Текст книги "The Alpha of Bleake Isle"

Автор книги: Kathryn Moon

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Chapter Twenty-EightMAIRWEN

Ronson rumbled beneath me, his huge plated body pointing toward the high peak ahead of us. We were reaching our destination after a long, cold morning of flying. We'd stopped briefly in Grave Hills, in an open valley that Ronson said belonged to their new alpha, just long enough to eat the food Cook had sent us with—what I'd considered an insane amount but Ronson explained as necessary.

"Flying as a dragon works up a dragon's appetite," Ronson purred to me, his eyes stroking over my shape from my seat on the picnic blanket. Niall had cleared his throat to remind the alpha we were not alone.

I squinted my eyes through the foggy shield of my helmet, watching the mountain grow with a good bit of relief and a dash of mourning. Ronson had been right to warn me about flying long distances. It was bitterly cold through the air, even against the many layers I wore, but mostly it was exhausting. I braced and bent with Ronson's flight, using muscles I hadn't known I possessed, not to mention the incredible ache in my thighs, stretched around the wide nape of a dragon's long neck. I'd been given a seat and stirrups to lock my feet into, but even at our resting point, I'd barely been able to dismount, let alone do so with any grace. Now, after what Ronson claimed would've been another two hours of flight, I was fairly sure he would simply have to transform and leave me to drop to the ground.

"It looks like others are arriving now too," I said, although Ronson probably couldn't hear me, my voice echoing beneath the helmet. But dark shapes were swirling in the sky, shimmering through the warp and pebble of the glass that guarded me from the wind.

We'd passed castles and villages and more sheep than I'd known existed in the world, a patchwork quilt of landscapes and roads, but there was nothing quite like a mountain rushing closer to prove how fast and graceful Ronson's flight truly was.

I leaned forward, grunting against the fiery stretch in my inner thighs, and rested against the back of his neck. The plates of his leather hide reminded me of the rise and fall of the land below us, but up close even the sharpest points weren't painful to lean against. I wiggled my hands out from the long leather cuffs of my coat and stroked them over Ronson's hide, surprised by the pleased rumble that rattled through us both. He could feel my light touch, even in this form?

The air warmed as we descended, and I was relieved that Ronson seemed intent on landing rather than circling the mountain as some dragons appeared to be doing. I wanted a long draught of water and a good stretch, after perhaps a little time to enjoy being on the ground again.

Flying would be more fun if I could do it myself, I thought with an amused smile.

The alphas were conferring on a long, low plateau of ground cradled between the mountain and a smaller peak to the south, toward the foggy overhang of Skybern. Ronson aimed us at a large open patch of frosted grass in front of two green tents, wind rushing and whipping at my clothes as his wings beat in the air to slow our descent.

We landed with a slight thump, and I thought Ronson must be weary too, grateful to give his wings a rest.

A cluster of humans in simple uniforms ran closer, and Ronson squatted to the ground before I realized the humans were there to assist me.

You are an alpha's omega, I reminded myself, reaching out and stifling my groan as two men pulled me down from my seat. They held me steady between them, which was good because my legs were something between stiff boards of wood and boneless jelly. Another pair of men hurried forward, quickly unstrapping the seat I'd rode on and pulling it from Ronson's shoulders.

He transformed immediately, the humans stumbling back, beaten by the wave of warm heat and dragonkin magic.

And there was my alpha. If my legs hadn't been useless before, they were now. Tall, handsome, windswept, and regal, he'd barely returned to himself before he was turning and striding toward me, as if transforming from a dragon—let alone one who'd spent the last five hours flying—wasn't a burden.

"Give her to me," he said a little sharply, and I wobbled as I was abruptly pushed in Ronson's direction.

"Oof."

Ronson's arm caught me around my waist, tugging me snugly to his chest, and then he pulled the helmet from my head, the air sharper and his face clearer before me.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine—Oh! Ronson!" I laughed, scooped up from the ground in a tangle of buckled and strapped layers of wool and leather.

Ronson was peering up at the sky. "I think I see Niall in the distance. He'll meet us in our tent."

"I can walk," I murmured as Ronson marched us toward the larger of the two tents.

His lips quirked, dark eyes flashing down to me. "Can you?"

"Probably not," I admitted as Ronson grinned, and then words died on my tongue as we stepped inside.

Ornate lamps were lit in every corner of the square tent and hanging from the central post, gentling the transition from bright daylight to the shadowy interior. A lush and rich interior, as fine as our own rooms in the castle.

