Chapter 17
BECKETT
Beckett paced up and down the length of his small room.
He’d nearly punched Hapton last time the beta came in. Only reason he didn’t was because Hapton could move fast enough to get his arse out of reach.
The rut, to Beckett’s grim satisfaction, was holding steady. He’d mastered it. Wasn’t about to lose himself to it. He’d done the right thing in removing himself from the duch’s presence. The duch had poisoned Jack, and he’d done his best to poison Beckett, and—
No. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t true.
The duch hadn’t asked to go into heat. He hadn’t asked Jack to take suppressants. He hadn’t asked for anything.
Not yet. He would, though.
Beckett’s rut had faded to something bearable. The duch’s heat wouldn’t.
Beckett didn’t much like himself right then.
He should have gone straight to the duch’s chambers when asked, but he did have a choice in this, damn it.
He was more than just a convenient alpha cock.
He was busy being terrified that he’d lose Jack, and when the time came, he’d see to the duch. He’d do it willingly.
When the time came.
Which was to say, when the duch commanded him, in his own pretty voice. When he did it face to face, didn’t send Hapton to ask him.
Until then, Beckett was perfectly entitled to do as he pleased, and what pleased him was to pace like a caged bear up and down his room, waiting for the stubborn little duch to command him, and he’d use that time to worry about Jack.
He almost broke. Five times—five!—he got all the way out his room and into the corridor. Five times he had to haul himself back from hunting down the duch, to find him and fuck him and soothe him, because he was probably scared about it all over again.
Hapton came back for another go. “Beckett, he’s suffering. I can’t stand seeing it. He’s trying so hard to hide it and he can’t. You have to.”
If it was that bad, Beckett thought, pushing down a swell of uncertainty, the duch would be here. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Not for nothin’.
Finally, hours later, the door opened, and the only thing he felt was relief that the wait was over and he could tend to his omega.
It wasn’t the duch. It wasn’t even Hapton.
It was Marl.
Beckett’s stomach twisted with sheer, sizzling panic. “Jack—” he said, as winded as if he’d taken a blow right to the gut.
“He’s fine.” Marl watched stonily as Beckett bent over and braced his hands on his thighs, sucking in air. “Mrs Foley is attending him. He will be perfectly well by tomorrow.”
“Thank fuck.” Beckett straightened. “Ah, fuck. I thought you came to tell me—”
“The duch is also fine,” Marl continued, talking over him. “And you can stand down. Your service is no longer required.”
“But—”
“You may take the rest of the night off. I expect you to be back on duty tomorrow.”
“The duch—”
“The duch is no longer your concern,” Marl said.
“Oh, don’t you dare growl at me. Don’t you dare.
” Marl stalked over to stand in front of Beckett, tipping his head back to glare up into Beckett’s face.
“He will not command you. How could you have thought otherwise for even a second? That man has difficulty ordering a second pot of tea. In what world would you think he’d command you to service him when you have already told him no?
Dunn is with him now, and I heartily wish I’d asked him—”
Beckett shoved Marl out of his way and broke into a flat-out sprint.
Dunn? Dunn was with his omega?
No.
Fuckin’ no.
Beckett crashed into the duch’s bedchamber.
Empty.
He spun on his heel and ran to Jack’s bedchamber, wrenching open the door, and—
The duch was on the bed.
He wasn’t naked and ready, however innocently. He was naked, yes, but he lay curled in a tight little ball in the centre of the mattress, on his side and facing the door.
His knees were drawn up and he’d hunched down to press his forehead to them. His arms were wrapped around his legs. He was clutching his ankles.
He couldn’t have made himself smaller if he’d tried.
That was the first thing Beckett registered. The second was that the duch was alone.
Dunn wasn’t here.
The only people who had been in here were him, Jack, the duch, and—briefly, going on the faintness of his scent—Hapton.
Dunn was lucky he wasn’t here. Even the drifting hint of Hapton had Beckett snarling, lips curling in rage.
The slam of the door rebounding against the wall hard enough to close again hadn’t roused the duch. Beckett’s snarl did.
He unfurled from his little ball and scrambled off the bed to the floor. He staggered up to his feet, and bolted.
Beckett did the only thing an alpha could do when faced with a running omega. He gave chase. And Jack’s chamber was big, but it wasn’t that big. There wasn’t anywhere to go. He caught the duch before he’d got more than six feet from the bed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the duch wailed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, shh.” Beckett wrapped his arms as tight as he could around the shaking omega. “Your Grace. Your Grace. Be calm.”
The duch cut his noise off at once and nodded furiously. He didn’t stop shaking.
