Alpha Heat

by Leta Blake

  This morning the three of them were eating alone because Vale and Jason had taken to rising later and later as the pregnancy progressed. All flushed and healthy, Xan looked exceptionally handsome in the suit he’d chosen to wear into the newly finished office. Though Urho found he could no longer trust his judgement in that regard, because his opinion of Xan’s looks grew more biased daily.

  Several weeks had passed since the night at the gentlemen’s club, and Xan looked healthier and more radiant by the hour. He positively glowed with beauty, and his scent made Urho’s mouth water and his prick stiffen at even the most inappropriate times.

  Maybe it was because Janus hadn’t returned from the city yet. Maybe it was because his brother Ray was giving Xan a great deal of praise for the way things were playing out in Virona. Or maybe it was because he was in love. Urho didn’t know. He didn’t care.

  He just wanted his boy to glow like that forever.

  At Xan’s question, Caleb barely looked up from the marmalade he was spreading. “When you show a genuine interest in the procedure, you may come. But if you just want to see what I make in there, then you can wait like everyone else.”

  “Wait for what?” Xan asked, cocking his head.

  “For my show,” Caleb said, like this wasn’t news. His chest told another story, though, exposed as it was in his V-neck shirt. A pink stain started up into his neck.

  “What show?” Xan’s eyes brightened. “Do you have a show? And you haven’t told me?”

  Caleb shrugged. “Not yet. I think I’ll put one on after my next heat. If I get pregnant, then I’ll have a different theme to focus my art on in the future, I imagine.”

  “What’s your theme now?” Urho asked.

  Caleb winked, slathering more marmalade on his toast. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  Urho snorted. But he remembered that Vale was always private with his poems before they were published, so he understood Caleb’s sensitivities in these matters. He was grateful that he was even being allowed into the new studio space.

  “But where would you put it on?” Xan asked.

  “At the gentlemen’s club, of course. They put on art shows in their upper rooms sometimes, I’ve heard. There’s a large hallway on the top floor they call the galleria, even.”

  “Heard from whom?”

  It was a fair question. For such a sweet, friendly, sociable guy, Caleb was definitely introverted as far as Urho could tell. He spent a lot of time in his room alone, or reading quietly in his drawing room, or in his studio with the prints. He seemed to enjoy their company when he was with them, but he withdrew for solitude quite happily.

  “From Janus,” Caleb replied with a grimace. “Just because the source was tainted doesn’t mean the information is false. Anyway…” He flapped his hand, dismissing the ghost of Janus from the room. “People would come to my show of course, because they’re curious about me. And about you too. Not to mention, they’ll be eager to please the heir to the family fortune. The man who can provide jobs and more to this town.”

  Urho smiled behind his napkin at Caleb’s arrogance. It was charming in its own way. He almost wanted to bottle it and sprinkle it liberally over Xan when he was feeling insecure.

  Caleb added, “I have no doubt the show will sell out. If only because of who I am. But I think we should invite people from the city, too, so the onus doesn’t fall on Vironians alone to make my show a success.”

  Xan opened and closed his mouth a few times like he had more questions, but in the end, he simply stood from the table and announced that he was going to be late if he didn’t get out the door. Then he kissed Caleb’s forehead and nuzzled his neck before turning to Urho and kissing his lips.

  After lunch, as directed, Urho walked down the path between the main house and the detached wing, passing a few beta servants who were on their way from their quarters on the second floor. The house itself was looking much better since the time he’d first arrived. The rooms were being cleaned and slowly redecorated, and the grounds were coming to life as the harder months of winter began to release their hold.

  Not that the breeze up from the ocean wasn’t a stiff one. He shivered against it as he walked alongside the wing, thinking that perhaps he should have worn a coat, and not counted on just his suit to keep him warm. He noted that the windows on the big room where Caleb worked were open.

  The scent of chemicals and paint, familiar to him only as a residue on Caleb’s skin and hair, accosted his nose. He twitched it lightly and wondered if the odor permeated the entire wing, and what the servants must think of that.

