by Willa Okati
Zachariah growled low in his throat. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Is that a yes?”
Ivoire thought he spied a glint of reluctant -- very reluctant -- admiration in the Alpha for his nerve. “You’re a piece of work, Omega,” Zachariah said. “All right. Since you ask so nicely. Just until Packmaster’s back. Understand?”
“Deal,” Ivoire said, putting out his hand. “Shake on it, and we’ll call it good.”
Chapter Two
Zachariah
He’d shaken the Omega’s hand. Why did I do that?
Zachariah shoved his armload of wood into the hearth far too haphazardly to be of any use. Grumbling under his breath, careful not to burn himself, he jabbed at the wood with an iron poker until the logs settled into place. With his luck he’d cast sparks on the piles of boxes he’d never unpacked and burn the place down from rafters to railings.
Fool. Damn fool. Why hadn’t he escorted Ivoire to the packmaster’s cabin himself? He could have made the offer before Ivoire claimed sanctuary. That would have been easy enough, and the deputies probably wouldn’t have gone after him.
If they had, though. If they had. And if they’d taken Ivoire…
No. He’d had no choice.
Zachariah dropped his head forward and rolled his neck until it popped. That helped with the tension in his back but didn’t do a damn thing to ease his mind. Or the rest of him, for that matter. Zachariah had long legs, and crouching before the hearth put enough pressure on his groin to strangle his cock. A good thing, too. One touch of the Omega’s hand and he’d gone abruptly, blindingly hard for the first time in -- he couldn’t remember when his body had woken up like that.
A long damn time ago, anyhow.
The fire had started to catch, flames licking up the sides of the logs. Zachariah leaned forward and inhaled their scent. Anything to drive out the overpowering mint. Though that might have been a good thing. Had he gotten a nose full of Omega hormones, God knew what he would have done. Maybe thrown Ivoire on the ground and gone at him right there, no better in the end than any of the deputies.
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, despite his mind’s eye casting up picture after picture of Ivoire. Round and ripe, almost glowing, and despite everything he’d been through, still smiling. Still brave.
Hell.
“Zachariah?” Ivoire called from the room just beyond. “Do you have any towels?”
Zachariah opened his eyes. Steam drifted through the open doorway. Ivoire must have been standing directly behind it, with the bathroom door open. Hot running water was a luxury in the interior of Alaska, but the previous owners had installed a system fit to make the hardest Alpha weep. Just about efficient enough, in fact, to take care of a mint-drenched Omega before the smell made the house unlivable.
If Zachariah looked closely, he could just make out the silhouette of Ivoire’s shape on the wall.
He turned his head and stabbed his poker at the burning logs. “Under the sink.”
“Why would you -- never mind.” Ivoire sounded amused. “Zachariah?”
Blast the Omega and his playfulness. Zachariah’s cock throbbed with denied lust. “What?”
“Do you have a robe I could borrow? The coat’s wonderful but might not be good to sleep in.”
The mental image of Ivoire’s naked body flooded Zachariah’s mind and hit his groin like a shock of lightning. He shifted his weight and growled to himself, trying to argue away the urge. Didn’t help. It’d been the same way with his mate. When they’d been with child, he’d turned into the worst and most insatiable kind of beast. Couldn’t help himself.
It felt wrong, and it felt right.
“Use the robe hanging on the door,” he said, biting off each word. He pressed his hands to his face.
Use the robe, and don’t speak to me again. Not until I’ve got control over myself.
Merciful silence followed, but it wasn’t as much help as Zachariah had thought it would be. With no commentary from Ivoire, the only way Zachariah could be sure he was all right was to watch his shadow on the wall.
He’d done that with his mate. He remembered that now, among all the other things he’d tried so hard to forget.
So beautiful, his Jace had been. Tall and lean and narrow-hipped. He’d joked about looking like an alder tree with one great big bole growing out of the center, but Zachariah couldn’t get enough. He’d gone to his knees and worshiped Jace’s changing body every chance he got. And so sensitive -- he’d barely had to breathe over Jace’s cock to make him go off -- but he would beg for more, and more still, all Zachariah could give him.
And then. Then.
