Chapter 27 #2
“Come now, mustn’t be too shy,” Norden said. “Omegas are only happy when their nests are perfect, or so I’ve heard. Darion, have you made sure she has everything she needs?”
She dared a peek down the table. A forkful of meat stopped halfway to his mouth, and Fern worried the vein in his temple might pop.
Could he lie about his broken promise, or would he be forced to admit he’d been neglecting her?
Then Kyntha placed a hand on his arm and looked at Fern, pouting. “I’m terribly sorry I’ve taken up so much of our alpha’s time these days, what with all the rituals and preparations. If you want to take a look at my nest for inspiration, I’d be happy to—”
“You don’t have a nest, cousin,” Reinn interrupted. “At least, not a real one.”
Kyntha’s eyes turned murderous, but she attempted a sweet smile. “Whatever do you mean? Alpha Darion has graciously seen to my every need and whim, supplying me with the best the Sabletail Clan has to offer. Blankets of the most luxurious fabrics, pillows stuffed with the softest down…”
“But you’re not an omega. Fern’s nesting comes from instincts,” Norden said. “I’m utterly fascinated by the process. I’ve read that each omega tends to gravitate towards different textures and colors. If Darion would allow me, I’d love to come to your room and take a look.”
“No!” he blurted, causing Kyntha to flinch. He took a deep breath, cracking his neck, and then responded more calmly. “I mean, it wouldn’t be proper. The only one to see her nest should be me.”
Her wolf’s eyes were trained on the alpha, glowing from the dark recesses of her mind where she’d been watching.
“Then tell us!” Reinn said, cradling his chin in his hand as he stared at Darion. “What does it look like?”
When Darion didn’t answer, Alastair looked at his younger son. “You have seen her nest, haven’t you? You claimed her as your Naravekh ten days ago. Do you mean to tell us you have not bedded her yet?”
Fern wanted to slither under the table and eat there again, if possible. To have the whole table discussing the fact that Darion didn’t want to lay with her was too much to bear.
“Good wolfkin of the Sabletail Clan!”
The flutist called out to the hall and stepped in front of the head table, bowing deeply at the waist.
Everyone quieted almost as quickly as they did for Alastair. He was magnetic, a presence so compelling that even after hearing only a few words, Fern had forgotten what they’d just been discussing, her attention focused solely on him.
“It’s been an honor performing for you so far this evening—and we only hope you feel the same in hearing us play!”
The wolfkin laughed, raising their drinks and thumping their fists on the tables.
His gaze roamed the room, as though he was personally meeting the eye of every one in turn. “Our next song is a lively dance, the Weaver’s Turn.”
Fern sat up straighter, her pulse pounding. It was her favorite dance, and she watched as several of the wolfkin were getting out of their seats, dragged by their mates.
Oh, she so wanted to join! But who to ask?
The musician took the tall, lidded basket he’d been sitting on, and opened it to reveal that it was full of brightly colored scarves, each around three feet in length.
Grabbing the first one, he called, “And if you would all be so kind, I’d like to invite your loveliest she-wolf to lead the dance with me. ”
They cheered again, and he turned around to face the table, heading right towards Kyntha.
Fern leaned over to whisper in Reinn’s ear, assuming he would be the most interested. “Will you—”
The room became silent, and she looked across the table to where the flutist now stood, his hand extended. “Beautiful little omega. Would you do me the honor?”
Her cheeks were aflame, and she checked not with Darion, but Reinn beside her, knowing he wouldn’t let her make a fool of herself with the wrong decision.
Reinn’s eyes darted between her and the musician, a smile growing on his face. “What do you say, sunbeam? Will you dance with the handsome wolf and make the room swoon with envy of the both of you?”
The flutist’s brown eyes sparkled, his smile wide, and his hand still outstretched. Tentatively, she took it, and he twirled her arm over Reinn’s head to maneuver her around the table to where he stood.
“Do you know it?” he asked.
“I know it well.”
The musicians struck up a fast rhythm, drums thundering beneath the pipes and fiddle as the dancers split into two long lines down the center of the hall.
Men on one side. Women on the other.
Fern stood opposite the flutist, a bright crimson scarf looped around one of her hands while he held the other end. The fabric was soft between her fingers, fluttering every time one of them moved.
“I’ll try not to step on your feet,” he said lightly.
Fern lifted her chin and the hem of her dress, sticking out her bare toes. “I hope you do more than try.”
His grin widened, and the drumbeat changed.
The lines surged forward, and Fern moved with the music automatically, muscle memory taking over before she could think about it.
One step, two, pivot. The dancers intertwined like weaving threads on a loom, crossing between pairs in intricate patterns that shifted every few beats.
Scarves tangled and slipped apart in flashes of color while boots hammered against stone.
The flutist blinked at her in surprise when Fern spun cleanly beneath their joined scarf without missing a step.
“Oh,” he laughed breathlessly. “I think you were lying.”
His comment caught her off guard, and she laughed back. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You said you knew it well, not that you knew it better than the whole room.”
Several wolfkin nearby were already stumbling through the more complicated turns, colliding with one another over joyous shouts. Fern, however, knew exactly where to go and what to do.
Their faces came briefly close during the next turn, their labored breaths mingling for a moment before parting again.
The scarf wound once around Fern’s wrist as he circled her, and she unwound it with a flick that made several nearby wolfkin cheer.
“Oh, she’s showing off now,” Reinn called from the table.
The flutist grinned, and the drums thundered harder, the fiddler playing so fast she could barely see his fingers move.
Then the final sequence arrived—pairs rushing past one another in mirrored lines before snapping back to their original partners. Fern and the flutist caught opposite ends of the scarf once more, the fabric stretched between them as the last drumbeat struck.
The room erupted into applause and stomping feet, with voices shouting accolades for “their omega.”
Fern was breathing hard, heart pounding wildly beneath her ribs, and the flutist bowed deeply over her hand without quite touching it.
“The moon surely blesses the Sabletail Clan,” he declared loudly enough for the nearby tables to hear, “to have gifted them one of her precious daughters. A beautiful she-wolf and a fine dancer!”
Several wolfkin cheered again, but as she looked up at the head table, all of her joy evaporated at the sight of Darion’s hard stare, his jaw tight enough to crack stone, the seat beside him empty.
Kyntha was gone.
She thanked the flutist, but before she could leave, he placed the scarf in her hands. “A token for your nest, sweet omega.”
“O-Oh, thank you,” she stammered. He bowed his head one more time, then returned to the other musicians, picking up his flute to play again.
Taking the scarf with her, she shuffled towards her seat. But before she could sit down, Alastair beckoned her towards the other end of the table.
“Kyntha has retired for the evening. Perhaps you should sit next to your alpha.”
Darion’s eyes were trained on his plate as he angrily sawed through a slice of boar.
“Um, is that… alright? Alpha Darion?”
“Why wouldn’t it be alright?” Alastair asked, his tone biting.
Fern knew his ire was directed more at Darion than at her, but she couldn’t keep back the small whimper from escaping her throat. The head alpha immediately soothed her, taking her hand. “Darion,” he said quietly, though his voice was full of warning. “Won’t you welcome your omega to your side?”
Darion took a sip of his ale and then gestured with a sharp jerk of his chin to the chair beside him.
She started to sit when his arm wrapped swiftly around her waist, scooping her up and bringing her to his lap.
Several wolfkin hooted and hollered, and Fern tried to smile like she was enjoying the attention.
Well, she was. A little.
But it was forced on his part, and all she could think of was the consequences for her presence tonight, and how it had opened him up to ridicule and scrutiny.
How she had made his life difficult.
And how long she’d be locked in her room again to pay for it.