Chapter Ten
Zilas
When we wake, Inken is gone, but Azane lays between me and Tristan, her arm over my shoulder, her tail over Tristan’s hip. The light coming in the window is low and slanted; it is nearing the evening meal.
Azane’s sparkling eyes meet mine even as she answers Tristan. “We don’t have a specific thing we provide for Setias, but that is not unusual. The packs that do often have specialized skills, such as spinning yarn or metal-smithing.”
A thought hits me, but Tristan smiles at me. “Have a nice nap, Zilas?” His voice is quiet and sweet, and makes me grin.
“I did, Tristan. The best, most comfortable nap with my pack. You?”
“Same.”
Azane purrs, her happiness obvious. “My darling boys,” she rumbles, “Can you two spend some time together so I can manage a few pack affairs?”
I nod, but Tristan gently argues, “What affairs? Can I help?”
I frown. “Normally, omegas are sheltered from the everyday stress of pack management,” I offer. Azane nods, face solicitous.
Tristan snorts. “I made it over three decades on my own on Earth.”
Before Azane can answer, I jump in. “C’mon Tristan, come help me in the kitchen so our alphas have a hot meal ready for them.”
He nods, smiling, and Azane kisses us both gently.
She slips out of the room as I roll to give Tristan a tight hug. “How are you feeling? I imagine this is super disorienting."
A contemplative sound escapes him. “I’m doing alright, I think. Thank you for checking on me.” He rolls and grabs his ‘glasses,’ placing them on his face; they only exaggerate his big green eyes, and it makes me smile.
“C’mon,” I say, tossing blankets back, “Let’s go bake something.”
IN THE KITCHEN, I WASH my hands and tie my hair back. I had brought several aprons from my bakery, in case my pack ever wanted to share the kitchen. I pull mine on, a rich green, and offer a basic cream-colored one to Tristan.
He tugs it on and ties it, the criss-cross back holding him up for a moment.
“So... what are we making?”
“Well, it turns out Inken has a terrible sweet tooth and would prefer something rich for every meal... so I was going to make ‘dinner-muffins.’”
He tilts his head, a red curl falling into his eyes. “Dinner muffins?” A chuckle. “Someday soon I should make you all French toast.” He straightens, running his hands down his apron. “Alright, so what goes in these muffins?”
I smile at him and I watch him stare a moment at my teeth. None of his are as sharp as ours. “Alright, so, I want to get some grains, and protein, in these. But since Ink loves sweets, I need to use the beudi fruit.” I turn and grab a beudi from a lower cabinet.
About the size of my head, the flaky outer flesh is easy to remove with some knife work. Tristan watches quietly. I switch to a cleaver and heave the fruit in two. The pink-brown flesh wraps around a large black pit, which I quickly remove and discard.
“Try it,” I encourage him.
He shoots me a flirty but skeptical look before dipping a finger into the soft flesh and scooping a bit to his mouth.
“Mmm!” he mumbles enthusiastically as he swallows. “It tastes like banana!”
I arch my brows. “Does not translate.”
He gestures, “Never mind, Zilas. What else do we need? Can I help?”
I grin with pleasure. “Grab that bowl and scoop the meat out while I grind some tristl for the protein.”
A SPAN OR SO LATER, the dinner muffins are in the oven. The kitchen is a disaster, though.
“Let me show you something, omega,” I offer quietly, a grin playing at my lips. I clean my hands on a towel as Tristan takes off his apron.
I lead us out of the kitchen and to the right. We pass the main entrance, complete with our ennihas tree, into the low-ceilinged portion of Traex’s home.
We enter the only room on this side of the house: an airy open space with large windows that overlook the pond and the flowering branka tree.
Tucked against one wall are shelves. Because of the angled walls, however, the shelves curl inward, making a large half-circular nook.
The floor is completely covered in various huge pillows in deep yellows and purples.
Tucked away on lower shelves are blankets of various colors.
The shelves themselves, covered in books, extend to the ceiling.
Tristan freezes, eyes wide. I grin, tugging out the translator lenses.
I hold them out to him and he brings his shocked eyes to mine.
Chuckling, I say, “I had a feeling you’d like it. I’ll come get you when the alphas are ready for dinner.”
He throws himself at me, and I wrap my arms around him tightly.
A pack. An omega. My heart is full.
But the thought that the alphas had planted about getting our omega pregnant. About how I might someday rock a kit to sleep? Or teach them to play frecrur? That is enough to make my heart explode, I consider as I head back to the kitchen to prepare a fresh loaf of bread for tomorrow.
IT’S PERHAPS A SPAN when I pour a cup of tea to bring Tristan. But as I step out of the kitchen, I notice Azane and Ink standing in the entry.
“It might not be a good idea,” Azane mutters.
“Mm, and a cat is?” Ink asks pointedly. “We’re spoiling him,” she continues. “Both of them, really.”
Azane chuckles and shrugs. “I suppose. And so? With good reason. We’re established and now we have a pack. Why not?” Azane responds breezily, her mind seemingly changed on whatever they were discussing.
She catches me watching them, eyes wide.
“Sorry, alphas, I was only bringing Tristan some tea in the library nook. And I...”
Ink stalks towards me, an evil look on her face. “Tsk, tsk, beta, I think you need to be punished.” She grins, pointed teeth showing.
I smile back. “I think so too, alpha,” I rumble.
She chuckles, “See, Azane, spoiled. Not even a little afraid of his ebondenn.” She tilts my chin up with a single finger and kisses me softly.
“You and that drippy little omega are in for it later,” she whispers.
She straightens and sniffs, “Dinner smells wonderful. What did you make, Zilas?”
I grin, calmness spreading through me.