Time was meant to heal wounds, but it hadn’t. Zachariah pressed his fist to his chest, the heart inside still raw as a skinned rabbit when he thought of his mate. Sweet Jace, narrow-hipped Jace, too narrow to give birth to a big wolf’s pup. Things like what had befallen him weren’t supposed to still be possible in this day and age. They weren’t.
But they did. They had.
And here Zachariah was, alone in a house he’d meant for his family. He opened his eyes and gave the fire a savage jab with his poker.
After he’d lost Jace, he’d promised himself never again. No Omegas. No pups. No broken hearts. He admired Ivoire’s spunkiness and liked his friendly manner, but Zachariah’s brain knew better than to lust after an Omega -- any Omega -- for any reason. If his body didn’t want to listen, then he’d batter himself with memories until it lay down and gave up. He would be his own master.
“Zachariah?”
It was automatic reflex to look up when spoken to. When Zachariah raised his head, his gaze landed on Ivoire fresh from a hot shower, wrapped from neck to toes in his robe. He rested one hand lightly on the broken-down ladder Zachariah kept propped in a corner, meaning to use it for kindling one day. Damp hair curling in a halo around his head, skin radiantly pink and scrubbed clean.
Barely a trace of peppermint left. Nothing but pure Omega scent radiating from him. Musky and salty, earthy and sweet. Ripe as late summer plums hanging heavy off their branches, begging to be plucked. Lips parted, eyes luminous. A temptation no man could resist, no matter how wrong. No matter what he might have promised himself.
A wave of loneliness and longing took Zachariah’s breath away, and nearly knocked him flat. He swallowed around a knot in his throat, and it ached.
“Zachariah,” Ivoire said -- gentle, so gentle that it hurt him. “Zachariah. Can I come dry myself by the fire?”
* * *
Ivoire
So that’s how it is.
Ivoire held himself back, at the very edge of the room. If he was going to be invited in, it had to be Zachariah’s decision.
He hoped Zachariah chose to say yes. Poor man. Ivoire saw now that what he’d perceived to be gruffness, standoffishness, was more along the lines of loneliness and some deep sorrow that weighed heavy on his shoulders. Ivoire didn’t know what had happened, but from the way Zachariah looked at him it wasn’t hard to guess. Zachariah’s scent wavered from strong and pheromone-rich to abruptly nil, then back again as he fought with himself.
It made Ivoire’s heart ache for the Alpha. His cousin had given him a brief précis of all the pack members. Zachariah had lost his mate, who’d been pregnant with their first child. He’d moved up here and kept strictly to himself since then.
And it was a shame. From what Ivoire saw, there was a good, kind man in there who needed waking up.
He’d been told before -- often -- that he couldn’t keep handing pieces of his heart to anyone with a sad story, and Ivoire did see where his critics were coming from. Trusting the wrong man had left him pregnant and alone.
But he couldn’t see kindness as weakness. Or rather, he didn’t want to. Ever. If that got him hurt, then so be it. He stroked his belly, feeling the pup turn. Rewards were sometimes worth the risks, after all.
After what seemed like half of forever, Zachariah swallowed roughly a
nd nodded. He turned back to the fire, deliberately away from Ivoire.
Best to tread gently with this one, Ivoire decided. He pulled the robe, deliciously imbued with Zachariah’s everyday male scent, tighter around himself and was pleased to find it large enough to swaddle him completely. Hands in the robe’s pockets, he padded casually to the fire and sighed with contentment as the heat enveloped him.
Zachariah cut his eyes sideways at Ivoire and opened his mouth as if he meant to speak, then shook his head. He jabbed his poker at the fire and laid it aside.
This wasn’t going to be easy. Well, Ivoire had never let that stop him before. He tilted his head, noticing now that he’d come to a stop how blank and bare the cabin’s walls were. Stacks of unpacked cardboard boxes blocked the window. “Have you lived here for long?”
Zachariah looked up with a jerk. “What?”
The Alpha wasn’t used to conversation, was he? Ivoire had seen that before with other lone wolves. Lonely or not, they’d forgotten how to keep company with their own kind.
Ivoire held his hands out to warm them. “I think I told you that I grew up in a pack near Whittier, didn’t I? This house reminds me of where I was raised. Not fancy, but it had lovely bones.”