"They put carpets on the grass!"

"Skybern does like to show off," Ronson said, dropping the helmet I'd worn onto an ornate side table laden with platters of fruit and meat and crystalline jugs of wine and water. "Let me wrestle with your layers," Ronson said, chewing around a morsel of beef he'd popped into his mouth and lowering my legs to the floor.

I had to lean against Ronson's broad form, or at least I chose to, but his hands were quick on the many fastenings of my cloak, coat, and fleece tunic, until I was dressed in a long velvet gown with slits up to either hip and a pair of fitted leather leggings.

"I have to refix my hair and change before we go back out," I murmured.

"You're too sore to walk," Ronson said, frowning.

I shook my head and slipped my hand under his own coat to press it over the quilted tunic he wore. "I'm just stiff. I'll recover quickly."

Maybe not recover completely, but certainly enough to walk around the pasture outside of our tent and to stand and speak. Which I found myself strangely eager to do. Maybe not to speak; polite conversations and small talk weren't something I'd ever found myself very adept at, but I wanted to see the other alphas. I'd spent the better part of two weeks—the entire time I'd had to prepare for this event, when I wasn't worrying about that disastrous dinner with my parents—researching dragonkin and all of the many families that had given their bloodlines to the role of alphas.

Ronson's family boasted a long reign as alphas in Bleake Isle, but in Dire Peakes, north of the mountain range we gathered at today, it was common practice to ensure the next alpha did not come from the same family as the current one. The competition for the role of Alpha of Skybern was fierce and bloodthirsty and full of political deals that took place behind closed doors. And on the Craven Sea, an alpha rose from the waves with feats of strength and a good deal of canny trade.

The history of dragonkin was not a bad collection of tales for an avid reader like myself, in fact.

I reached up and cupped Ronson's face, distracting him from his own change of clothes. He tossed his tunic aside and stripped down to one of the loose linen shirts I sometimes stole to sleep in.

"Your name might be in a book someday," I said, and Ronson froze, blinking down at me. "A history book, about dragonkin. Do you think about that?"

His hands caught my waist, drawing me close. "I try not to," he said, cheeks flushing a little. "I might be marked down in a very small text about the isle as the worst alpha on record."

"I doubt that," I said, rising onto my toes. I meant to tease Ronson with a kiss on his chin, but he clutched me to his chest, dipping his head just enough for our lips to slide and fit together. Perhaps I'd known this would be the kiss instead, because I surrendered easily, humming and looping my arms over his shoulder, sinking into his chest.

A light slap of waxed canvas and a sharp breeze announced a guest.

"I told you," Niall said dryly.

Which was an odd kind of greeting, until I lowered back to my toes and twisted as much as Ronson would let me to find that an enormous man had followed Niall into the tent.

An enormous man with a roguish smile, exceptionally long and glossy dark hair, and an undeniably piratical swagger that swayed to and fro as if he hadn't quite regained his land legs.

"DeRoche, get out," Ronson growled, fingers tightening on my waist. "You too, Niall."

Both men ignored Ronson, and I scrambled out of his embrace, stumbling on awkward legs before managing a respectable curtsy.

"Alpha DeRoche."

Seamus DeRoche was precisely what I would've imagined the Alpha of the Craven Sea as, although perhaps in my more fanciful moments he had an eye patch too, rather than those vividly midnight-blue eyes that glittered with poorly restrained humor. His nose was large, his features pronounced and a little craggy, but there was a kind of handsomeness that belonged on a large man—masculinity and strength rather than beauty.

"Omega Cadogan," DeRoche greeted, his voice deep but more musical than I'd expected from such a rough and rugged person. "I will admit that I lacked faith in Cadogan's judgment up until this moment. What a pretty treat she is, my lord."

I wondered if I should've been embarrassed by the sudden bloom of my perfume or the blush on my cheeks, but Ronson only draped a heavy arm over my shoulder and purred, ducking his head in acknowledgement of the compliment to me.

"He's been insufferably pleased with himself ever since the selection ceremony," Niall said to DeRoche, who laughed without any reserve, a boisterous sound that must've carried over waves and through storms.

To me, Ronson had always been like thunder, heavy and quiet, comforting and threatening at the same time. This man was the sea, huge and dangerous and beautiful.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord. Ronson speaks with great…animation about you," I said.

