by Alanna Lynd
The Alpha Elf Lord's Omega
By Alanna Lynd
Copyright Alanna Lynd 2015
All Rights Reserved
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1
Lelyon ran, feeling free as never before when he jumped a small brook, landing on ground that was springy with thick layers of golden leaves that clung to his leggings of fine, white doeskin. They had been embroidered all over with the tiniest emeralds forming garlands of leaves, yet now they were spattered with mud. It was an outrage, and Lelyon laughed when he thought what his tutor or his brothers would say, feeling secure in the knowledge that they would not catch him to reprimand him.
It had taken them more than three weeks to reach the border of the Goldwood from the fortress of his father, King Taril. It was a journey a courier might make in less than ten days on a fast horse, yet they had been forced to nerve-wracking slowness by the multitude of warriors, diplomats, servants, cooks, seamstresses and the Highest only knew whomever else his father had seen fit to send as his accompaniment. At least the King had not sent Lelyon's mother: a woman Lelyon dearly loved, but even he who liked his clothes of silk and velvet, and long baths with at least four attendants to pamper him, had often grown fractious when forced to wait on her while it took her the entire morning and half of the afternoon to ready herself for a simple, informal outdoors fête.
Now, though, he had finally escaped the train of his retainers, and he smiled grimly when he jumped across a fallen tree, thinking of his half-brothers who had called him a spoiled child in a fit of anger only two hours past.
Let them see that he was no child to be talked to in such a way! His mother might not be Queen, but as the fairest of all Woodelf maidens, youngest of one of the noblest lines of the Elmwood and bred to a life as a King's consort from birth, she had instilled a great many qualities in him which his half-brothers lacked, right-born heirs and wolf-shifters of Elmwood they might be.
He was no child; he was to be consort to the ruling Lord of the Goldwood, one of the most powerful elves that still lived. He would show them that he was no child to be treated in such a way! He might not be a strong wolf as they were, but there were advantages to being a bird-shifter! His brothers might laugh at him for his weakness—and it was true, he would never hunt in the forest as they did—but all the same, they would never know the joy of fluttering to the highest branch to watch the sun rise over their father's realm.
Yes, Lelyon would go to the Goldwood on his own; would arrive there faster than they did—mayhap he could find a way past the guards and seek out the Lord he was to belong to without anyone noticing! He could fly up to his window, the small, golden bird no one paid attention to, and shift back to surprise the Lord Casphar in his bath, perhaps. So amazed Casphar would be, struck by Lelyon's unsurpassed beauty as well as by his stealth and eagerness! Casphar would name him superior to the best of his betas in front of his brothers, alphas all and yet unable to guard Lelyon, and they would look so sheepish...
Lelyon cried out when an arrow hit the tree next to him just a hand's breadth from where his shoulder had been.
Orcs—so close to the city?
He stumbled, crying out in fear when another arrow hit the ground in front of him, and would have fallen had not someone grabbed the back of his fine tunic to pull him back against a hard body—a sharp blade against his throat making him freeze in terrified shock.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” a smooth voice murmured, laughing in throaty amusement when all Lelyon managed was a terrified whimper. “Did you get lost?”
“Do you not know that none may enter this wood save by our Lord leave?” another said, and the one who constrained him pushed him forward with a derogatory snort.
“I fail to see what a danger this whelp could be—I could have shot him a hundred times, even were my eyes bound, so loud was his flight through our forest. But let us take him to the commander; these things are for him to decide.”
Lelyon opened his mouth to indignantly protest such treatment—he was a prince, and future consort of their Lord!—but one of the warriors pushed him ungently forward.
“One word and we will gag you!” he threatened coldly, and Lelyon bowed his head to hide the tears of rage and humiliation that were brimming in his eyes when he powerlessly allowed himself to be led away.