  He paused at the end of the walk and saw that there were even more windows and a massive glass door on the ground floor facing out to the ocean. He could look right into the studio and yet he couldn’t see much of anything. The interior was a maze of papers, stacks of stones, easels, and implements he didn’t recognize. Filing cabinets overflowed already, and he wondered how often Caleb cleaned out his space. His rooms in the main house were spotless, but this…

  He let himself in at the door, surprised to find the studio was freezing. Though he didn’t know why he was shocked—after all, Xan said that Caleb preferred to be cold and liked to sleep with the windows open. But he wasn’t prepared for the movement of air in the room, the vibrant odors mixing with the scent of the sea, churning in and out through all the open windows.

  Three out of four sides of the room were made up almost entirely of windows. The back wall sported a massive fireplace, but obviously that was no longer in use, since the studio was otherwise a fire hazard. The cross breeze was stiff, but bracing, and it shuffled the papers around in the space so that there was a constant ruffling, rather like gentle mice or birds making a nest.

  The abundance of light was perfect, and he saw the way it served Caleb as he walked deeper into the room crowded with tables, a large printing machine—a press, Caleb called it—slabs of rock, and various other accoutrements he didn’t understand.

  “You’re here,” Caleb called out from behind a table where he stood slathering some sort of stinky chemical over one of the slabs of rock. His hair was held back with bright, jeweled clips, and his pale skin was splotched here and there with blue and green ink. He smiled radiantly at Urho for a brief moment and then went back to his work. “This part’s a bit touchy. No time to waste. The chemicals start their work once applied and I don’t want the outcome to be uneven.”

  “No, of course not,” Urho agreed, though he had no clue what Caleb was referencing. He studied the man at work. His pale skin glowed in the profusion of light from the windows, and his hair shone. His expression was peaceful but serious; concentration at its finest. His clothes were his usual—soft, white, and loose—but these were obviously reserved for his work, because they were covered with ink splotches in all colors of the rainbow. Though there was an abundance of black, as well. He wore fine work gloves, thin enough to have some control over what he was doing with the stone block but protecting his skin from the corrosive elements.

  He wasn’t barefoot either, unlike his tendency to wander through the house with nothing covering his toes except glittery polish. Instead, he wore heavy work boots—much heavier than anything Urho had ever seen on him before—also ruined beyond the telling of it by ink splotches and what looked like chemical burns. The Caleb of the printing press was different from the Caleb of the house, and Urho felt suddenly sad that Xan hadn’t had a chance to see him like this.

  And he wondered why.

  “I should have waited for you,” Caleb said as he worked. “But I got impatient. I’ve wanted to print this piece for weeks. I couldn’t hold back from beginning.”

  “I didn’t realize I was late.”

  “You aren’t. I should have invited you at an earlier time.” Caleb glanced up from his work and motioned Urho closer. “Come here. You can’t see anything from over there.”

  Urho slipped around the tables and cabinets, careful not to knock against an
ything. Every item in the room seemed potentially wet or fragile or both. He took his place by Caleb’s side and watched him work.

  Almost absently, Caleb explained what he was doing. He spoke calmly of the process of first etching the stone with chemicals, of the wax that repelled the water, which allowed the ink to remain on only the parts Caleb wanted the machine to print.

  Eventually, Caleb was ready to load the stone onto the press, and he surprised Urho with his strength as he maneuvered the weight into place.

  “If there’s any imperfection in the stone, the intense pressure from the press will break it.” Caleb placed a thick piece of fresh paper over the block.

  “Does that happen often?” Urho asked.

  “No. But when it does, it’s a real bitch,” Caleb said. Then he stood back, turned a crank, and the machine began to move. Pulling the crank again, Caleb asked, “When you worked in the labs at the university, did you ever think about how strange it is that some technologies survived the Holy Church’s purge after the Great Death, like the printing press, but other arguably more important technologies, like how to manipulate genes, were lost entirely?”

