Текст книги "The Alpha of Bleake Isle"

Автор книги: Kathryn Moon

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Chapter ThreeMAIRWEN

Iturned my head to the side, dipping my nose down to my shoulder, trying to catch another whiff of that harsh, oaky scent of the alpha. I'd bathed as soon as I got home, scrubbed myself clean and changed my dress, but I could still feel the pressure of his arm around my waist, and it seemed impossible that some evidence shouldn't still remain.

I reached for my glass, fingers pausing around the stem. Across from me at the table, Mr. Evans watched with me a faint smirk. He'd provided the wine for the evening, and it had an unpleasant aftertaste, like licorice, which was starting to turn my stomach. Or the thought of what was to come was responsible. Probably both.

I didn't see why Mr. Evans should bother to keep with the recent tradition of bedding his intended the night before the selection. He could hardly be afraid of losing me to the alpha.

Even with Adelaide Brys's recent foray into treason.

I pressed my lips firmly to the wine glass as I sipped, and some of the gassy-flavored liquid slipped in. I had a secret, and it was bursting behind my tongue, begging to be told. But what if Mr. Evans was aware of the plot, an ally to Hugh Gamesby? What if my father was?

I'd heard my father refer to our former alpha, Lord Cadogan's father, as ungentlemanly. I also knew he lacked confidence in the son, but I'd never heard him speak so ill as to suggest he might want our alpha dead.

"The wine was aged in my cellars," Mr. Evans—surely I couldn't keep calling him Mister—said, watching me take another false sip. "It is my table's signature. I rarely prefer anything else."

His smile was beatific. He'd just offered me a tidbit of knowledge of his tastes, one I would find useful—or be expected to remember—when my father handed my life over to him tomorrow afternoon.

Tomorrow. A month ago—the moment before Lord Cadogan stormed into our company—the inevitable still managed to feel quite distant, a far-off point on the horizon I might never manage to reach. Now the day was tomorrow, a massive wall in front of me I could find no way around or over.

My family's dining room was warm, well-heated by two small fireplaces on either end, but I felt as though I were falling backwards into a cool grave. My days were numbered now. Mr. Evans's omegas rarely lasted more than one ten-year term. If I'd been born a few months earlier, had been chosen by Mr. Evans in the last rut selection ceremony, I would already be dead by now.

As a woman walking into her grave, I decided I ought to be able to have a few last words.

"It reminds me of that candy I used to hate so much as a child," I said brightly, smiling back at Mr. Evans.

"Mairwen!" My mother's cry was sudden and wounded, as if it was her I'd insulted and not our guest.

My father let out an awkward laugh. "Aren't we lucky, then, that our tastes mature as we age?"

I went ahead and made a dubious expression, Mr. Evans glaring at me as he helped himself to his own sip of wine.

"I didn't realize you could be so outspoken, dear one," Mr. Evans said. "I do enjoy an omega who is unafraid to contradict her superiors. The opportunity to provide instruction for their betterment is quite satisfying."

It would be difficult to resist the urge to fight this man, but if he looked forward to it, I was better off denying him one.

"It must be the wine," I murmured. I looked down to my plate and frowned to find all the food already gone.

"Perhaps we'd better see that you get a little fresh air, dear one," Mr. Evans said.

"Oh yes, the gardens are lovely this time of day," my mother hurried to say.

"You mean in the dark?" I asked my mother, a little too loudly.

"They're serene," she bit out.

I huffed and sat back in my seat, glancing at my father and finding the worst kind of condemnation on his face. Worry and pleading, so much more potent than anger. I was twenty-six years old. He could hardly refuse Mr. Evans and let me wait another ten years for the next selection. And there'd been money exchanged for me already, I was sure of it.

If I insulted Gryffyd Evans too deeply, found some manner of refusal he would listen to, my father would have to pay the man back. And there would be no one ready to rescue me tomorrow.

If only I'd been just a little bit pretty, just a bit smaller and less inclined to good food and lying in the sun reading. If only my hair took the slightest curl.

I lifted the glass of wine, nose wrinkling at its smell, and stared at Mr. Evans over the rim. I could not walk into that shadowy garden alone with Mr. Evans without some kind of courage. Might as well let it be liquid. I drank the glass down in full, ignoring Mr. Evans's triumphant grin and my swirling stomach.