And as all three men laughed, I found myself strangely light, my body straightening easily, the flipping in my belly settling beneath the weight of something…unfamiliar to me. I glanced up to find Ronson staring hungrily down at me.

"I'm no lord, my lady. A mister will do. Or you may call me darling, if you'd rather," the alpha teased.

Ronson snapped a glare in his direction. "She certainly may not, you bastard. Get out and leave us to refresh ourselves."

"And here I thought we were gathered together for diplomacy," DeRoche laughed, winking at me and turning on his heel.

"Ronson's rudeness is a compliment, trust me," Niall said to the other alpha. He arched a brow at the pair of us. "Almost everyone else is mingling. Don't get distracted."

Ronson huffed and waved his brother out of the tent, but when he turned to me, there was no disguising the wicked tilt of his smile.

"Distracted, omega? What on earth could he have meant?"

I squeaked but could only laugh as Ronson swung me up into his arms and hurried us toward the richly-dressed bed at the far end of the tent.

After more or less behaving ourselves in the tent—Ronson had tortured me with a thorough massage of my hips and legs that did not end in my release but did leave me much more comfortable to walk around—and after I was freshly dressed with my hair braided and twisted and pinned up, we joined the rest of the company on the lawn.

"You didn't bring your new omega?" Ronson asked the Alpha of Grave Hills.

Torion Feargus suited the name of the region he ruled over, in my opinion, with inky dark curls and smooth bronze skin, his brighter gold scales shimmering over his throat and chest. He scowled as he stared out over the field, eyes narrowing on someone behind me.

"Brigid asked to remain at the castle," he said. He shook himself and then forced a stern smile to his lips. "She finds alphas oppressive to be around."

"Well, if she's been stuck with you, it's no wonder," Seamus said, eyes glinting with mischief.

Damian Worthington, the Alpha of Skybern who had wandered over with his own omega—a beautiful, petite woman named Helena, who I was trying very hard not to resent for her remarkable resemblance to Adelaide—barked out a laugh and elbowed at Torion's shoulder.

Torion's smile was stiff, and there was a flinch in his eyes. I wondered if he thought Seamus was perhaps correct, and I struggled, my eyes bouncing around the small party we stood with, trying to think of the right thing to say.

"Or perhaps she simply has a preference for only one alpha in particular," I said, urging a smile to my own lips as I looked up to Torion on my right.

The somber man glanced at me, and the tension around his eyes eased into warmth. He bowed his head toward me in thanks, and Ronson's arm around my waist squeezed gently.

"It's an adjustment," I murmured to the alpha.

"For us both," Torion answered, his tone equally quiet. Seamus covered our exchange, chastising himself for his rudeness and praising me flirtatiously.

"Enough. She is spoken for," Ronson growled at Seamus, clutching me closer.

"You make it too easy for him to tease you, alpha," I said, settling my hand over Ronson's chest. My alpha thrummed with a purr, gazing down at me, and my cheeks warmed.

"My, my, Ronson. I thought the latest rumors about you were an exaggeration, but it appears to be true."

The ease of our conversation stalled in the wake of Alpha Worthington's declaration. Ronson tensed at my side, wings stretching slightly, and I pressed my hand in place, holding him back.

"Rumors travel through so many lips. Whether or not they bear any resemblance to the truth is often a matter of chance, my lord," I said.

Damian Worthington blinked at me. He bore some resemblance to Ronson, with dark hair and handsome features, but he was a slightly smaller man and seemed to lack my alpha's potent quality. He reminded me of the dragonkin gentleman who'd laughed when Adelaide had teased me and who had ignored me at balls.

"If you've heard that I consider myself very lucky in my choice of omega, then for once the gossip has served true," Ronson purred, his hand stroking down my spine as he dipped his head in Worthington's direction.

"Of course," Worthington said stiffly, forcing a smooth smile onto his lips. "A great compliment to you, Omega Cadogan."

Ronson bristled, and behind me Niall huffed in annoyance, but we were saved from any further polite antagonizing by the blaring declaration of a horn at the center of the field.

"That's our cue," Seamus said with a sigh of relief and a wink in my direction. He bowed. "Ladies, gentlemen, we alphas must take our leave for the flight."

Ronson tugged me backwards and then circled me, curling his wings around us to create a moment of privacy, his head ducking toward my mouth. I lifted my face, smiling slightly, ready for his kiss, but instead he nuzzled his nose to mine and whispered against my lips.