  As the machine bore down on the stone, Urho said, “I suppose the zealots thought printing technology wasn’t as dangerous—and possibly more useful.”

  “But what could be more dangerous to us as a species than eradicating the knowledge that allowed the creation of omegas to begin with? And we were made so imperfectly at that! Every birth is a risk to our life.”

  “Now you’re blaspheming.” Urho watched as Caleb strained against the crank. He thought about offering to help, but knew Caleb would turn him down.

  “Ha!” Caleb smirked. “I suppose I am.”

  “But I have no problem with that.”

  Caleb smiled then, and it was his sparkly smile from his in-the-house Caleb self. It was good to see it. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

  “The zealots wanted power and they got it by demanding complete devotion to wolf-god. They gave him credit for the appearance of omegas. Questioning that was punishable by death for a long time. The press no doubt furthered their ability to spread the word about what thoughts were allowed and what thoughts must be stamped out.

  Caleb sighed, pausing in his work for a moment. “It was so short-sighted, though. I would have thought they’d want to further perfect the salvation of the human race. What could be more useful to them—to everyone—than omegas who could reproduce as easily as human women had before they were lost?”

  “I can’t disagree with you. All I know is that the desire to hold on to control and power all too often outweighs common sense.”

  Caleb nodded, twisting the crank again to move the weight away from the stone. He carefully lifted the paper and showed the outcome to Urho.

  Urho gasped appreciatively. “It’s perfect. It looks just like him.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes. That’s his face. When he’s worried.”

  Caleb contemplated the print. “It’s based on a drawing I did.” He studied Xan’s face framed by a bird’s nest growing from his dark curls. “I suppose you’re right. I have to ask myself is that the right mood for this piece? I wonder if I shouldn’t have aimed for something happier to round out my collection.”

  “I think it’s beautiful, but if that wasn’t the expression you were hoping to capture…well, I can’t say. It’s your work. You know better than I do what you were trying to accomplish.”

  “I started this piece a long time ago. The drawing it’s based on, anyway.” Caleb cocked his head, looking it over. “I still like the way his dark curls shine, and the bird’s nest is perfect. But, this isn’t who he is anymore. Not since you came.” Caleb smiled and gazed up at Urho questioningly. “Do you plan to stay? Once Vale’s baby comes and my heat is over…? Or will you go and leave him alone again?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that question.” He didn’t want to overstep. Xan was Caleb’s alpha, and Lofton was his home.

  “Honestly, if you can.”

  Urho swallowed hard. “I can’t see a future without him in it. Going back to my house I shared with Riki…the place where the memories of his loss have held me for years? That doesn’t feel right anymore.” A burning ache grew in his belly. “But I understand if you don’t want me to stay. It’s your home and I’m a guest in it.”

  “You shouldn’t be a guest,” Caleb said firmly, turning his attention back to the print and examining it with narrowed eyes. He hummed under his breath with dissatisfaction and then tossed the paper over his shoulder, letting it flutter to the floor.

  “I shouldn’t?”

  “No. You should make this your home too.”

  Urho choked on his own saliva, surprise like a punch in the gut. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I don’t want to do any more drawings or prints of Xan with this expression on his face. I want to capture the expression you give him: ease, trust, hope.” He nodded thoughtfully, and then turned to another table, grabbing a pencil and a large sheet of paper. “I want to capture the change in him since you came, since you eased his pain and self-loathing.”

  Urho’s throat grew tight. He glanced at where the paper had fallen to the floor. “But what about the stone you etched today?”

  Caleb shrugged. “I’ll give it to the gardeners. They’ll find some use for it. They always do.”

  The hard work that had gone into the failed print left Urho with an empty feeling in his heart, but Caleb shrugged it off like it wasn’t anything to spend time worrying about.

  “And the print itself?” Urho asked, nodding to the abandoned piece on the floor.

  “Trash,” Caleb said.

  “In that case, may I have it?”

  “You want a reminder of how sad he used to be?” Caleb asked, surprised.

