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From that day on, I saw Fadon differently. In all his harshness, his sense of honor and understanding outshone his demanding character. I knew that as long as Jon and the captain were a part of this household, I could face my fate easier, more confident that my new life here would be worthy of making the best of things.
Fadon and I left the dining hall and walked to the west wing to where Jon’s room was, which happened to be on the same floor as my own.
I thought of Lysander as we passed his door. I had yet to see him since he’d said goodnight to me last night. My initial fear of him being a stodgy old bore had been replaced by relief at knowing he could possibly be someone I could see becoming friends with. I was sure that, once we got to know each other, love would grow. At all times now, Auria’s words about not confusing lust with love were tattooed on the forefront of my mind. It was good, I told myself, that lust wasn’t blinding me in this. I felt no attraction to him, only amicable feelings.
From here on out, I would compare him with my feelings for Demos. Demos, who wasn’t much a friend as he was a protector, and in a way, a teacher. Which was the exact role he should play, I thought dryly. My feelings for the Servant would be my compass, directing me in the opposite direction.
Lysander offered something light and refreshing, not hungry and consuming, where my emotions ran the gauntlet between heart ache and want. I’d be able to breathe again, be myself without the need to create self-protective walls.
It would be a promise instead of a loss. A choice.
My thoughts were interrupted as Fadon knocked on Jon’s door. His room was at the end of the hall and around to the left, where another long hallway yawned. This part of the house had windows that looked out onto an inner, roofless courtyard, its light from the cloudy day creating a misty feel.
I heard Jon’s voice answering from within, and I followed Fadon inside, shutting the door behind me.
The room was much smaller than mine, with dark paneling on the walls surrounding a green carpeted floor. In the middle of the room was a four-poster bed with matching green bed curtains.
With a book in his hands, Jon was sitting propped up by a mass of pillows behind him, relaxing on the counterpane of a made-up bed. He was dressed and looked as he normally looked, long hair brushed and shining golden in the lantern-lit room, charming face smiling. Only the left leg, exposed and naked—unlike his right, which was covered in a pair of one-legged breeches—showed that he was injured, displaying a map of raw-red lines and a patchwork of ugly black stitches.
I let out a gasp as I stared at the limb that looked like some wild animal had made it its chew toy. Tears instantly stung my eyes, blurring him.
“Oh, come now, my lady. I promise it looks way worse than it is,” Jon crooned. “Come here, let me get a look at you.”
I sniffled and walked to his bed. He took my hand, which was cold in his warm one.
“My, my, look at you,” Jon said, grinning at me. “You look like someone held you upside down and dipped your head in the snow. Beautiful.
“Jon,” Fadon warned.
“Oh, forgive me.” Jon exposed his neck and looked to the side, still smiling.
Still teary-eyed, I blurted out, “Why does everyone here keep doing that?”
Jon barked a laugh, looking at me once more. “Ah, I’ve missed you and your candor, Sierra. You mean showing our throats? You are Omega, dear one. It’s a sign of respect, a promise to not hurt you. A surrender of blood, whether Alpha or Beta.”
“It’s to remind you that, among us, you are worthy of our vulnerability,” Fadon said behind me. His voice was reverent, and I turned around to look up at him. He stood closer than I had thought, close enough for me to pick out his scent—a strong musk that was both sweet like sandalwood and sharp like hickory burning.
I shook my head. “Oh, I definitely know how vulnerable all of you are around me.” The tears fell. I couldn’t stop them.
Jon grabbed my hand again, and I felt Fadon’s shoulder at my back as I looked down at Jon’s wounded leg.
“What happened was horrible, Sierra,” Jon said softly. “But it wasn’t your fault. There were factors at play that you had no control over. None of us did. The timing, the location… gods, even the damned weather. Not a one of us blames you, and we don’t want you to blame yourself.”
“I can’t help it,” I said, crying now. “I wish… gods, I wish it had never happened. That I could have, I don’t know.” And I didn’t.
His grip tightened in sympathy before he released my hand. “I’m so sorry about Lucinda,” he said. “Everything happened so fast.”
I nodded, not able to speak.
“Here, take this.” Fadon handed me a handkerchief, and I wiped my nose and eyes, wishing I could wipe away that night, fix it. But I couldn’t.
A sound filled the room, a soothing, comforting sound that eased my chest, allowing me to breathe. I looked at them both. They were purring like contented cats. My mouth opened in surprise.
“That sound. How are you doing that?” Amazed, I listened to its tenor, felt the loosening of my shoulders, my muscles, my tense brow relaxing.
“When an omega is in pain or distress, alphas purr.” Jon’s hazel eyes were soft, like his voice now. “It’s instinctual.”
I had heard that sound before. In the nest. With Demos. From Demos. But how? He was a Servant, not an alpha.