"Be careful. Some of the betas here are only waiting for the right moment to become the next alpha." Ronson sipped and grazed his mouth over mine, our eyes open and catching at one another. "Tell me what you think of them when I get back. I trust your judgment."

Now that I knew my own perfume better, I was more aware of its bloom, filling the little cocoon of wings around me. I laughed as Ronson growled and clutched me in earnest, slanting his mouth over mine for a brief but deep, licking kiss. He pulled away, eyes black and chest heaving. I pushed him back, smiling at his growl.

"They'll fly without you," I said.

"Then we could just go back to the tent and⁠—"

"Seamus!" I called, laughing as a tanned and scarred hand caught Ronson by the back of his collar, tugging him away from me.

"Let the girl have a few hours of peace, you menace," Seamus said, dragging my alpha along.

Ronson shot me a sharp grin, his eyes glinting in warning, and then spun and strode away with Torion and Seamus on either side of him. Niall stepped up to my side, and I avoided his eyes for a moment, too aware of the heat of a blush on my cheeks and chest.

"He's showing off for the others, isn't he?" I murmured. Showing me off. Playing up being smitten. I wanted Niall to break the spell, to crack the bubble of happiness that was growing painfully large in my chest. Better to do it now before I really started to believe it, surely?

"Ronson isn't the calculating sort. That's my job. He can stifle his feelings when he needs to, wear the stern mask of an alpha when it's called for, but I've never seen him feign in the opposite direction," Niall said. That bubble in my chest grew and floated a little higher, nearly choking me. "You're doing very well today, Mairwen. He is right to be proud of you."

Niall wouldn't lie to me. I wasn't sure why I knew this as a certainty, perhaps because of how wholly Ronson trusted him, but I did. I nodded, raising my chin, and turned to watch as the alphas in the field spread out in a circle, leaving plenty of room between one another.

"I've never liked this part," Helena said, wandering to my side. "All that magic at once makes my hair stand on end."

Niall and I wandered closer to the circle until the air started to shimmer around the alphas. I gasped at the sudden sizzle that ran over my skin. Helena was right! The power of so many dragons transforming at once made the fine hairs on my skin prickle and rise. I'd seen a few betas flying as dragons in the past, although only from far away. My father had never transformed—he wasn't strong enough—so the only dragon I'd been up close to was Ronson.

Damian Worthington transformed first, the air around him crackling with blue lightning, a brief glow bursting and then revealing a large and elegant dragon. He was the color of dark oil spilled, gleaming with hints of violet and sapphire but also bronze and black. With a crack and a boom, the older alpha from Dire Peakes transformed next, dwarfing Worthington's dragon with a brutal and craggy beast, all stone gray and flecked with white.

One by one, the men in the circle vanished, replaced by the magnificent and deadly forms of their dragons.

"Brace yourself," Helena said, reaching up to her carefully coiffed curls.

I was busy marveling at the dragons. Ronson was one of the larger of the group—only Seamus DeRoche and the Alpha of Dire Peakes were larger—and his dark scales shone with heat under the sunlight. The glistening Alpha Worthington raised his head high, snapping his jaw, and as one, the alphas raised their wings, stroking them through the air in unison.

Wind gusted, and I laughed as it stirred against my skirts, rifling through my hair. Ronson's head turned, one black eye with a fiery pupil sighting me. He thumped his tail—they all did—and I laughed again as the ground shook, echoing up into my legs until my bones were numb with the ringing.

"Beastly," Helena muttered, shaking her head as the dragons all raised their voices to roar together.

Beautiful, I thought, my breath freezing in my chest as the dragons' wings slashed through the air, their enormous and powerful bodies pushing against the ground, thrusting them as one into flight.

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Chapter Twenty-NineMAIRWEN

Iglanced up at the sky, hoping for a hint of the alphas' return, but if the dragons were on their way back, the clouds lingering around the top of the mountains hid them from view.

"And of course, I've grown quite sick of all of last season's gowns, but Worthy doesn't hear a word I say on the matter," Helena continued, just as she had for well over an hour, her arm linked though mine as she led us in aimless circles around the field, always careful to avoid stepping too near any of the lingering beta gentlemen.

I searched them now for Niall, wondering how I might make my escape from this woman. He was in conversation with one of the dragons from Dire Peakes, a rugged and mildly terrifying-looking man who scowled at the halfling while nodding along.

"But you know, I quite fancy this new cut of yours. I had no notion that little Bleake Isle might offer anything in the way of innovation for fashion," Helena said.