  Urho picked the paper up from the floor, studying it carefully. It was still beautiful despite the smears and wrinkles from Caleb’s careless treatment. “I want a reminder of what I have to lose.”

  Caleb nodded. “Take it. And stay here, Urho. Build a new life with him.” Then Caleb looked up from where his pencil flew all around the fresh sheet. “A new life with us.”

  Urho stepped closer. Peering down into Caleb’s sincere face, he asked, “You’d want that? For yourself? For more than just Xan’s happiness?”

  “While my alpha’s happiness is more than enough reason to want you here, the truth is, I like you. I trust you. I let you into my studio, after all. Not even Xan has been in here.” Caleb touched his arm and smiled up at him, a new kind of smile, a vulnerable and completely honest one. “So, yes, Urho, I’d like you to make Lofton your home.”

  “So what was it like in there?” Xan asked. He’d been curious all day and more than a little jealous.

  His head rested on Urho’s naked chest, and he trailed his fingers up and down Urho’s forearm, feeling the small prickle of his dark arm hair beneath his fingertips.

  “Messy,” Urho said, his voice still tired after their long lovemaking session.

  “Is he any good at it? Or am I just feeding into his delusions by buying him all those supplies?”

  “He’s excellent,” Urho said, sitting up and jostling Xan from his comfortable resting place. “Here. Let me show you.”

  Rising from the bed, he crossed to the desk by the table. The view wasn’t as good as in Xan’s room, but they’d found the beta servants changing the sheets when they’d come up after Xan had arrived home, so they’d opted for Urho’s room instead. Still, the town made for a beautiful scene, too, stretching away into the horizon, and the colorful buildings shone in the failing late-afternoon sun.

  Urho returned with a rather large sheet of paper that he handed over to Xan. Staring up at him was his own face with an expression of such sadness that Xan felt overexposed. The likeness was good, though, he couldn’t deny that. Except for his hair twisting into a bird’s nest. He kept his hair very neat, thank you very much, Caleb.

>   “He did this?”

  “He’s talented,” Urho said. “Rosen would probably claim it’s far too representational. But he’s a snob, so of course he would say that.”

  Xan continued to stare at the picture. “Caleb’s a bit of snob too.”

  “In his own way,” Urho agreed. He tugged Xan close again, so they rested together naked and warm in Urho’s soft bed. Xan snuggled up, breathing in Urho’s scent and the mixture of them together.

  They both stared at the paper. “Do you like it?” Urho asked.

  “It’s not what I expected.” Xan tilted his head and frowned. “Is that how Caleb sees me, do you think? Sad with a bird’s nest where my brain should be?”

  “I think Caleb loves you,” Urho said softly. “He told me he wasn’t satisfied with this piece. He’s going to do another one that will capture you better.”

  “Oh.” Xan frowned. “What was wrong with this one?”

  “You’d have to ask him,” Urho said, but his tone gave away that he knew the reason. “Perhaps after making it, he missed your smile. I know that’s my favorite of your features.”

  Xan sat the print aside on the small table by the bed before curling up on Urho’s chest again. “Are you going to keep it?”

  “I thought I’d frame it, yes.” Urho’s fingers slipped soothingly through Xan’s hair. “Put it up somewhere as a reminder of how I don’t want you to ever look again.”

  Xan squirmed and frowned.

  Urho stilled his fingers. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Something about the picture, about my face in it, reminds me of my life before you made your offer.”

  “Before I loved you.”

  Xan’s body twitched, half disbelieving and yet desperate for it to be true. He grabbed onto the words eagerly. “Yes, before you loved me. I don’t want to go back to living like that. And I don’t just mean Monhundy and all of that horrible abuse. I mean my day-to-day life. It was so much less without you in it.” He sighed, rubbing his face against Urho’s chest hair, wishing that the world were different. That he was different. “Still, you must be so bored here, waiting for Vale to give birth and spending your days reading, or whatever it is you do. What do you do, Urho, while I’m away?”