Half an hour later, when they finally entered the camp of the pack, his rage had vanished, and all that remained was weariness, and shame. His beautiful clothes were spattered with mud, the rich brocade destroyed by thorns and springy branches, and all his hopes of bedazzling the ruler of the Goldwood had been ruined—if the Lord Casphar laid eyes on him now, certainly he would send him back in contempt.
How would Lelyon bear that? Being his consort was what he had been brought up for... and now he had ruined it all.
His two guards made him walk through the camp with the eyes of half a dozen grey-cloaked guards resting on him, curious, silently amused at his plight. Lelyon's heart beat fast. Warriors all of them, wolf-shifters like his brothers, their scent scaring the little bird inside him. Lelyon had to bite back a soft moan of shame. Trained since his birth for life at court, mastering etiquette, dance, the lyre and the harp, diplomacy and heraldry years before other children were even allowed to stay up for the beginning of a feast, this seemed to him the ultimate humiliation. It was the end of all his dreams, of his young life even, to find himself stripped of all his finery, to have lost the beauty countless minstrels had praised
“Commander—we have brought you a gift!” one of the shifter guards called out.
“Look at the little bird we found lost in the wood! What shall we do with him?”
Lelyon' eyes widened when a tall elf seemed to appear in front of him all of a sudden, his cloak settling around his shoulders. He wore the same grey uniform the other guards were dressed in, yet his cloak was made from a fine, heavy wool dyed the exact golden hue of golden oak leaves, which was why Lelyon had not seen him at first.
He stood taller than most of the shifter guards, and his face was stern and noble, framed by silver hair held back from his face by warrior braids. He wore no other sign of his position but the cloak of gold, yet Lelyon would have known him to be the leader of these guards by the air of command he exuded.
He was unmistakably a high-born moon elf, his build akin to that of his father and half-brothers, and Lelyon, who had always been grateful for the lightness and beauty his own Woodelf blood had bequeathed on him, felt his blood heat his cheeks at the intensity of the gaze that came to rest on him. There was a strange power in the other's eyes—he was old, Lelyon knew at once. More, he was an alpha, the scent of him overwhelming Lelyon until his heart was racing in his chest with a need he had never felt before. Who could this be but the Lord Casphar—his betrothed?
“I am Lelyon of the Elmwood,” he said bravely, mortified to find his voice tremble ever so slightly. “Forgive me for my appearance and the untimely interruption, my Lord.” He bowed, lowering his head deeply, then gasped at the outrage of being pushed to his knees at the Lord's feet, as if he were not the son of a King, but a criminal to be judged.
“So you say...” The enigmatic Lord's eyes rested on him for a moment. “Yet has it not been sung by every bard who ever passed through Elmwood that Taril's son is the fairest child ever born to the Elmwood, and that he is skilled, and kind, compassionate and obedient, free with smile and laugh and ever-loyal?”
The Lord looking him over again and shook his head with a smile. “You see then, little f
orest bird, you cannot be he.”
“But I—”
“You will be silent when facing our Lord, and not talk back to him!” one of his guards said sternly, and when Lelyon opened his mouth to protest once more at the indignation of being treated like a servant when he was the son of Elmwood's rightful Ruler, the Lord's lips narrowed with displeasure.
“If he cannot obey, gag him,” he said sharply and turned away, so that Lelyon fell silent from the shock of being threatened in such a way.
He reeled from all that was happening to him, and so was still too dazed to protest when his two guards pulled him up and to a tree, where they continued to first bind his hands, and then bound his body to the tree's trunk as well.
Lelyon was trembling now, afraid at last for he had never known such rough and hostile treatment before, and when he tried to beseech them once more, one of the guards threateningly raised a length of silk to his mouth, so that Lelyon flinched back and lowered his head in beaten surrender to their rules.
He slumped against the tree, waiting for what seemed like an eternity, while the guards gathered around a fire and talked softly as they passed around a skin of wine and shared some meat they had roasted over the flames. More guards returned im wolf-form, shifting back to join their brothers at the fire. Lelyon thought of shifting as well—it would be easy to fly away! But he was so exhausted and tired, and worst of all, he could not forget that powerful gaze of the alpha. No, he could not run again, not when he had already disappointed his future mate.