We rose from the table, and he remained waiting for me to circle the seat, his arm offered. I wanted to refuse the gesture, but the candlelight was spinning around me, and perhaps being docile might bore him of me quicker. I tucked my hand in his elbow, mentally comparing it to the alpha's more muscular frame. Mr. Evans was just a fraction taller than me. If I survived, he might eventually stoop with age and I would have the advantage. But even I knew that was unlikely. Betas' lives were almost triple the length of an omega's, and that was without our added risk of childbirth.

Lord Cadogan had carried me through the woods with no effort I could detect, and while I hadn't felt dainty, his hold was comfortable and I'd been less self-conscious in his company than most men's. I was not very self-conscious now with Mr. Gryffyd Evans, but that was largely to do with feeling I ought to focus on him, my body tense in preparation for his strike.

Mr. Evans led the way to the back garden like it was his home, not mine. Without an heir, with me in Mr. Evans's clutches, perhaps it would end up his. No wonder he'd been willing to put money towards it.

"You must be anxious for tomorrow," Mr. Evans said.

I was more anxious for this evening, my knees growing weaker with every step, the wine in my stomach jostling like the waves at the cliff's edge.

"Don't you find it chilly out tonight, sir?" I asked. It was lovely and temperate. "Would you rather retire to the salon? I could play music for you. I've been practicing a song on the pianoforte."

At best, I was an acceptable talent at music, and my mother said my singing voice was morbid and unsettling. Would that be enough to put the man off?

His hand covered mine on his arm, fingers biting into my wrist, latching me to him. His stride was long and quick, dragging me back through the tidy rows of poppies, peonies, and roses my mother tended with such devotion.

"I've had quite enough girlish music and simpering for one courting season. You know the tradition as well as I do, Miss Posy. I intend to have what little joy this union can offer as readily and often as I please."

My skin crawled, uncomfortably warm and clammy, and my steps stumbled as he carted me to the back of the garden. There was an old wooden bench my grandfather had built, tucked under a broad willow. It wasn't entirely out of the sight of the house, but I had no doubt that wherever my parents were tonight, they weren't going to be watching the garden.

"I don't feel well," I murmured, tripping over a root.

Mother's dinner for Mr. Evans had been designed by his own cook, and it was a heavier meal than we usually had in the evenings. And that wine, too sweet and tasting far too much like the cellar Mr. Evans had mentioned.

I was thrown down to the bench, the seat hard and the landing jolting my belly and all its contents.

"Don't be missish, you're far too old for that," Mr. Evans sneered. "Even with your shortcomings, I can hardly be the first man to take the territory."

My eyes widened at such a ridiculous statement, and Mr. Evans's bulky frame wavered in front of me. A hard grip claimed my knee, hauling my foot up to the bench, as another pushed my shoulder back and to the side, putting me at an odd angle.

No. The angle he needed, I realized, some of that wine and thick dinner rising up my throat.

"Sir, I think I might⁠—"

Mr. Evans's knee landed on the bench between my awkwardly spread legs, and my skirt let out a muffled cry, tearing as he pushed it up and out of his way.

He was wrong. I was twenty-six, with all my shortcomings, and no man had claimed my territory, as he'd called it. The hand on my shoulder grasped my neck, pinching it cruelly, and my heart sank in my chest as Mr. Evans dove down and slammed his mouth to mine. His tongue was slick across my lips and chin, and I offered myself the poor consolation prize of this being absolutely the worst first kiss in history.

"Open your mouth, chit," he snapped.

But my mouth was pressed firmly closed, stomach clenching and throat swallowing compulsively as bitter saliva and sharp bile pooled on my tongue. If I opened my mouth, I would certainly⁠—

Oh. Brilliant! I thought suddenly.

I did as Mr. Evans asked of me, parting my lips as my stomach heaved once more. The wine was even worse coming back up my throat, onto my tongue, and I expelled it eagerly.

"Argh! Blech! Ughhh!"

Mr. Evans's grip on my neck was yanking me away from him now, but it was too late. I'd never been so delighted to be sick in my life, a dark stain spilling between us, over both our chins and elegant dinner clothing.

He released me, stumbling backwards, and I sat up, eagerly throwing up again, making sure it hit his pants and boots as he hurried to escape me. I wanted to crow with victory, hoot with laughter. I also wanted very much to be sick again. I felt and smelled disgusting now, but it was all worth it.