The more time I spent in this omega's company, the less certain I was that she wasn't a great deal like Adelaide after all. She only seemed to wield her blade of superiority with more subtlety than my local nemesis.

"Not every dragonkin woman wants to spend hours speaking of fashion, Helena," a dry, dark voice announced from behind us, accompanied by a breeze that carried the scent of smoke and caramelized sugar.

I twisted toward the man, but Helena stiffened, her arm squeezing around mine as if prepared to drag us both away.

It was the beta from Skybern with a sly tilt to his gaze. I hadn't been introduced to him properly yet. He seemed to evaporate the moment one of the alphas turned in his direction, always lingering at the fringe of the small party. Bennett Reeves, suspected to be Damian Worthington's bastard half-brother.

He bowed to me, courtly and polite, and stepped forward. The air was heavier around him, almost as if he were on the verge of shifting into his dragon form. At my side, Helena's cheeks were splotched with bright streaks of red. Why? Because of his teasing words? They were rude but easy enough to shrug off.

"I heard you accompany Alpha Cadogan on dragonkin matters around the isle, Omega Cadogan," Reeves said, his too-keen stare piercing into me.

I opened my mouth to tell him he was mistaken, then recalled when Ronson had brought me to the Huberts', or when I'd joined him to help put out the fire on the island.

"Only occasionally," I said. I turned to Helena and smiled. "We were just discussing how often gossip amongst dragonkin seems to be made of exaggerations."

"Indeed. Excuse me, I must have a word with Omega Quigley," Helena rushed out, suddenly tearing her arm from mine as if I had her trapped at my side.

I watched her rush away toward the elderly omega, a little relieved to be free of her and yet also wondering if I might not be better off to follow.

"I am the persistent stain in Helena's otherwise pristine lifestyle," Reeves muttered darkly, but when I turned, surprised by the bitter candor of the words, I found him smirking as if his goal had been to irritate the other omega. He blinked at me, and the smile smoothed into something that ought to have been charming but left me uneasy. "It's clear Alpha Cadogan sees you as more than an ornament to display at his side."

What did this beta—barely a beta; he walked with more weight and power than many of the alphas here, certainly more than his elder brother—want from me exactly? Or did he simply take enjoyment from unsettling omegas?

I paused for a moment, deciding between the wise choice of excusing myself from his company or the impertinent choice.

"I've never considered myself very ornamental. That, at least, is gossip the isle and I might agree on," I said.

Bennett Reeves's eyes glinted with humor, although his expression remained slightly superior. He wore a mask, not unlike Ronson had at the start, but I suspected there was a man in there somewhere.

"Yet, as you mentioned, gossip is often wrong. Certainly in this case," he said with a gentleman's nod.

"A very courtly reply," I said, rolling my eyes.

And he laughed, a rattling, rough sound as startling as his own wide eyes, surprised by my response and his own laughter.

"I've always liked Alpha Cadogan," he said, eyes crinkling and some of that smug, stony mask slipping away as my eyebrows rose. "His choice of omega is another point in his favor."

"I wasn't aware you were acquainted."

Reeves shrugged, glancing around the field. "No, not at all. But I've studied the policies of all the alphas here, and their predecessors. It's rare for an alpha to chart a course so at odds with those who came before him. It takes a combination of confidence and courage. Or ego."

"Most would say those are the markers of an alpha," I said, now as eager to study this man as he seemed to study everyone else around him.

He hummed. "Perhaps. Genetics certainly seem to create a pattern."

"In Dire Peakes⁠—"

"In Dire Peakes, they follow a matriarchal lineage—makes it harder to track the families who ascend. If you do the work" —and with that, he shot me a sly look to say he had done the work– "there are three specific male lines who've taken the role as alpha regularly, and one who ascends most frequently and most quickly." And then Bennett Reeves tipped his head in the direction of the beta Niall was speaking to, without even having to look. I suspected if I'd blindfolded him at this moment and asked him the locations of every individual in the field, he would've known them, perhaps even of the alphas in the sky.

"Alpha Cadogan follows a genetic pattern, but in all else, he seems willing to take great risk to make great change. I admire him for that," Reeves said.

"I won't dissuade you," I answered, smiling on behalf of the compliment to Ronson.

"I imagine your guard has realized I'm occupying your time by now," Reeves said, and I glanced over to find Niall staring at us with his brow furrowed.

"You have eyes in the back of your head, sir," I laughed.