The smell of food made Lelyon' mouth water as he waited. Despondently, he thought of how, if he had not run, he would now ride with his brothers and share jests about what would await him as Lord Casphar's consort.
At last, the gold-cloaked Lord stood from his place by the fire and walked towards Lelyon, holding in his hands a fine cup of gold brimming with strong, red wine.
“Thirsty, little forest bird?” he asked, his voice warm now, and Lelyon found himself eagerly nodding, so pathetically grateful for the kindness that he blushed at it. Yet when the golden cup was raised to his lips, he thirstily sipped, swallowing the rich vintage without complaint at his treatment.
“Enough for now,” the Lord murmured at last, his laughter so sudden and full that Lelyon almost flinched in surprise. “We cannot have you asleep just yet, can we? 'tis not even noon yet!” His smile was warm, and Lelyon found himself answering it with a smile of his own, bathing in the regard of the silver-grey eyes, so deep and unfathomable... Was this what it felt like to find his alpha?
He swallowed, self-conscious all of a sudden when his cheeks began to heat at how close they were... how close the Lord's lips were to his own...
He thought of how his brothers had teased him that he had never even been kissed. How much he wished now that his Lord—for it had to be his Casphar, his alpha!—would claim his lips, take that first kiss right here and now, against every custom of their people, yes, but oh, how very much he wanted it!
The Lord closed his eyes, lowered his head so that his breath teased against Lelyon' ear. Lelyon shivered deliciously. “It must be uncomfortable for you here, little bird... If you promise to behave, I will untie you, and you may accompany me into the treehouse, where I can keep an eye on you, and where there are cushions for you to rest on.”
“I promise, Lord; thank you,” Lelyon whispered, his voice trembling just the slightest bit, yet he was too captivated by this Lord for the answer to be any different. He should not have agreed. He should not make himself vulnerable by being alone with him. And yet, with his heart beating so fast, his entire body flushed with heat and the yearning to be close to his alpha, how could he have answered any differently?
He still did not know the Lord's name, yet there could be no other answer than that this was indeed the wise Lord of the Goldwood—his body, his heart seemed to know him, even if his mind did not. And he would not make a fool of himself by asking—would Casphar not be terribly offended to be questioned so by his own betrothed?
But then the Lord's hands gently opened the knots that held him to the tree. He even undid the coarse rope that held his wrists bound, using instead a length of silk cloth to bind them, and Lelyon felt his heart swell at the kindness of it. He followed him without complaint when he was being led through the camp, remembering that he was only supposed to speak when the Lord asked him a question, and did not even chafe at it, for he was too overwhelmed by all the new, confusing feelings that had sprung up in him.
The treehouse was small and well hidden in the boughs of a golden oak, offering only the small comforts necessary to the shifter elf guards of the wood, yet as the Lord had promised, a part of it had indeed been made comfortable with bedrolls and cushions. Lelyon felt relief that he would not have to meet his brothers bound to a tree, like a common criminal. Although his wrists were still bound, at least it was done with silk, and being allowed to rest here near to the Lord certainly was a sign of his favour.
Lelyon smiled shyly, still feeling that strange hesitancy whenever he felt the Lord's eyes resting on him, and then lowered himself to recline on the cushioned floor, wondering if at last the Lord would allow him to speak now.
Yet instead the alpha sat down at a small table in a corner, reading dispatches and writing answers, and for a time Lelyon was content to simply watch him, awed by his grace and nobility and the air of command he exuded even when away from his men. At last, though, the Lord laid down his parchments and came over to sit down next to Lelyon, carefully tilting the cup once more so that the cool wine flowed into his mouth.