Thankfully, my voice was weak and raspy as I spoke. "Forgive me, sir. I did try to warn you. Something disagreed with me." I gagged, spat out bile to the ground, and shook my head. "I think it was the wine."

Mr. Evans shuddered and gagged softly himself. "Disgusting, absurd creature. How dare you!"

"I am so dreadfully sorry, but sir, I think there might be⁠—"

He howled and jumped aside quickly, and I bent in half to hide my foul grin.

"Never mind. Never mind tonight. No one else would ever take you," he hissed, backing away.

I nodded to agree. And perhaps Mr. Evans would spread the word and no one would ever choose me.

"But you'll pay for this tomorrow," he snarled, turning on his heel.

My grin faltered briefly until I heard him gagging again as he all but ran toward the house, calling for his carriage. This was only a delay. A reprieve from my fate.

But I thought I might've ensured one bright reward for my future, at least.

Mr. Evans would surely never offer me more of that horrible wine. If I was lucky, I'd ruined the taste for him altogether.

I huffed a laugh and then winced. Oh, I stank. I rose gingerly from the bench, and the imprint of Mr. Evans's grip on me was more disturbing than the streak of vomit running down my dress.

I would have another bath. This was my last night of freedom, peace.

And tomorrow had a single bright spot to shine against the grim dark of my future misery: I would learn what Lord Cadogan had decided to do, who he would choose after Adelaide's betrayal. It was almost as exciting as something out of a story.

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Chapter FourMAIRWEN

I'd been so relieved during the last selection ceremony, aware that I'd been given a strange blessing, able to avoid the situation for another ten years. I'd ridden in the carriage with my mother and father, walked out to the large field at the center of the island where we gathered—where the harvest fair would take place at the end of the summer—and watched the girls who were just barely older than me march up onto the stage. I'd wondered then how many of them would still be with their chosen dragons by the time the next selection came.

Standing now on that very stage, the bright morning sun glaring into my eyes, I counted five of the seven of them in the audience. Not bad odds, actually.

How many of the eight of us standing now will be here in ten years?

Mr. Evans was glaring at me from the left-hand of the stage, his face red with last night's fury, a promise of retribution. I tore my stare away from his and found my parents in the seats of the audience, their expressions a little bland and nervous. They must've been aware of my failure the night before. I didn't bear Mr. Evans's mark.

It occurred to me then that today ought to have been slightly humiliating, at least to the perspective of the dragonkin gathered. The humans wouldn't notice my smell, but the gentry dragons would. Only Adelaide and I were unmarked. If it had just been me, and I was overlooked by the alpha, even without the beta scent on me, nothing would be a stronger execution of my worth in society.

Adelaide's betrayal was my salvation. Everyone would be too shocked by his dismissal of her to think anything of him snubbing me.

Adelaide was two girls down the line, and I sent her a grateful smile she didn't see. In fact, no one saw it, because all eyes were turned to the sky as a shadow swept over our gathering.

Our alpha had arrived.

Lord Cadogan's dragon was earthy shades of black and rust, a fiery orange cast on his scaled belly. His body was long and solidly built, but not heavy and rounded like the illustrations of his father I'd seen. The dragon was as beautifully terrifying as the man, and he swooped overhead to the cheers of the human villagers standing and to the polite clapping of dragonkin.

He flew to the edges of the crowd on the right of the stage, and brought his hind legs down, body shrinking and transforming in an almost liquid shift into a man, black boots gleaming, clothes only slightly windswept, curls wild.

My stomach clenched, still woozy from the night—I'd been sick several more times before I'd finally finished expelling Mr. Evans's poisonous wine—and I rested my hand over my waist where Lord Cadogan's arm had been banded.

"Adelaide is so lucky," Sophia whispered, sighing softly.

I snorted, but she ignored me. Adelaide would've been lucky if she'd had the sense to tell Hugh Gamesby where to stick his murder plot.

Our alpha shook his wings, morning steam from the clouds flicking and glittering off their vast blackness, and then started forward. The islanders scattered out of his way, offering him a path to the stage stairs. I wondered how many of them—maids and gardeners to the dragonkin—already expected this to be the year the Alpha of Bleake Isle chose his omega.

