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“I thought she was recovered?” Fadon asked, feeling his anger rise to the surface. “What is wrong with her?”
He shoved Demos out of the way and knelt at Sierra’s side. Her scent, that unmistakable sweet-honeyed scent he’d know anywhere, was strong, but not potent enough to signal a rut in him. It also told him her estrus was over. He touched her soft skin. “Sierra, wake up,” he said gently.
When he’d first spied them coming up the road, he had noticed her hair right away. White as a dove, with highlights of silver, as if the moon had inhabited her body, taking up residence on top of her head. As they’d drawn closer, large cerulean eyes that morphed into a stunning turquoise had stared back at him. Now this close to her, he saw that she was thinner, her face sharper, her skin aglow with a nut-brown hue instead of the pale rose she’d once been.
Instead of the girl, he now saw the woman that had been waiting in the wings.
“She is recovering remarkably fast, but she still succumbs to weakness,” Demos said behind him. “She needs more sustenance.”
She was the epitome of perfection. But, yes, she was still recovering. Based on the changes in evidence, Fadon knew the poor creature had faced an arduous estrus and was now, hopefully, on the other side of it.
Her long-lashed eyes fluttered, and when they opened, Fadon’s cock stirred to life. She sighed, a slight smile on her lips. More color filled her cheeks. She looked as if she’d just been well-fucked.
He’d never seen anything so beautiful.
Before he could blink, though, her lovely eyes widened in fright, and she scooted away, sitting up.
“Oh, gods. I fainted, didn’t I? I’m so sorry. I just got really light-headed for a moment there.” She looked around, and her face cleared when she noticed Demos standing beside Fadon.
Fadon pressed his lips together, his jaw tensing. Always that damn Servant. Jealousy, mean and fierce, ran through his veins. It took everything in him to control himself, to prevent his reaching over and slicing the Owl bastard’s throat with a clawed hand. But reason blessedly took over. Demos had been taking care of her for weeks. Of course the omega would find comfort in the Servant’s presence.
He glanced down at his fisted hand and unfurled in. No claws extended.
Standing now, he looked over at her, assessing her. She was taking off her cloak. His eyes went to her throat, seeking the Ongahri osnat there. When he saw the dark-as-night garnet nestled in the hollow of her throat, he breathed a sigh of relief. She was still his—he shook his head, trying to clear it— no, his brother’s.
Was this the effect of the Omega? he thought. This proprietary thinking? His knowledge of omegas was not experiential, even though his mother had been one. No, what he knew about them only came second-hand from those older than him, stories told after a meal during a long night. The reminiscing of elders and his father’s advisers.
He was determined to learn more as soon as he got back home. Fadon wasn’t used to not having control. Knowledge was a remedy, and now he had none. He couldn’t afford any distraction. For the first time in years, he felt a child’s grief at the thought that he couldn’t ask his father whether he had felt these same things for his omega, Fadon’s mother.
While he’d been woolgathering, Demos had Sierra eating. Arik had spread out one of the Mor’s blankets and was now inviting her to sit before taking her cloak away and folding it neatly before setting it at her side. Without the cloak to hide her figure, Fadon couldn’t help but eye her body and marvel at how full her breasts were, how they hugged the thin fabric, how her toned arms were long and lithe, how…
Gods blast it, get yourself together, you lecher.
He turned around, his back to the scene. He tried to come up with some kind of occupation, something that would look like he had purpose instead of ogling and drooling like a young buck at his first look at a naked woman.
Demona, he thought. He’d check on her.
Fadon was in foreign territory, and he didn’t like the feeling at all. His tether to obligation, logical follow-through, of being in command and having answers at the ready… all were being threatened. He felt displaced, and a hint of fear touched him briefly. Fear of not being focused, of losing his rock-solid foundation. He’d had a similar feeling the night he allowed the Servant to take the omega away, from him, from her rightful place with the Ongahri. He’d had that feeling during the aftermath of the rut that had thrown everything off course in the most horrible way.
But this felt more than that. His sense of self was affected, making him face deeper thoughts where duty didn’t live.
No, he didn’t like it one bit.
Conversation buzzed softly behind him like bees in a meadow as he brushed the road dust off of Mari’s horse. Demona butted her head against Fadon, expecting a treat. Mari spoiled the mare, Fadon knew, but treats weren’t to be found with him. Instead, he grabbed a handful of oats from the feed bag and fed her.
Feeling centered once more, he walked over to where the others were and took a seat under a tree, leaning his back against its bark. He listened as Arik and Demos spoke about the weather. Sierra was finishing what looked like bread and a crumble of cheese. Fadon dreaded the time, which would be any moment now, when Sierra would ask about her watcher.
Determined to put it off longer, he asked Demos when he would be ready to ride out. “The mountain has been clear so far, but I don’t want to tempt it, Servant. I’d like to get as much in today before we stop for the night.”
Demos frowned. “The mountain? We’ll be riding the road west, not north.”
“West?” Fadon asked, confused. “I have no intention of going west. What are you talking about?” His irritation with the Servant hadn’t waned one bit in his absence and seemed to pick up right where it had left off.
“That’s the only road to the Basilica. Unless you have a better way?” Demos raised his flask and drank.
“The Basilica?” Fadon asked, ignoring the Servant’s patronizing tone.
Demos slowly capped the flask, the arrogance dropping as a strange expression crossed his face. Fadon seemed taken aback as he watched the Servant walk to his silver mount, returning with a letter. He handed it to Fadon, who frowned at it as he read.