Zachariah kept his gaze fixed on Ivoire, but his forehead crinkled as if he wasn’t sure what to make of him.
Still, there was longing in his eyes. Ivoire caught the thread and wound it gently in. Though Zachariah had as little furniture as he did decoration in his home -- which was to say, none that Ivoire had seen unpacked so far -- he had spread sheepskins in front of the hearth. Real ones, from the fluffy Dall rams that roamed the mountains. Ivoire suspected Zachariah usually slept on those.
He laid his hand on Zachariah’s shoulder and only smiled when Zachariah’s muscles went abruptly tense. The Alpha wouldn’t be used to touch, either. “Help me kneel down? I want to dry my hair.”
As Ivoire had hoped there was a well-trained gentleman underneath Zachariah’s hermit ways. He didn’t speak, but let Ivoire use his arm to lever himself onto the sheepskins. They were as soft as he’d imagined, and he indulged his whimsy by stroking them.
“You like those?” Zachariah’s voice was rusty from lack of use. He touched the fluffy fleece as if it were the first time he’d ever thought to do so.
Good! A good start. “I do. I’ve never been much of a hunter, so they’re the first I’ve seen up close.”
“Most wolves hunt. Out here.”
“Then I suppose I will, too, once I’ve settled in.” Ivoire ran a hand over his belly, watching Zachariah watch him hungrily. His hands flexed, as if he, too, wanted to touch. “I’ve always been more of a gatherer. A gardener. Tomatoes, beets, carrots. I’ve even kept bees.”
Zachariah shook his head, his gaze darkening briefly. “No hives around here.”
“There could be. You never know about anything until you try.”
Zachariah grunted thoughtfully. He poked at the fire, then said, “You ought to have family to help you.”
“Well, that’s the point of coming to live with my cousin.”
Ivoire turned his profile to the fire and began to finger-comb his hair, watching Zachariah all the while. He could see faint trembles running through Zachariah’s limbs, and how he would start to lean toward Ivoire but then remember himself and draw back.
Touch-starved for sure. Not good. Ivoire had read accounts of how infants suffered when they weren’t held enough, and wondered how nobody thought the same likely to happen to adults. He leaned closer to test that theory and wasn’t surprised when Zachariah unconsciously mirrored his movement.
Better, but still…
Best think for a moment, Ivoire, he cautioned himself. How far do you want this to go?
A good question. He bought himself some time by braiding his hair loosely.
The arousal he’d felt earlier when he first caught Zachariah’s scent hadn’t faded. Ivoire could still feel it simmering away inside him, making his skin too warm and his breath short. He pressed his legs together and felt that they’d gotten slippery with beads of the lubrication his body produced. Far less of it than when he was in heat, but give him a little encouragement and Ivoire knew his body would open so easily for Zachariah.
Thinking that made him catch his breath. A burst of hunger heated his blood. His scent must have changed, gotten thicker. Zachariah’s nose twitched and his lips parted to draw the fragrance over his tongue. His hands shook from the effort of keeping them still, fisted on his knees.
“Oh, Zachariah.” Ivoire touched the big man’s face impulsively.
Though Zachariah’s eyes flew open wide, he didn’t pull away. He swallowed instead and kept his gaze fixed on Ivoire the way a drowning man would fix on a rescue line. “What are you doing?”
Ivoire trailed his fingertips along Zachariah’s jaw, amazed at the tension he carried just in his face. Ivoire wanted to ask how long it had been but kept that to himself. Zachariah needed this -- yes, and Ivoire needed it, too. The comfort of another’s touch. Kindness. A reminder that they weren’t alone after all, at least not now.
Zachariah drew in a sharp breath and turned his face, but not away, instead pressing his cheek into Ivoire’s palm. “You shouldn’t.”
“But I choose to.” Ivoire moved his hand to Zachariah’s shoulder, and used it to boost himself up not quite onto Zachariah’s lap, but very nearly. He pressed his forehead to Zachariah’s, and then his lips to the corner of Zachariah’s mouth. “And I think you want to choose this, too.”
* * *
Zachariah
Oh, God. Zachariah went still, so still he could hear the beating of his heart above the low crackle from the hearth. Ivoire nestled onto his lap as if he hadn’t noticed, his slim arms sliding warmly around Zachariah’s shoulders, his small hand cradling Zachariah’s nape.