I hoped he did, although I never did decide on which of the others might be best for him. I hoped he ignored the scents of the betas, dismissed Adelaide and her pure rosy fragrance, and shocked us all.

His gaze landed on me as he marched up the stairs, and I offered him a smile, feeling something like a co-conspirator of his now. He didn't answer it with one of his own, but I'd never seen him smile much in our company this past month and his eyes glittered darkly back at me.

The bubble of excitement blended with the discomfort of the night before, and I breathed slowly as black boots landed heavily on the floorboards of the stage.

Lord Cadogan spun suddenly to face the crowd, and they gasped in giddy surprise. Both times I'd watched the selection as a girl, our alpha had more or less gotten the business over with in an unenthusiastic procession down the line. Already, this year was different.

"What do you think? Is my omega amongst this year's young women?" His voice carried naturally, not a demanding boom, but as weighty as the massive wings of his dragon as they beat through the air.

The audience cheered their yeas, eyes bright with excitement, and I heard more than one "Miss Brys" amongst the shouts.

"I think so too," Lord Cadogan said lowly, turning to face us again.

But who? I thought, surely the only person in the entire field in any doubt of the outcome.

The stage trembled under his steps. So too did we omegas. Sophia on my right was breathing in short, nervous gasps. Katherine on my left was vibrating with tension. She'd been marked by William Aspley, and I'd noticed what seemed like genuine affection between them this season. He was as scholarly as she. Was she eager to see him, or anxious?

My stare was aimless as he approached from the right. I was as much a spectator of this moment as the audience, and I wished I could've been standing up against the ledge of the stage like the human shopgirls, admiring the dragon who paced in front of the omegas, waiting for him to grab one from the line.

His steps stopped, and it took me a beat too long to realize he was blocking my view, the pearl buttons of his white shirt winking at me. My eyes widened, and my chin lifted to stare up at him. But the moment I did, he moved on, the leap of my heart into my throat so absurd, so unnecessary, that I wanted to melt down into the floor.

How for a moment could I even have imagined he might…?

The crowd held its breath as he reached Adelaide, the collective so quiet, his sniff was audible. And then came the echo of his foot on the floor again, followed by a slight general gasp as he moved past her.

At my right, Sophia's eyes were huge, her mouth parted on an O and she leaned forward, gawking down the line before straightening again. He was turning around, coming back the way he came.

I appreciated his sense of the dramatic, but who? Who would he choose? The shocked draw of breath was louder as he passed Adelaide again without even bothering to pause. In fact, his steps were picking up, approaching.

My shoulders drooped as I realized he'd made a more sensible choice altogether—to not take any of us. No one would notice my own rejection, not in the wake of Adelaide's, but I had hoped he might do something a little more exciting. Even pliable Francesca⁠—

I blinked as he stopped in front of me again, towering over even my height, his wings blocking me from view.

"What are you—?" I whispered, but my words turned to stone on my tongue as he bent slightly at the waist. My head fell back automatically as his face neared me, offering my throat, the combination of omega instincts and shock leaving me powerless.

His breath was heavy on my neck, like a stormy wind in my ears as he inhaled deeply, the audience so surprised, so confused, they joined him in the sudden breath.

Don't be sick. Don't be sick. Don't be sick, I chanted to my rioting stomach. Oh, to be sick on Mr. Evans was a blessing, but on the alpha? I would sooner throw myself off the cliffs.

Large hands circled my waist, bracing me, as Lord Cadogan took another deep inhale. I have no perfume, I wanted to say, my head so far back on my shoulders now I was watching the clouds float gently overhead. He exhaled, and his breath was as hot as dragon's fire on my throat, down into the collar of my dress, stroking my breasts and making them heavy.

He's making a joke, I thought, and my whole body ached with the bruise of the knowledge. He will walk away, leaving Adelaide feeling as though even I might be better than her.

He took another breath, and I wanted to strike him but I was boneless. His nose was right against my skin now. He would hear how hard my heart hammered, feel my pulse jumping.

I was going to be sick. The worst possible addition to this baffling and humiliating moment.

His nose stroked my throat, and I shuddered, his hands holding me more firmly in answer. His head lifted, and I could not bear to look him in the eye, keeping my gaze on those passing clouds, his handsome and cruel face hazy at my periphery. Was that a smile on his lips? My chest was burning up, and I wondered if an omega had ever breathed dragon's fire before.