THE NEXT MORNING, WE wake to a firm knocking echoing up into the omega’s nest. Azane and Ink are already disappearing through the door.
“Um,” Tristan mutters sleepily, “should they put on clothes?”
“To murder someone?” I ask, yawning, “Probably.”
He chuckles.
I roll out of the nest and hold out my hand to him. He smiles sweetly and takes it. He pauses, gingerly pulling trousers over his caged cock. I grab mine and tug them on quickly. We head for the spiral staircase, hearing voices float up from the open door below.
However, by the time we hit the main floor, Azane and Ink have shut the front door. Azane is holding a bright red bag cradled in her arms.
Tristan squeals in delight. “My coffee!” He hurries forward.
“Everyone, in the kitchen right now!” he demands. “As these sneaky alphas tell us how they got my beans and equipment!” He nods at the bag that Ink holds.
I raise my eyebrows and wait for their reaction, but as they smile and head in, I relax and follow.
Tristan unpacks the bag. A metal grinder type thing emerges and what looks like a tall, slender teapot. He opens the top of the red bag, and an intoxicating aroma, similar but not quite his scent, surrounds us.
He pours something out, dark pellets, that look a lot like lineeri scat honestly, into the top of the grinder.
The lid goes on and Tristan does indeed grind it.
He uses the sink to fill the bottom of the teapot thing, adding a metal piece, and filling it with the ground scat.
The top of the slender teapot is screwed on, and he puts it over a burner.
He turns with the widest grin on his face.
I look to my alphas, who both have gentle looks on their stern faces. I grin at that, again overwhelmed with where my life has taken me in such a short time.
“Now we wait,” he says, heading to pull out mugs. “Do you have some kind of sugar?”
We look at him blankly, so he clarifies, “Sweetener?”
“Oh, we have our Setias speciality–glohas syrup,” Azane offers, walking to the refrigeration unit.
As she hands him the glass bottle, she clears her throat. “There’s something we need to speak on, Tristan.”
He freezes mid-turn. “What? The way you said that makes me nervous. Is something wrong?”
Ink purrs immediately as Azane answers, “No, no. Nothing.” A pause. “Just... we would like your approval to bond fully. During your heat. But you won’t be in your right senses, necessarily, so we want your approval now.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” he asks as he cautiously goes back to making his ‘coffee.’
“Zatura’s mark,” Inken offers, “We’d bite you, sealing our bond. And you’d mark us too. They will stay as permanent reminders of our connection.”
“Sure,” he answers, turning back to the odd teapot.
“Sure?” Azane questions. “Do you not want to know more? Or what it means exactly?”
“No,” Tristan says flatly, lifting the bubbling teapot off the stove. “I was all in when I signed the contract and got beamed in a billion infinitesimal pieces across the universe. Whatever, bite me, sounds good.”
Azane’s shocked face turns to me and Inken, who has sat down next to me. She lets out a low chuckle as I shrug.
The pretty clinking of one of the metal spoons in the mugs somehow makes my tension drain away. Tristan turns, placing our teacups down and watching us expectantly.
It smells good, that’s true. But the seeds looked like shit. I lift my cup and sip though. I’m not about to be an ass to one of my pack.
The hot liquid is dark and has a touch of bitterness, but is silky in my mouth. There is a nuttiness that is wonderful and the hint of the glohas syrup’s sweetness.
I lick my lips, tongue-tip splitting to clean my upper lip. I take another sip, this time my eyes closing in pleasure.
“It’s good,” I say, meeting Tristan’s expectant green eyes.
“Really good,” Azane adds.
We all turn to Ink. She has her head tipped back as she finishes the cup. “S’good, omega,” she says, forked tongue licking her lips, after placing the mug on the table.
Tristan laughs, open and free, a happy sound.
“You said you sold this for currency?” I ask, a thought once again rolling around my head. “What was sold with it?”
He had mentioned that most humans only drank this in the morning.
“Donuts, cake, muffins, all kinds of sweet stuff, usually,” Tristan answers, his green eyes locked on mine.
“Hmm...” I say absentmindedly, mind going back to our clear cases of cookies and sweet breads back at my bakery in Citradoth.
Tristan makes a noise, and I turn to him, catching him shifting his hips, rocking downward at the floor as he lets out a tiny whimper
I turn to Azane and Inken, both emitting low, soft purrs. Ink steps between Tristan and me, pressing her small ass back against my groin as she curls an arm around Tristan.
“My poor, horny omega,” she says quietly. “Does that adorable little cock ache?”
He nods, rising and pressing his chest back into her body. My hands rise, one taking Ink’s hip, the other stretching to take Tristan’s. He moans again, eyes closed, lost in desire.
“Did you want to release?” Ink purrs as she grabs his caged cock, his body lithe and supple and begging me to bend him over and fuck him hard.
I make a noise as I again roll over the thought that had been nagging me.
“What is it, beta?” Azane asks from near my other side.
My head shakes, unable to fully conceptualize it.
But it’s somehow visible in my brain.
A bakery, like I had back in Citradoth. I have the skill, assuming I had a bit of help.
And we could sell Tristan’s morning tea-stuff.
I bet it would taste amazing with smashmelon muffins.
That rich, almost silky flavor would mesh so well with the rounded and full-bodied sweetness of the small yellow melons.
Tristan whimpers again and my eyes drop as his hips thrust desperately into the air. Both our alphas chuckle, quiet and dark.
His scent increases, rich and decadent. He lets out a long whine.
“His heat is not long off,” Ink says quietly to Azane.
I bite down a growl.
My omega in heat. Wet and ready to be bred.
Fuck. I can’t wait to fill his needy body with my seed.