Page 6
“So who ordered me?” I ask. “Some rich human who wants a big wooden servant to chop his firewood?”
“An omega.”
I go still.
“She wanted a husband,” Mother Wren adds. “Somebody who listens. Who’s handy. Who’s good to her.” She glances at my crotch. “Among other things.”
I fold my arms over my chest. This is ridiculous. I’ve watched humans court each other for a long, long time, and it’s always the same… awkward, messy, dramatic, and somebody always ends up crying behind a barn.
“I’m not interested in being anybody’s husband,” I tell her.
“Mm-hm.”
“I mean it. I was a tree. I had a very peaceful life.”
“Mm-hm.”
“I’m not about to follow some little human around, do her chores and…”
The bell over the door jingles, and then I smell her…
Honey. That’s the first thing to reach me. Warm, thick, golden honey. Then beeswax. Then something under it all, sweet, sharp, warm… female. That goes straight through my chest and lands somewhere deep in my body I didn’t realize yet existed.
Omega.
My whole body locks up.
She steps inside, and the moonlight hits her. She’s short and soft and round in all the best places, with thick hips, a full chest, and a waist I could wrap one hand around. Her skin is a deep, warm brown, and her hair’s braided back from her face. She’s got a basket on her arm and a look on her face like she’s fully expecting to be disappointed.
Then she sees me. Her lush mouth falls open, and her basket slides down to her elbow.
And four hundred years of peace go up in smoke.
I want.
I’ve never wanted anything in my life. Not sun, not rain, not one damn thing. And now I want her so bad my hands are shaking. I want to cross this room in two steps, put my face in her neck, and breathe her in until there’s nothing else in my lungs. I want to touch her, taste her, hold her, keep her. I want to know what my name sounds like in her voice.
My cock goes hard so fast I almost get dizzy.
Holy shit. What the fuck is happening to me?
Behind me, Mother Wren goes back to her carving.
“Not interested, huh?” she grins.
I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m too busy staring at the little human in the doorway, who just walked in and ended my peaceful existence.
Three
Chapter Three: Hattie
My hives survived the storm. Every single one of them.
So I went to dinner with the Pruitt boy, because a deal is a deal. And… his mama came. She sat between us, cut his chicken for him, and at one point she leaned over and pinched me to check if my hips were “good for babies.” Her son just nodded along like that’s a normal thing to do over mashed potatoes.
So yeah. That was my two weeks.
And now it’s the full moon, and I’m standing in front of the toy-maker’s shop with my basket on my arm like I’m here to pick up some trinket.