"You'll do."

Even with his back turned to the audience, the words were clear, loud enough. He'd raised his voice for their sake.

You'll do? Do for what?

I met his stare, and the answer was obvious, and yet absurd.

Don't be sick, I thought again, but then I realized I wouldn't be sick because I wasn't even breathing. The edges of my vision were growing black. And yes, that was a smile on his lips—small, but there—and it was vanishing now, his brow creasing with worry.

Fainting was a slight improvement on vomiting, at least.

I hadn't remained under, in the consuming darkness, for long. Just enough time for Alpha Cadogan to carry me off the back of the stage into the small retiring tent. I'd awoken cradled in his arms and promptly closed my eyes again before he or anyone else might notice I was awake.

What had he done?

No, that was obvious. The Alpha of Bleake Isle had chosen me as his omega. It was outrageous. Laughable. He was insane, or so spiteful he'd thought of the cruelest and least imaginable insult to Adelaide.

But he held me in his arms like I was no burden at all, his heart steady under my ear, until someone brought a cot to the tent, and then he'd settled me there, my face turned toward the soft canvas wall.

Which meant I was able to listen.

"Are you mad?" Hugh Gamesby all but shouted, bursting into the tent.

"I would've assumed you'd be relieved, Gamesby."

My lips twitched at the alpha's dry tone, and I turned my head into the prickly, hay-scented pillow on the cot.

A throat cleared, and Hugh Gamesby changed his track. "I mean, my gods, man, of course I'm delighted you haven't stolen the finest omega this island has seen in over a century right out from under me, but…"

But why? Hugh wanted to ask.

"I ought to claim goodwill on my part, but in truth, I picked the woman I was most interested in."

I stiffened at the words, my head blanking, heart drumming. Liar! Or did interested in mean baffled by?

Hugh had no response to that—how could he?—and a moment later, the tent was opening again, new voices arriving.

"My-my lord, you've quite—" I winced at the breathless notes from my father.

"You've foiled an arrangement, my lord," Mr. Evans bit out.

It took everything in me to keep from curling in on myself, the memory of the old dragon's harsh grip on my body still painfully fresh.

"Are you denying me the right to choose my omega, Mr. Evans?"

I opened my eyes and found the alpha's shadow high on the tent wall. Someone had left the curtain of the tent open. How many more acquaintances would burst inside to question the alpha on his choice of me? How many would it take before he changed his mind?

"Of course not, my lord. However, there now remains an issue for you to address as our esteemed alpha. The price exchanged between Lord Posy and myself for the honor of his daughter." Mr. Evans made no effort to quell his voice, and I wondered if I might conjure another round of vomiting now, rise from the cot and coat him in it. But now that I was lying down, my previous bout of anxious queasiness had passed, and I was loath to draw attention to myself.

"Send the receipt to me, and I'll settle it myself," Lord Cadogan said, his own voice dropping gently.

"No, my lord. I told the gentleman I could manage it myself. I fully intend to. There was no need to bring this to you."

"Don't trouble yourself, Lord Posy. I'm more than happy to take on the burden in exchange for the boon of your daughter."

I snorted and then froze, hoping the sound was muffled in the pillow. Thankfully, they carried on without me.

"You're very generous, my lord," Mr. Evans said, all silk and slime now that he'd gotten his way. "And I quite preferred the Huberts girl anyway. So isn't this a happy circumstance?"

"Our alpha has chosen an omega for the first time in almost a century," Hugh Gamesby said, low and smooth. "'Happy' isn't the word."

"Indeed. And now, if you gentlemen wouldn't mind, I'd like to tend to the young woman in quiet."

"Of course you would. What an auspicious beginning for you," Hugh said, finding any dig he could now that he'd wasted Adelaide in his plans.

There was a shuffle of steps and then a small and familiar clearing of a throat. "Gwenievere and I would…be grateful for a chance to say goodbye to our little mouse before you leave, my lord."

"Of course, Lord Posy. I'm sure we'll be out directly."

My father hummed, paused, and then his feet scuffed over the grass. The alpha's shadow vanished, and the light in the tent dimmed.

I must've expected the earth to tremble as the stage had, because I nearly leapt off the cot as a hand touched my back.

"You can stop pretending to sleep now," the alpha—my alpha said.

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