41. Sloan
T he moment Oran sank his teeth into our mate’s perfect neck, I felt the bond light up with his fiery spirit. I could hardly believe it at first, given his stubborn fucking aversion to happiness. But sure enough, that sappy bastard carved out his place beside Ivy in my heart.
Oran’s presence isn’t as vivid as hers, of course. Nor does he set my soul on fire with the same passion I possess for our omega. But having my packmate take his rightful place in our bond nearly brought tears to my eyes. I’ve known the loyalty of Oran’s loving heart through his years of friendship, but it’s no match for getting to glimpse right into his soul.
We’re one step closer now to everything we’ve always wanted. All that’s left is mending this last rift with Cillian and Ivy.
I wish he would have come to spend the night in the nest. Our little omega would have welcomed his presence, especially so close to her heat. Every day its effects on her grow stronger—the haze an ever-present heaviness in the bond. If the king doesn’t move quickly and prove himself to our queen, he’ll never allow himself to partake in it.
That won’t fucking do. We need to be a unified front for our mate. By the time we see her through this heat, her family will be back on Namarian soil. Better we all bond with her before that happens so they can see how serious we are about taking care of Ivy in all the ways she needs.
It’s too early to get out of bed. Especially when my petal is so blessedly bare and snug in her nest. The linens smell of her sweet apple cake scent, of sex and all things sensual. I want nothing more than to wake her with my tongue in her beautiful cunt. Let her greet the day with bliss and then fuck my knot into her until she can’t take it any longer.
Unfortunately, being the prime alpha of this pack means I need to play shepherd to our lost packmate. It’s my job to fix these last little hurts so we can all move on to solve the real problems that lie ahead.
One of them being the chaos our spitfire omega kicked up at court yesterday when she claimed another Fate-blessed mate. Cillian has been fielding question after question with no direction on how to answer. He doesn’t want to make a definitive statement without Ivy’s input.
As much as I admire Cillian for his diplomacy and for thinking of the feelings of our mate, he needs to take action and do it quickly. All this straddling the fence has made things so needlessly messy. I, for one, am ready to put all this uncertainty to bed.
Ivy is our omega. She’s accepted the bond between two of her mates—neither of which is her husband. As soon as anyone sees Oran’s mark on her throat, they’ll know for certain what we plan to do. It’s best we get ahead of the rumor mill while we can.
I sigh, resigned to a morning not spent inside the sweet warmth of my sensual, blue-eyed siren. Ivy’s still asleep, wrapped up in Oran’s arms, and I don’t want to disturb her rest. She needs all she can get to prepare for the hard work her body will have to put in to keep up with three alphas in rut.
Leaning over her back, I press one soft kiss to her temple, whisper a promise to see her soon, and take my leave.
I have a king to counsel and not much time to make things right.
* * *
I find Cillian wallowing in his study. Lucky for me, I’m not the only one here to talk some sense into our sovereign.
Around the room sit the people I trust most in this world, outside my pack—a collection of our closest allies, and some of the most powerful people in all of Namara.
Tiernan and Fiona sit on a settee across from the triplets, the picture of noble grace. Not only are Lord and Lady Dempsey the king’s truest friends but also, the largest landowners outside of the Crown. Their packmate, Sir Liam, stands behind the pair with a hand on his omega’s shoulder.
Ciaran, and Callan—both heirs to the throne—are seated on either side of my moping packmate. Were the nobles at court to rebel against Cillian, neither would stand for such a thing. Ciaran idolizes his brother, and Cal has about as much interest in ruling as he does in being celibate for the rest of his life: none.
“Sloan. It’s good you’re here,” Tiernan calls to me in greeting. “Domhnall is kicking off over the queen’s public claim on Oran.”
“He wants his son installed on the throne beside Cillian and Ivy,” Fiona adds.
“This could be good though,” Ciaran offers. “We could use his machinations to our advantage.”
Before yesterday, we suspected Oran’s arsehole father would never support pack living. I still doubt he would if not for his misguided notion of benefiting from his son’s good fortune. But the prince is right. We can use this when addressing the court. Once we’ve achieved our ends, I’ll have no problem putting Domhnall Rafferty firmly in his place.
