Chapter 8
ARDEN
Arden didn’t know much about heats. After last night, of course, he knew infinitely more than he had, but still.
Not much.
He didn’t know much about being an omega, either, which wasn’t a surprise, since he was the only omega he knew.
Looking back, it must have been obvious to his parents, and perhaps to everyone but Arden, that he wasn’t going to be an alpha. He’d never been as thick and sturdy as his older brothers, or as bold. On top of that, he was a late bloomer.
Lassit had presented first, in the same year as Jack.
Arden’s careless, charming older brother, who had indulged Arden when it suited him and got him out of scrapes on more than one occasion, turned dismissive and cruel overnight.
He may as well have been an only child for all the acknowledgement he gave his younger siblings.
He ignored them as if they didn’t exist.
Except Arden.
He still watched over Arden, albeit from a distance.
If Arden tried to talk to him or join him in the library, or for a walk, or sit next to him at dinner, he’d snap at him to “Go away. Give me peace, in the name of the gods!” but at least he didn’t…he didn’t ignore him.
On the contrary, if Lassit was in residence at Dalbryn, Arden sensed his gaze like a physical thing.
All the time.
Aloys was the one who changed the most.
He was only a year older than Arden, and they had been the closest. They’d play together all day long, running around the estate from dawn to dusk.
And then Aloys’ legs grew longer and he stopped running beside Arden and instead towered over him.
He laid down muscle, and began to look at Arden strangely, and Arden… Arden grew nervous of his own brother.
So when Aloys presented and pushed him away as Lassit had done, Arden accepted it without complaint.
His younger siblings were still in the nursery, and those last few years of childhood were lonely ones for Arden. They weren’t untroubled, but they certainly were in comparison to what happened when he did finally present.
He was sixteen. Summer was over and Jack, who usually spent his summer months at the neighbouring estate, had gone back to Avendene.
Although Arden had grown used to barely seeing him anymore, that year, Jack had sought him out once or twice.
Unlike Aloys, Arden liked the way Jack looked at him, with his head tilted to one side, eyes warm and kind, and expression pensive.
He’d known, too, hadn’t he?
Of course, Jack was in his twenties back then, a boisterous young alpha finding his way in the world, far too busy and important to waste much time with romantic, late-blooming boys who were too stupid to know their entire world was about to change.
Sometimes, Arden wondered what would have happened if Jack had been there, rather than the footman. It would have been nicer, he knew that much. Arden was safe with Jack.
Jack wouldn’t have lost control.
The footman had of course apologised profusely, once the butler heard Arden’s cries and brought along a couple of betas and dragged him off Arden. His name was Clarke, and no one blamed him.
It was Arden’s fault after all, for suddenly blooming in front of the lad.
Clarke was barely a handful of years older than Arden himself, and he hadn’t encountered an omega in his life.
Until that day, very few people at the Hall had.
It was understandable that he’d reached out and grabbed Arden when he’d come to the library with the tea tray, when Arden had looked up at him, taken a deep breath of the young alpha before him, and smiled.
If Arden hadn’t flinched away when Clarke reached out and collared his throat, Clarke’s prey drive wouldn’t have kicked in.
He wouldn’t have chased Arden all the way out of the library, through the morning parlour and halfway up the stairs.
He wouldn’t have dragged Arden roughly down the steps, bruising his elbows and knees, pushed him down and made him cry.
Clarke wasn’t allowed near Arden after that.
When Arden realised he hadn’t even seen him from a distance for a few weeks and enquired about it, he learned that Clarke and Lassit had got into some sort of terrible alpha fight.
Papa had to send Clarke to one of the northern estates.
They said it was so Arden didn’t do something else unwise, like bond with Clarke. It was all nonsense.
He and Clarke were just friends. Or friendly enough, at least.
Clarke had even written to him, to apologise and, he said, to make him smile again.
He should smile more, Clarke said. He was so pretty when he did.
Even before they sent Clarke away, Arden had begun to feel the burden of his omega nature. His parents hadn’t quite known what to do with him. There hadn’t been an omega in the family for at least four generations, Papa told him. But they would take good care of him. He mustn’t worry.
They did take care of him. Arden knew it, and was grateful.