“Are you hungry as well, little bird?” he asked softly, and Lelyon shook his head, trembling and speechless at the powerful feelings that coursed through him at the Lord's closeness. He had had the best tutors at home, had been given a theoretical education in matters of the bedroom so thorough that he had often made his experienced brothers blush with the details of what he knew—and yet now that he sat next to the one whom he would serve and learn to pleasure in only a few days, he felt weak with apprehension, inexperienced and small.
“There, you spilled a little,” the Lord murmured, running a fingertip down Lelyon' chin to gather a drop of the red wine. He licked it from his finger so that Lelyon froze, wide-eyed and shocked when a jolt of arousal ran through his body at the gesture. Again the Lord laughed, the sound warm and a little amused, and raised his hand to Lelyon' chin once again, tracing the wine-stained lips with a thumb.
Lelyon was spellbound, imprisoned by the alpha's silver eyes, and he felt strangely breathless and weak, unable to resist when at last the Lord leaned forward and claimed his mouth, taking his first kiss as if it were his right.
And it was his right, Lelyon thought dimly while at the same time a moan escaped him at the unbelievable pleasure of feeling soft lips against his own, a tongue invading his mouth—it was so intimate to be touched like this, to taste the Lord in his mouth! He knew that it was wrong, that such contact was not permitted them before he was bound to the alpha as his consort and mate—and yet it felt so good, like everything he had ever wanted.
He could not stop this, even though he was aware that to have another see them like this would bring shame on his house, on his people. He truly should not even have come to the treehouse, for being alone with Casphar without a chaperon could lead to speculation and would give the Lord a reason to break off the betrothal without repercussions, leaving Lelyon shamed and unfit for another noble Lord—and yet he would never do that, Lelyon thought with another soft moan. Casphar wanted him, and the thought was electrifying, sweeping aside all fears and worries he should have had.
“Little forest bird,” the Lord breathed against his lips, a hand slipping beneath Lelyon' fine tunic, sliding up beneath the brocade so that Lelyon trembled at the touch. They sank back onto the cushions, Casphar half resting on Lelyon' smaller body, and the small bird shifter felt as if in a dream, seduced by the fathomless silver eyes so that he could not bring himself to protest when
his formerly so fine tunic was stripped from him, when a hand cupped him through his breeches so that he moaned in surprise at how good it felt to feel another's palm gently touch him at last.
Quickly the lacing was undone and he raised his hips when his breeches were pulled down, his mind now unable to focus on anything but the tongue in his mouth, so alien, so good. Casphar's hand closed around his erection, stroked him so that he moaned into his mouth, and he shivered with delight at how right it felt to feel the Lord's skin against his own, hot and smooth. Dimly he realised that he could not even remember when he had undressed. But then there was a touch where he had never been touched before, a blunt pressure, slick with some liquid, and he closed his eyes and groaned, breached for the first time, knowing that it was wrong but unable to keep from wanting it.
His brothers would chide him and so would his friends, his father would lecture him and his mother would write disappointed letters for years—but oh, this was the alpha to whom he would be bound as consort in a week's time. It was wrong and against every custom and he should never have let this happen, but he could not help but respond to Casphar's thorough possession of his body. There was pain, and yet he trembled with how good it felt, raising his lips to his Lord's again and again, feeling alive, feeling loved, an adult at last.
Pleasure crested over them like a thunderstorm breaking at last, so intense that Lelyon had to bite back a cry, trembling for minutes in Casphar's arms afterwards. Yet at last the Lord moved away, and when Lelyon opened his eyes, he found himself the recipient of a cold, distant look.
"You never even asked my name," the Lord stated dispassionately, and Lelyon felt his world crash down around him.
"You are... not the Lord Casphar?" he asked tonelessly, too shocked for tears while he tried to wrap his mind around what had happened, what he had done.
He had just thrown away his life. His hopes, his dreams, the countless years of striving to be the best in every single lesson, desiring nothing but to make his father and mother proud, to do what was asked of him for the good of the realm... He had destroyed it all in one unthinking, reckless act.
