Muscle and bone, p.4
Muscle and Bone, page 4
I remembered being scared of what he would think, but as his hazel eyes met mine, I found the courage to reply, “Male.”
“All right,” he answered like he could not have cared less, got up from the table on the other side of his den, walked back to his desk, hit the intercom and told his assistant to make arrangements for several suitable surrogates to be designated for when I was ready to birth heirs.
“Grandpa.”
He lifted his gaze to me from a spreadsheet that had caught his eye.
“It doesn’t matter to you that I want a male mate?”
Instantly I got a scowl. “Why on earth should I care who you want to mate with? The only thing your grandmother and I concern ourselves with is that whoever you choose must be from a suitable family.”
I smiled at him.
“Don’t test me, boy,” he warned brusquely, pointing at me. “You try and bring a struggling actor or singer or, dear God, some kind of half-assed painter into this family”—the shiver of revulsion made me snicker—“and I will toss them out of here so fast it will make your head spin!”
“Yessir.”
“And I will lock you up until you come to your senses!”
I had no doubt he would have followed through on his threats, but as it turned out, I was harder on others than he ever thought of being. I judged everyone quickly and decisively, and if they couldn’t hold my interest, I moved on.
Eight years later, when I returned home from school, first Oxford and then the Sorbonne, and successfully defended my place as cynehlaford, or cyne, king-alpha of a holt—in my case the Davenport holt—I was thrust suddenly into the business of finding a mate.
Yes, we were people living in the modern world, and yet we were bound to ridiculous, antiquated customs that made my stomach churn. It was one of the things I vowed to change with my position as a ruling member on the Maion, the council of holts that every cyne in the US sat on. The council reported to our dryhten, our leader in America, who then reported to our konungr, our king, who lived on a sprawling estate just outside of Rome.
It was a lot to keep track of, but it was helpful for humans, especially when things needed to get done, to have specific people to speak to about laws, regulations, and things like education and policy, diversity and the differences and similarities between shifters and non-shifters. That part of being on the council, I liked. Being a part of educational opportunities, cross-cultural appreciation and understanding, that was enjoyable. Going to parties, because as not only an alpha but a cyne I was supposed to be actively searching for a mate or offering for an omega, that part I hated. And then it got worse.
It was bad enough being forced to attend events where I was trotted out like a prize bull for the omegas to gawk at before I’d been disfigured, but when I nearly lost my left eye defending my cousin Remington in an altercation with another family and was left with a particularly horrific scar, the whole thing went from annoying to downright agonizing while all the pretty, preening, insipid, gold digging omegas who wanted to be kept in wealth and splendor, aspiring to little else, not only had to pretend to find me attractive but also had to try not to stare in open revulsion and sometimes outright fear.
It wasn’t easy. The scar was a canyon. The other alpha had grabbed my muzzle in his powerful jaws, held me down with his claws near my eye, and then ripped forward with his teeth. It was fortunate that he’d been so focused on trying to tear my head off that he didn’t notice when I got both my front paws up under his throat until it was too late. He drowned in his own blood, but even with my shift, the damage was done. Irreversible. The greatest plastic surgeons in the world could remake my visage, but the first shift would return the mutilated skin. It was one of those tricky peculiarities about being a shifter.
So I was now forced to stand there, with my ravaged face, to meet these vacuous omegas who did nothing for me. I knew I had a type, I preferred my men strong and virile, but there was a reason two alphas were never seen together, at least not for long. One of them had to submit, and that was not in the nature of an alpha. It wasn’t that I wanted to fight a bed partner, but having to exert power to hold another man down got me off like few other things could or did. The issue was that only other alphas caught my eye and earned a second look. All other wolves were hardwired to defer to me, and that quick submission left me cold.
Yes, I had taken many betas and gammas to my bed over the years, but the temperament of a beta was so gentle and docile, a peacemaker, like my brother, that I was not, as a rule, drawn to them. A gamma was similar, though with a somewhat wilder streak, but both always succumbed. And while I enjoyed humans, they were not a long-term option. I’d shared my bed with more than a few, especially during my undergraduate years, but as they couldn’t heal damage like a shifter could, I ran the risk of biting and clawing, of mauling, or of outright killing them. The last time I took a human to bed, I got so caught up in a frenzy of arousal and bloodlust while my partner begged me for harder and faster that I nearly eviscerated the man. I had tried to be careful after that, but tepid lovemaking for a shifter was not sustainable. There were only two times a wolf could be fully free: during a shift and in bed. I wasn’t about to sacrifice either, no matter how beautiful I found the human. Being alone seemed to be my destiny.
“Graeme.”
I groaned, returning myself to the present as Miss Holt, Kat to me, came into the kitchen. She was dressed not in yoga pants or threadbare jeans, an old T-shirt or a sweatshirt with a butchered neckline, but instead in a suit and heels, looking crisp and terribly polished. I girded for what I knew was coming.
“Did we forget that we have a gathering to attend at the home of Alexander and Elira Huntington? They are this quarter’s hosts of the presentation of the omegas.”
Her patronizing singsong voice wasn’t helping in the least.
“Well?” she demanded.