"Just a very good sense of timing. I'll take my leave of you." He bowed, and I resisted the impulse to curtsy.

It was a little easier to breathe as he walked away, the weight of the air easing, and I turned to head in Niall's direction at the same moment he started to stride toward me. Either Damian Worthington couldn't sense what I did when in the company of Bennett Reeves, or he had good reason not to be threatened by his brother. The man was an alpha-in-waiting. And likely a formidable one.

"I'm very curious about the conversation you just had," Niall murmured under his breath as we reached each other.

"Oh, I'm sure you are, and you should be. But for now, I'd like you to introduce me to the man you were just speaking to. I have it on curious authority we should expect him to rise as an alpha in the near future."

"Ronson will end up replacing my help with yours if I'm not careful," Niall answered cheerfully. "Or at least allow me a day off."

Ronson hummed, fingertips grazing a torturous path up and down my spine, stirring new arousal, even as we caught our breath and sweat cooled on our skin.

"We'll fly to Torion's keep tomorrow, rest there for the night before we return home." Ronson's voice rumbled beneath my cheek where I relaxed against his chest, more vibration than sound. "DeRoche too. No doubt he's not done flirting shamelessly with you just to annoy me."

"You like him."

"He's a good ally." I snorted, and Ronson heaved a sigh. "Yes. I like him."

"Partly because he flirts with me," I teased.

"I deny this," Ronson growled.

I grinned and turned my face, burrowing into his chest as he sometimes did with me. His muscles were soft as we lay together, and they made a comfortable cushion to nuzzle against.

"What did you discuss during the flight?" I asked.

The dragons had returned just as the sun had started to set and the table for the feast had been laid. I thought Ronson and Torion looked a bit grim, but they eased at dinner, and by the time the bonfire was high and ale was liberal, my alpha was easy again.

Ronson turned us onto our sides. "Alpha Quigley wanted a universal sanction against omega migration⁠—"

"Because of Francesca?" I gasped.

"No. Unlikely, at least. Torion just lifted the sanction in Grave Hills that his father imposed. His betas are angry because it means omegas will be free to leave. And Quigley is angry, because it means his omegas will have somewhere to go if they manage to escape."

"There's no sanction in Bleake Isle?"

"No," Ronson scoffed. "No, not since I ascended. But I do the best I can to make the isle safe for omegas so they don't need to escape. Quigley was outvoted. But Damian Worthington argued in favor. Skybern doesn't even have the sanction."

"What of Dire Peakes?"

"Dire Peakes is the only region that never had a sanction, actually. I've only seen a couple omegas from there in my life, but they looked almost as ferocious as the men."

"Good for them," I murmured, my eyes dragging down. "I'm glad the sanction didn't pass."

"As am I. I'm glad Torion ascended. But Quigley had to know there was no chance. I had to get permission for Millward's pearl farming too. Quigley and Damian used my vote imposing the sanction against me. DeRoche stepped in. The seas are his, after all."

"If Bennett Reeves decides to ascend, you'll have another strong ally," I said, blinking heavily.

There was a long pause of silence, and then I rolled onto my back, stirring from my near slumber to find Ronson hovering over me with wide eyes. "You spoke to Bennett Reeves?"

I grinned. "He approached me. Said he admires you."

Ronson looked thunderstruck. "We've never even spoken."

I hummed and stretched, and for once Ronson wasn't distracted by the display of my body on offer. "I think he avoids others so you don't all realize how strong he is. I wonder why it doesn't bother Worthington."

"What do you mean, 'how strong he is?'" Ronson asked, scowling.

"He has a lot of...presence."

Ronson's eyes narrowed. "Oh, does he?"

"Pft, you're so jealous. Don't be absurd. Just sneak up on him tomorrow and you'll see. There's power, a great deal of it. Almost oppressively so. But unless he was trying to use me, to convince me he'd be a better ally than his brother—which I suppose is possible, actually… Goodness, politics are so tangled, aren't they?" I frowned, now less certain that Reeves had been genuine with me at any point.

"I am jealous, you know."

"What?" I blinked up at Ronson.

He shifted, and my body knew every movement so well, my legs parted without a thought, inviting him to settle against me. We'd grabbed for one another in a rush when we'd finally returned to the tent, like we'd been separated for days rather than hours, trying to stifle our gasps and moans. I was tired, but I wanted my alpha's attention once more, now that the revelry outside was silent and the night was quiet.