The problem was, ‘taking good care’ meant that after that one heated, frightening moment in the library (and the morning parlour, and the stairs) with a tall, intense boy, Arden was shuffled off to his own private wing.
He rarely saw visitors. He never left Dalbryn.
His one consolation was that he still got to see and play with his younger brother and sister.
He’d loved them so fiercely—more, even, than he’d loved Lassit and Aloys.
His older siblings had always been rough with him, before and after they all presented.
It was simply how older brothers were, he knew that.
The little ones had loved him back.
Until they presented, too.
Dahli was as much an alpha as Lassit. One day she was his playful, sweet sister, and the next she didn’t have time for him, dismissed his opinions on everything, and told him to, “Go away, Arden. You’re so dull.
” She stopped coming to his wing entirely.
Even when he sent notes, inviting her to join him for tea, or to play cards, or read with him.
They never did finish the series of adventure stories they’d been working through.
Then Syl.
Syl was a beta and furious about it. It was Arden’s fault.
He’d hissed at Arden that if only he hadn’t spent so much time with a stupid, weak omega, then he’d have presented alpha, too.
“I’ll never forgive you for this, Arden.
Stay away from me. Stay away.” He’d slammed out of Arden’s parlour and never set foot in it again.
He didn’t respond to Arden’s notes, either.
Arden sneaked down after dinner one night, determined to clear the air between them and assure him that it didn’t work like that, but Syl refused to listen. He shoved past him, knocking the breath out of Arden and almost sending him to the floor.
It was unfortunate that Lassit, who lived in Sevennis most of the time by then, was there to see it.
He threw himself at Syl with a snarl and the pair of them brawled in the marble hall like the stable lads often did outside, only it wasn’t for fun, and no one was smiling, and instead of cheering on the sidelines and exchanging good-natured bets, the servants had to wade in to separate them.
Dahli ignored him. Syl was cruel. And when his older brothers looked at him, there was a darkness to them that Arden didn’t understand.
It was only now, having enjoyed his first taste of freedom at Avendene, that he finally understood why his parents had coddled and sequestered him the way they had, only allowing him to socialise under their very strict supervision whenever they held house parties in the summer or over Yule.
They were trying to prevent him going into heat for an alpha, like he’d done for Beckett.
They were trying to prevent Arden needing an alpha, like he’d needed Beckett.
Arden hadn’t just needed it, he’d loved it, being tucked beneath Beckett’s large, powerful body. Taking him. Asking for more.
He’d loved the kissing most of all. He’d wanted to try kissing Beckett other than on his mouth. He’d wanted to test the straining, sleek muscles that moved over him so devastatingly with his lips, to dust kisses down his limbs, to follow the hard ridges over his long torso down to—
But—
But what if Arden was a normal omega, and he’d gone into heat at Dalbryn years ago as he should have done?
Beckett wouldn’t have been there.
Jack wouldn’t have been there.
Who would have helped him?
Would they given him a choice, like Marl did when he explained what was happening?
Would they have given him to a stranger? Or to one of the local alphas he vaguely knew? Or…?
No. No. He wouldn’t have wanted it.
He wouldn’t have.
His heart pounded in his chest and his mouth dried out with panic. His breathing came short and fast.
Now that he was safe, the constant whisper of danger that he’d ignored for years, the one that had lingered at the back of his mind since Clarke had pushed him down and lain on top of him, clamoured louder and louder.
He flung the bedclothes back and was across the room to the door, the handle icy cold in his heated grip, before he even realised what he was doing.
He was out in the corridor before he even gave thought as to whether he was decent or not.
By then it was too late. His heart was drumming in his chest as if it was trying to escape. He wanted one thing, and one thing only: his alpha.
He didn’t even think. He knew exactly where he was going. He’d explored every inch of Jack’s immense house, and he darted down the corridor to Jack’s private apartments, threw open the door, rushed across the room and scrambled onto the bed.
He pressed his shaking body against the tall, solid form, burrowing as close as possible.
Still not safe.
He turned over, backing into the hard, hot curve of muscle and grabbed a strong, thick arm with his cold fingers, wrapping it around his waist. He squeezed his eyes shut and told himself that Jack would forgive him the impropriety of climbing into his bed uninvited.
If there was one alpha in the world he’d be safe with, it was Jack.