His eyes fell shut at the touch of Ivoire’s mouth against his. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s all right. Here.” Ivoire took Zachariah’s hand and drew it gently lower to rest on his hip.
Zachariah’s breath rasped in his throat, and he flexed his hand involuntarily. God, Ivoire’s skin was smooth and soft, the hair so fine he could barely feel it with his rough fingertips. Ivoire made a murmuring sound of approval and cuddled in closer.
“You don’t --” Zachariah had to stop when his voice gave out. His hands had started to move without his permission, gliding underneath the old robe and up bare flesh, admiring the elegance of Ivoire’s back, the curve of his pert ass… “You don’t owe me this.”
“I know that.” Ivoire touched his mouth to the corner of Zachariah’s. Zachariah knew if he looked at the Omega just then, he would find those pretty lips curved in a teasing smile. “It’s not about owing, Zachariah. It’s about feeling good for a change.”
Zachariah stilled his hands, but didn’t open his eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“I know that, too.” Ivoire nuzzled at his jaw. Zachariah could feel the brush of Ivoire’s eyelashes on his cheek. “We’ve had our troubles lately, both of us, haven’t we?”
Zachariah couldn’t deny that. He opened his hand slowly, so slowly. Wanting. Aching. And yet…
“I want us both to feel better,” Ivoire said. He rolled his hips in a slow, gentle wave. “I’m giving you myself tonight, Zachariah. All you have to do is take it.” He guided Zachariah’s hand between his thighs. “All you have to do is take me.”
Every man had his breaking point. Zachariah was only human, only wolf, only Alpha. He could hear the line snap as he stepped across it, but it hardly mattered when he had a lapful of warm, willing Omega overwhelming his nobler intentions, drowning him in sweetness and scent.
He surrendered.
“There you go,” Ivoire murmured as Zachariah’s arms tightened. “Oh, yes.”
Zachariah didn’t need the encouragement, and he barely heard the words. He found Ivoire’s cock and held it briefly in his palm, amazed at the sleekness of the velvet
skin, then he slipped behind it and brushed his fingertips through the moisture slicking Ivoire’s thighs. The Omega wanted this. It wasn’t just words.
God. Zachariah needed skin. He tugged at the belt of Ivoire’s borrowed robe until it came free, and impatiently shoved at the thick terry. Ivoire helped, rolling his shoulders and shrugging the cloth away. It fell in a pool behind him, leaving Ivoire naked and hard on his lap. Not content with that, Ivoire worked busily at Zachariah’s belt and zipper, managing to slide his jeans down far enough to free his cock.
Zachariah hissed at the shock of the cooler air, and looked up then to see Ivoire gazing down at him. His eyes were wide and his lips parted, his cheeks and chest flushed a pretty pink with arousal. He did want this, and yet he looked -- uncertain.
It’d been too long for finesse. Zachariah took Ivoire’s hand and brought it down to wrap around his aching cock, glorying in the gasp of surprise and delight that drew from the Omega.
Oh, but that was almost a mistake. The touch of another hand on him -- Zachariah slammed his eyes shut and strangled a groan that seemed to start in his core. Ivoire’s hands were small but clever, and they knew what they were doing. He stroked Zachariah with a firm grip, gentle but hard, crooning words Zachariah had lost the ability to distinguish. He could feel the slow, steady beads of Ivoire’s lubrication pattering on his thighs.
When he thrust two fingers inside the Omega, Ivoire rolled his hips and cried out.
It went to Zachariah’s head. He’d forgotten how it was to make love to an Omega. How hungry they were, how much their bodies demanded, the lengths they could take. His hips jerked, cock seeking the friction their position denied him. Best he managed was to rub against the softness of Ivoire’s inner thigh, but oh, that was almost enough to drive him wild.
“Zachariah,” Ivoire gasped, coming to a shuddering pause. “Kiss me. Please, kiss me.”
He couldn’t have said no, and he didn’t want to. Holding Ivoire by the nape, Zachariah found he could meet and match the Omega there. Ivoire parted his lips to let Zachariah plunder his mouth, surprised at how sweet he tasted.
