sharp panic slices through me, and for one humiliating second I meet his eyes, silently ask him not to do this.

But I don’t say it out loud.

Because good omegas don’t question their alphas or make a scene.

Good omegas do what they’re told.

“I promise to behave,” Mr. Sterling laughs, and Father winks, then he turns his back and slips into the hallway.

The heavy click of the door echoes like the sealing of a tomb that makes my heart plummet.

The second he’s sure we’re alone, Mr. Sterling shifts his weight, and the subtle movement feels enormous.

The room suddenly seems smaller, the air thicker.

I’m hyperaware of the distance between me and the door, of how broad Mr. Sterling’s shoulders are, and how easily he could block the exit without even trying.

“Jude.” Mr. Sterling’s smile is gone as he turns his big body to face me.

My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t stop the way my body curls inward, my shoulders hunching, trying to make myself invisible.

Then the alpha moves.

It’s not a walk. It’s a prowl. A slow, deliberate stalk. Each step is soundless, predatory, and the room seems to shrink as he gets closer.

My heart hammers against my ribs, and my hands shake. The urge to run is so strong.

“Look at me.” He stops directly in front of my chair, a beast of a man, blotting out the light.

I have to crane my neck back, back, back to see his face. The angle is humiliating. It makes me feel tiny and incredibly fragile.

“You look very short,” he says. His voice is low, a quiet rumble that holds more absolute authority than my father’s loudest shout. “Stand up.”

My body instantly obeys, scrambling to comply before my mind can protest. My legs feel like jelly, my thin frame trembling.

I am so much smaller than this man, and so pathetically weak. His shadow swallows me whole.

A large, rough hand comes up to cup my cheek, the thumb rough against my skin. I flinch, a full-body shudder of revulsion and fear.

I can’t help it.

I know I’m supposed to be pleasing and friendly right now, but I’m just too scared.

Mr. Sterling chuckles, a dark, gravelly sound.

“Frightened, little omega?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer.

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.” His other hand moves, landing heavily on my hip.

He squeezes, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my stomach, right over the slight curve I hate so much.

“Soft,” he growls, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that makes my stomach turn. “I like ‘em soft.”

I hold my breath.

I want to scream, to run, to sink into the floor and disappear. But I can’t move. My father would be so angry if I even attempted to reject this alpha. He’d scream, maybe even hit me.

He’d never forgive me.

Mr. Sterling’s hand slides down my hip, over the swell of my backside, groping me through the thin fabric of my shorts. He hums, silently approving of what he feels.

I wish I were a good omega and could actually enjoy this, but I can’t. It’s like my body is just a thing for this alpha to play with. A new toy to try out, and there’s nothing I can do but stand here and take it.

“Such a pretty thing,” he murmurs, his face so close I can feel the heat of his breath. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that feels more threatening than a shout. “Tell me, little omega…are you a virgin?”

The question is so crude, so invasive, that I can’t help but flinch.

But when I don’t answer, Bruce’s grip on my ass tightens, a painful warning. “Marcus promised me an untouched mate,” he says, his tone still deceptively calm. “Look at me.”

My head snaps up, taking in the flicker of something dangerous in his gaze.

“I asked you a question, omega.” His eyes narrow. “I’m a reasonable man. I don’t need you to be completely untouched, but I do expect to be the first alpha to knot you.”

Revulsion twists hard in my stomach.

I understand that omegas are nothing to most alphas. We’re a burden to our parents, then a mere body to be claimed by a mate, but the sheer degradation of this man’s words paralyzes me.

I can’t speak.

I can only stare at him, my eyes wide with horror.

Mr. Sterling’s expression hardens, the pretense of patience vanishing. “Answer me,” he orders, his voice losing its softness, becoming a sharp, uncompromising command of an alpha. “Are. You. A. Virgin?”

The authority in his voice shatters what little will I have left. My body obeys, and a single word tears from my throat. “Yes.”

A slow, wide smile spreads across Mr. Sterling’s face, a look of pure, triumphant satisfaction. It’s the look of a predator that has just confirmed its prey is exactly as weak as it hoped. He visibly relaxes, his grip on me softening ever so slightly.