I regretted giving her so much leeway to bait me, but even though I’d given keeping her at arm’s length my very best shot, her warmth and caring and sarcasm and loyalty had won me over years ago. Now we both knew she would never be fired, even though I threatened her with it on a daily basis.
“Are you listening to me?”
I must have winced.
“Why are you fighting this? You know you have to go.”
I knew I did, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. Any of it. Because beyond my irritation with having to deal with the parties, I felt sorry for the omegas themselves.
An omega was not considered an equal partner in the eyes of human or lupine law and was not permitted to marry, so by that same law, there was no divorce. An alpha could send an omega away to live alone for the rest of their lives, though, only allowing them to see their children if the alpha saw fit. In short, an alpha owned their omega. It was a bonding. Marriage was something humans engaged in, as well as alphas and betas and gammas, in whatever configuration worked. Omegas were excluded from marriage, as they had no rights beyond what was designated in their contract. It wasn’t fair, and since the laws were made by alphas, change was slow in coming. The truth was, alphas were always on the prowl for a shiny new omega to claim.
“Graeme?” Kat increased the thread of urgency in her tone.
“You know,” I began solemnly, “I have this tickle in the back of my––”
“You missed the last two gatherings,” she informed me curtly, crossing her arms, “and you told me back in August to remind you in November that you should probably attend since there would be several young alphas from your holt there attending for the first time, as well as your cousin Remy.”
I had a vague recollection of that.
“As cyne, as the heir and leader, you have right of first refusal and must decline an omega any of the other alphas want to offer for.”
It was a protocol older than Rome, the city our king lived in, antiquated and outdated, and yet everyone complied because it affected omegas, and no one cared enough to ratify the laws. Of course, some of this could be placed on the omegas themselves, and their families, and everyone getting paid. When exacting change affected income streams, it was like trying to alter the course of a barge.
“Remy certainly could call me,” I suggested to Kat. “He has my number.”
“And the others?”
“They’re all so young, Kat. Should they be offering for an omega this quickly when they haven’t even given the whole finding your true mate thing a try? Perhaps me not being there would be a blessing of sorts.”
She sighed in a way that let me know I was terribly vexing.
“We could go to dinner instead,” I threw out hopefully.
She rubbed her forehead and then looked up at me as I continued to pick at the snack I’d pulled from my refrigerator, some sliced cheese and jamón ibérico.
“If you don’t go, you will receive a slew of emails—and by slew, I mean a flood from everyone here in Chicago, and across the country, and in England—accusing you of not taking your commitment to the family seriously, and then we will both receive a phone call, maybe even a Skype session, from your grandfather.”
I grunted.
“I don’t know about you”—her voice dripped with sarcasm—“but I do not enjoy being browbeaten by a man in his pajamas and a fuzzy robe at three o’clock in the morning!”
He did have a habit of waking us up.
“And then he’ll come here and set up those horrible individual meetings, and then we’ll have to visit the matchmaker again, and she’ll ask me why I’m not married and what kind of girl am I looking for and––”
“Fine,” I growled at her, taking a gulp of the bourbon I was having along with the snack before I called our cook to have her prepare me a steak. “We’ll go. But if anyone faints again looking at my scar, we’re stopping for pizza on the way home, and you’re buying.” I was adamant.
“Agreed.” If she was any more smug, she’d be preening. “Now, shower and shave. Your tuxedo is in your closet; I’ve had the tailcoat and trousers freshly steamed. The lapel pin with your family crest is on your dresser.”
Once more into the breach.
As I suspected, on the way in, one after another after another, a vapid creature paled as they took in my scar. Or worse, pretended to ignore it and tried to make conversation as I moved, far too slowly because people kept stopping me, through the crowd.
Yes, I was actually an earl.
Yes, dual citizenship was a real thing, and yes, so fun.
Yes, lots of property, in America and England. All over the globe, actually. Loads of it, acres and miles of it.
No, it was a sapphire in my lapel pin, not a blue topaz. One was darker; might want to look that up.
“Mind the sarcasm, please,” Kat reprimanded under her breath.
Yes, born a cyne; it was that pesky birth-order bit.
“Really?” she asked, sounding pained.
I could feel my right eye start to twitch.
Yes, yes, actually an earl—again with that one. I had the paperwork and everything.
“Don’t be glib,” Kat warned, shoulder-checking me.
“I need a super-secret earl decoder ring to show everyone.”
Her groan was long-suffering. “Just c’mon,” she prodded. “They want you to stand in a certain place.”
Of course they did.
“Don’t grind your teeth,” Kat reminded me. “It’s a terrible sound, like nails on a chalkboard, and it scares the omegas.”
“What about me, pray tell, does not scare the omegas? Perhaps make that list instead, as I’m certain it would prove shorter and easier to compile.”
“And stop growling,” she stated painfully. “They faint when you do that.”
I would do my best.
More omegas stopped me to chat. A few of them were so young. One girl swooned when she met my eyes. Her chaperone shot me a dirty look, as though I glared on purpose to see if they’d run. That didn’t even sound like something I’d do. It would have been naughty.
And now there was a line and…and…
I was cold. I was never cold. What in the world?