Beckett stared down at him, and when the duch kept his head bent, he slid a hand under the pointed little chin and lifted it. “Your Grace,” he said roughly. When the duch still refused to look at him, he said, boldly, “Arden.”
Arden’s face crumpled and he shook his head.
“Yes,” Beckett said, firming his voice. “Look at me.”
“No, I—”
“Look at me.”
Arden dragged his gaze slowly up but he didn’t meet Beckett’s eyes. He stared somewhere off to his left ear.
“At me,” Beckett said, managing to inject a little coaxing into his tone.
Arden’s throat clicked as he swallowed with extreme effort. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then looked directly at Beckett. “You c-can leave,” he said. “You said no. I am p-perfectly w-well.”
“Are you,” Beckett said flatly. Arden’s small hands were plucking at Beckett’s shirt, systematically pulling it out of his waistband. Beckett didn’t think he realised he was doing it.
Arden shifted in his arms.
Beckett didn’t hesitate. He picked Arden up, strode over to the bed, and tossed him on it. “Don’t run,” he gritted out as he tugged his shirt out of his breeches and over his head.
Arden covered his face with his hands.
Beckett leaned closer and drew them away. “Don’t hide.”
Arden bit his lip and looked away.
“Ah.” Beckett caught his chin. “You’ll watch me, duch.”
Arden’s chest rose and fell in sharp pants but he obediently did as he was told.
Beckett narrowed his eyes, staring hard at Arden as he continued to get naked.
There was no sign of the blushing, sweet omega he’d left in Jack’s arms this morning. There was no sign, even, of the writhing, heat-struck omega he’d knotted and fallen asleep inside the night before.
Other than the flags of bright colour in his cheeks, Arden was pale. He was as still as he could make himself considering he couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Beckett scowled. Arden made a soft, frightened sound, and his breathing picked up again.
He didn’t run, though. Didn’t hide.
Didn’t look away.
Naked, Beckett grabbed hold of his aching cock and gave it a slow, filthy pull. “This what you want?” he said, opening his hand flat and presenting the heavy erection for Arden’s viewing pleasure.
“N-no.”
“No?” Beckett stroked himself again, and smirked when Arden broke from his stillness to crawl over to the edge of the bed. “Looks to me like you do want it, Arden.”
Arden snatched his wandering hands off Beckett’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he said, slumping.
He tried to look away again. Beckett tutted, and he returned his gaze dutifully to Beckett’s face.
“I didn’t…you s-said no. I r-respect that.
And you. And your relationship with Jack.
I’ll be fine. It is unpleasant but I can get through it. I can.”
“Mm-hmm.” Beckett raised a brow and removed Arden’s hands from where they had once again wandered, this time to knead Beckett’s buttocks.
“I can,” he said weakly. “If not, Jack said the suppressants will wear off.”
He didn’t want to hear Arden talking about Jack. He was still furious. Mostly at Jack for taking them in the first place, but at Arden too, for making it necessary.
For marrying Jack.
So apparently, Beckett had more feelings about the whole situation than he’d thought.
Reaching out, he knocked Arden’s shoulder gently, aiming to put him on his back. Arden gasped and caught his wrist, trying to stay upright. “On your back, boy,” Beckett said.
Arden flopped at once. He frowned, as if disgruntled at his body’s compliance.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, absolutely full of it, because now he was on his back, he was restless with need.
His hands gripped the covers beside him but he was up on his elbows, dropping his head back and displaying his elegant throat, beckoning.
He’d hitched a leg and was sliding a delicate knee up and down the length of Beckett’s thigh as Beckett leaned over him, planting a hand either side of his head.
“I can wait for Jack. Or I can wait and it will pass and—”
“Jack ain’t comin’,” Beckett bit out. That shut the omega up right quick, didn’t it?
Not for long, sadly.
“Beckett.”
“Mhm,” Beckett said, stretching out over him. He scooted them up the bed to settle Arden’s head on the pillows, and pinned him there with his weight.
“Beckett. I know you don’t want to do this. I am so sorry.”
“Don’t mind a fuck,” Beckett said with a shrug. “Right now, I’m in the mood for it.” He rocked into Arden, making sure the omega felt his hard, leaking cock. “That’s what this is,” he said, half in jest, half to be cruel.
“I know what that is,” Arden bounced back.
The brief flare of temper quickly faded. Shame. He’d welcome a tussle. Arden, damn him, was being a fucking gentleman.
“I know what it is,” Arden said again, primly. “And I know that it’s got nothing to do with wanting me personally. I r-refuse to use you.”