The Widowed Alpha's Omega

Chapter 4

I scrubbed that tablecloth for two hours, and the wine stain didn't budge. Neither did the thought of Cade.

It was nearly noon. I'd slept maybe forty minutes after I got back from the river and then returned to my chores, and like a drumbeat I couldn't turn off, Cade's voice kept playing in my head: *When I look at you, I'm tempted to believe there are stronger things in the world.*

I was so angry at myself I could hardly breathe.

He had a mate. A mate he'd have to wake up beside tomorrow, and the day after, and every day for the rest of his life. He had held me and said all of that, and then stood in the hallway and let his brother berate me for something I couldn't control. So why did my stomach still flip when I remembered his forehead against mine? Why did I still smell cut lavender whenever I closed my eyes? A boy who could look past me like I was nothing while my tears were still on his shirt did not deserve a second thought. And I kept giving him a third.

"You're scrubbing a hole in that cloth."

Dara stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, red hair braided over one shoulder. She was smiling. It was the worst thing about her.

"Sorry," I said, by habit.

"Don't be sorry. Be smarter." She came across the room slowly, like a cat who knows the mouse isn't going anywhere. "I smelled you on him last night."

My hands went cold in the wash water. "He helped me with my cut. That's all."

"Of course he did. Cade helps everyone." Her voice was honey with a razor in it. "He has a soft heart. It's why the pack loves him, and it's why I keep him on a short leash. So hear me, Tilly. If I smell your disgusting scent on him again, I won't take it up with him. I'll take it up with you. And I won't be nice about it, because I don't have to be."

She left. I stood very still until my hands stopped shaking, then I went back to scrubbing, because what else was there?

That was when Warrick called me into the sitting room.

He was in his chair by the dead fireplace, a folded paper in his hand. Bram leaned on the mantel. Selene perched on the arm of the couch, looking pleased about something. Cade stood by the window with his back to the room. He didn't turn around.

"Sit," Warrick said.

I stayed standing. "What is it?"

"You're leaving tomorrow."

I laughed. It came out strange. "Leaving for where?"

"The pack house." Warrick held up the paper like it was a gift. "They need omegas to serve in the Alpha's wing. The housekeeper sent word this morning. I've signed you over. You report before dawn."

"The pack house," I said slowly, "is where the Alpha lives."

"Yes."

"The Alpha told me never to come near him. He said it to my face. Last night. You were there."

"And he'll never look at the help," Warrick said, waving a hand. "That's the beauty of it. Nobody looks at servants."

"Why?" My voice had gone high and thin. "Why would you do this?"

For the first time in twelve years, I saw Warrick Dunn look almost embarrassed. "The winter stores are low. The stipend from the border patrol was cut after the ambush. I can't afford to feed you, Tilly. I can't afford to clothe you. The pack house will do both."

"I'll work. I'll cook, I'll wash, I'll do whatever you—"

"You already do all that, and it isn't enough," he said, cutting me off.

"Please." The word came out like something I'd been saving. "Please don't do this. You can't send me to him. You can't."

"It's done."

"Cade." I turned around. "Cade, say something."

He turned from the window then. His face was gray and tight, and for one second his eyes met mine. I saw the whole thing in them, plain as day. He was sorry. He was ashamed. He was not going to say one word.

"Go, Tilly," he said, low. "It's safer."

"Safer than what?"

He looked at the floor.

I fought them. I want that on record. I begged. I locked myself in the pantry. I told Warrick I'd run to the rogue lands before I'd go. Bram dragged me out by the arm. Selene laughed. Warrick put my bag by the door and said that if I wasn't gone by first light, he would carry me there himself, over his shoulder, in front of the whole street, and I believed him. So in the gray hour before dawn, I walked up the hill to the pack house with one bag, my locket in one sock, and the silver mark on my wrist hidden under a bandage.

The pack house was huge. Stone walls, tall windows, and a smell inside like beeswax and cold hearths. Bettina, the housekeeper, was a short, round woman with a mouth like a drawstring bag. She looked me up and down and said, "Soft hands. Won't last a week," and handed me a gray dress that was the wrong size.

The other omegas stared. A tall, sharp-faced girl named Sabine looked at me like I was a rat that had wandered into her pantry.

"Careful with that one," she told the others, loud enough for me to hear. "She smells like she lost something important."

"Leave her alone, Sabine," said a small voice. A thin girl with a freckled nose and a crooked braid squeezed my elbow as she passed. "I'm Sarah," she whispered. "Ignore her. She bites. Come on, I'll show you where the spoons live."

Sarah was the only person in that house who was kind to me. I clung to her like a raft.

By midmorning I'd learned three things: the kitchen was a war zone, the pack house omegas had never heard of mercy, and the Alpha never, ever took breakfast in the dining hall. He ate on the road, Sarah said, out with the border patrols until noon.

"So you're safe," she said. "Don't worry."

At noon, Sabine came up beside me in the corridor, holding a heavy silver tureen.

"The Beta's breakfast," she said sweetly, handing me the tray. "Bettina says you're to bring it to the long table. The Alpha's out until the evening bell, so it's just the Beta's seat. It's an easy task, so don't screw it up."

"Is it?" I asked.

"Obviously. I'd do it myself, but my hands are full." She wasn't holding anything else.

I should have known. I'm not stupid, only soft, and in my experience those are different things. But I was tired, and I was frightened, and I wanted one person in that house to say I'd done something right.

I took the tureen. It was heavier than it looked. Hot, too, even through the cloth. I pushed the dining hall door open with my hip. Sabine followed behind me for no good reason. Maybe she wanted to watch me screw up.

The long table was set for one. A tall man with a dark, sleepy face sat at the far end, reading a letter, and I figured he was the Beta. But at the head of the table, with his back to the entrance, sat Lucan Thorne.

He'd come home early.

I didn't have time to think. I took one step forward, and Sabine's foot, her very polite, very perfectly placed foot, slid across the floor behind my ankle.

I tripped. The tureen left my hands. I watched it tip, slow as a dream, and a river of hot beef-and-barley stew poured across the Alpha's shoulder, down his shirt, over his lap, and straight onto his beautiful boots.

Silence.

The Beta slowly lowered his letter. Somewhere behind me, Sabine made a very small, very satisfied sound.

Lucan Thorne looked at his ruined shirt. He looked at the empty tureen rocking on the floor. Then, very slowly, he turned his head, and his gray eyes locked onto mine.

I watched the disgust cross his face like a shadow crossing a field.

"You?" he roared. "You, again?!"