The hair on the back of my neck stood up; then there was a prickly flush of heat on my skin that unsettled me because I was shivering just moments before. I glanced around for Kat, but she was nowhere in sight.
Gentle throat clearing, and I focused on the woman in front of me, with her platinum blond hair and long-lashed blue eyes. She bowed low, and when she straightened and offered me her hand, I took it quickly because there was a scent, a flutter of something in the air that was…different. Since anything different could only be qualified as good, as in the opposite of this crushing boredom, I was intrigued.
“And you are?” I stared at her, inhaling deeply, trying to catch the scent again, the faintest trace of agarwood? Sandalwood? It was like the still-smoking embers of a fire, of oud and vetiver and musk.
It was sublime. I wanted it all over me.
“Bridget Mills,” she announced herself, smiling at me, lashes fluttering, eyes downcast before lifting, releasing pheromones at the same moment and filling the air with apricot and vanilla, caramel and a rush of fresh strawberry.
I dropped her hand and took an instinctive step back. I didn’t want her smell to have a chance to replace the faint trace of the other alluring, tantalizing aroma.
“Sir? Are you well?”
I would be as soon as I found the origin of the scent I wanted to roll in, or on. It was lingering on her clothes or in her hair and was released when she moved.
“I’m…fine,” I managed in response. “Where did you––”
“Sir, may I––”
“I’m sorry; there’s quite a line,” I explained, calming, collecting myself and my thoughts. Clearly, I was confused. There were too many layers of perfume in the room, even as large as it was. What I needed was some fresh air to clear my head and nose, but to do that I had to greet and dismiss all the waiting omegas, and this one was standing in my way. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Her eyes widened, and I saw the flare of anger but couldn’t have cared less. Then I turned and suddenly found myself face-to-face with a truly stunning man. His rose-gold hair and jade-colored eyes were a remarkable combination. Along with his flawless porcelain skin, he was nearly blinding. He was perfection, and for a moment I was enthralled…because the smell, it was his. It had been coming from him. His scent was heavenly. It was warm cedar and wild black spruce, and the musk was back, with the aged leather and that same vetiver smoke. It was rugged and wild and—
The disappointment was crushing, almost painful, and it took everything in me not to reel as though from a blow. My chest tightened with defeat even as I faced perhaps the most beautiful omega I had ever seen in my life. He was grace and beauty incarnate, a man who should have been kept under glass to remain forever immaculate and untouched. But all of that radiant perfection was completely and utterly wasted on me, because I realized, beneath the rugged and wild, he smelled of uncut roses in a lush garden, honey, brown sugar, and a hint of jasmine blooming under a boiling midday sun.
What I wanted was muscles under sweaty, salty skin, evergreen woods at dawn, and a ride in the country with the windows down on a hot summer night.
Every omega gave off a scent meant to entice an alpha. I’d seen men I’d known my whole life catch just a whisper of something in the air and be consumed with finding the source, to the exclusion of all else. I had no idea that would ever, or could ever, be me until this very second.
“Where,” I began, but my voice went out on me.
“Have I been all your life?” he taunted me.
“No,” I rumbled hoarsely, and I realized I was probably glowering when he appeared startled. There was no doubt most people fawned over him, but I needed answers. “Have you and Miss Mills perhaps been running in a field?”
His face scrunched up as he recoiled from the mere suggestion. “A well-bred omega would never run,” he informed me. “That’s simply not done.”
I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Yes. I mean, no, of course not. Forgive me, I meant no offense. I would never wish to imply that you weren’t a gentleman.”
“Whatever would make you think that I—oh,” he groaned, sounding pained, as he breathed in. “I must have Avery’s scent on me. That’s horrifying.”
It was anything but, and I nearly gasped as I caught a hint of the spoor again when he ran his hand through his hair.
“He always comes to these things right from work. It’s totally barbaric.”
An omega who worked at all was unheard of, but the most important part of the explanation was that what I’d hoped was now confirmed—Avery was a man. A man I needed to meet as quickly as possible.
“If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a million times that he needs to take these events more seriously, and now he’s stinking up me and Bridget, and that’s just vile.”
It was incredible, and dear God, if Avery smelled this good on others, the scent would be even better all over me. I wanted that. Even more, I wanted mine on him. “Avery who?” I asked nonchalantly, masking my interest with a bored tone.
“Rhine,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “He’s Mr. Huntington’s son, your host for this event. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”
And I would spend the rest of my evening hunting him down, because nothing else mattered but finding the man and claiming him as mine.
3
Avery
She tugged on my arm.
I planted my feet.
“I can move you, you know.”
“Lady, I’m a cop,” I explained to Miss Holt, smirking at her.
Her eyes narrowed to slits.
“Okay, wait, wait, wait,” I directed, taking hold of her hand, still in the crook of my elbow. I knew that look on a beta, and I didn’t want to tempt fate. They liked balance and peace, yes, but they were stubborn as hell too. Challenging her was a bad idea. “Before this escalates and we get into some weird pissing contest, I know you mean well by wanting me to go over there and meet the man who I now know is your boss, but c’mon, lookit me. I’m a mess, right? I’m not the kind of omega that would best…serve…”