“ Cillian ,” I grumble. “Time to pull your head out of your arse,”
The king droops in his seat—his head in hands. Despite my harsh words, I sink to my knees, offering him both my fealty and friendship.
He looks up then, his ice-blue eyes ringed red from unrest. “She won’t have me. She won’t even forgive me.”
Unbelievable.
First, I have to deal with Oran’s uncertainty, and now, because Cillian’s had to wait his turn to win our omega’s forgiveness, he gives me this? I’m not having it.
While I’m not usually one for violence, and I’m certain in any circle this would be considered treason, I smack the king ’round the back of the head.
My packmate’s eyes nearly bulge right out of his pretty head while Callan cackles beside us. Cillian’s anger rises to the surface quickly, his cheeks red. Too bad I’m not going to let him throw a tantrum when we’ve got so much still to accomplish.
Ivy’s heat could be here tonight for all we know. The time for indecision has passed. It was Cillian who wanted to accelerate our timeline, and it’s him we’re waiting on now.
“ Sloan . What in the gods damn?—”
“Stupid games, stupid prizes, Your Majesty,” I say before he can feel even more sorry for himself than he already does. “I love you like my kin and I’d gladly trade my life for yours, but you sound like a fucking eejit right now.”
Cillian laughs, a manic sort of sound that sounds wrong in his mouth. My good-natured king has lost his head, and I’m here to help him find it. I had hoped our companions would have chimed in by now. At least offered some encouragement for Cillian to act, but at its heart, this is a pack matter.
“Listen to me, you thick-headed little shite. Ivy loves you—she wants you with us in the bond. So put that nonsense to bed right now and listen while I tell you what you’re going to do today.”
Cillian’s hard stare softens then, hearing the truth about Ivy’s feelings. I was ready to let them work this out on their own but neither seem keen on communicating their desires. On the one hand, Ivy wants Cillian to prove he would do anything for her. She needs to see action over words. Cillian, on the other hand, needs reassurance that our omega truly wants the future our pack is prepared to give her despite the potential for backlash.
If getting involved means we can finally know peace after a year of waiting and planning for this next step, so be it.
My packmate chuckles, wiping the few tears that have fallen. “What am I doing today, you violent, bossy fucker?”
Relief floods my veins, my earlier frustration dissipating at the familiar lightness of his spirit. “First, you’re going to send Tiernan and your brothers to assemble the court for a feast tonight. We inform them all at once. Second, you’re going to tell Prince Aspen and Princess Lily everything.”
“ Everything ? Are you trying to get me assassinated?” he cuts in, already mouthing off to me. “Why can’t Ciaran tell him? They’re… close . Might go over better.”
“Did Sloan knock all the sense from your head, brother?” Ciaran laughs. “You may be the king, but I want no hand in your dirty work.”
“Ciaran’s right,” I say “You need to face the Bancrofts on your own. The more they know, the better they’ll understand why this cycle needs to end.”
Cillian nods with reluctance in anticipation for my final task. “And third?”
I grin wide, knowing we’ll be a pack before the sun rises tomorrow morning. “You bond with our omega.”
Cillian looks away, some of the uncertainty still clouding his heart, no doubt.
“Fuck’s sake, Your Majesty,” another voice calls. Sir Liam, the ever-loyal, ever-composed captain, looks as though he’s about to tear out his hair. “Use that pretty face to your advantage. If someone who looks like you can’t manage it, I pity the ugly fuckers of the world. They won’t stand a chance at wooing an omega.”
Silence settles over the room—tense, brief. Then, all at once, raucous laughter explodes from the lot of us. I’m certain Liam has never spoken with such irritated conviction before now, but thank fuck he did. Cillian needed to hear it from someone other than me.
“That settles it, then.” The normal fire and unwavering conviction I’m accustomed to seeing lights up Cillian’s features. “It’s time Namara meets her queen’s pack.”
I like the sound of that too fucking much.