by Tanya Chris
“But there might still be—?”
“Go,” Angel said, overruling Quoitrel again. Quoitrel understood the wisdom of his order. Given Daisy’s condition and how riled up everyone was, having him around would only be a distraction. And the truth was that Quoitrel had run out of concentration himself. Omegas in heat smelled amazing. They always had. But today Quoitrel had learned that the smell of your own omega in heat aroused something beyond basic horniness. His hunger for Daisy was as primal as Daisy’s hunger for him.
“I need you,” he whispered into Daisy’s hair.
Daisy arched backward, still sultry despite his dishevelment. “That’s my line,” he teased.
“No, it’s definitely mine.”
Daisy needed a knot, but any alpha would be happy to give him one. Quoitrel needed Daisy. And there weren’t any substitutes for that.
Chapter 15
Daisy insisted he could walk. Quoitrel would rather have carried him, but there were still skirmishes being fought. He remained on high alert as they circled around the worst of the fighting on the way to his apartment. As soon as they got inside, Daisy dropped all pretense of being okay, shivering himself into a puddle on the floor.
“Little one?”
“Alpha.” He wrapped his arms around Quoitrel’s thighs to bury his face in his groin. “Need you, Alpha.”
Any lingering idea of going to help with mop-up duty dissipated. Other wolves could handle that. Quoitrel was needed right here.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He scooped Daisy off the floor and carried him to the bedroom. He hadn’t been home in days, so the air was frosty, but Daisy couldn’t feel it. His skin was like damp fire—so hot Quoitrel was surprised steam didn’t rise from it. He kicked the blankets away as soon as Quoitrel deposited him on the bed, splaying his limbs wide as if he were laying out under a summer sun. His cock hovered inches off his stomach, but he didn’t touch himself. He watched as Quoitrel turned on a dim lamp and lowered the blinds to keep the outside world at bay. Quoitrel must’ve taken too long with his mood-setting, because Daisy started kicking his heels. The lowkey tantrum made Quoitrel grin.
“What is it, little one?” he asked as he crawled over Daisy’s splayed body. “Is there something you want?”
Daisy growled, and Quoitrel grinned wider, which made Daisy growl louder until Quoitrel was outright laughing. He collapsed next to Daisy.
“You’re so beautiful.” He guided Daisy on top of him to better appreciate his wild glory. Those feral eyes in a tawny shade of brown, the descended fangs gleaming with hunger, the tumble of golden curls. So small and delicate, so perfectly shaped, so hot and riled.
“Take what you need, little one. Take anything.”
Daisy lifted a clawed hand and raked it across Quoitrel’s chest, then leaned down to taste the blood he’d drawn. Little mumbles of lust fell from his lips as he traced Quoitrel’s muscles—licking and sucking, biting and healing. Daisy was a master with his mouth, but tonight he played with Quoitrel’s body as if it existed solely for his pleasure.
The smell of omega heat was all Quoitrel would ever need to get hard, but Daisy worked him far past hard. He tried to be patient, to let Daisy drive their pace, but Daisy’s slick ass kept rubbing over his body as Daisy shifted focus from here to there to everywhere. Quoitrel hadn’t expected to be the one begging, but he was reduced to it.
Formless pleas fell from his mouth. Not orders, because if he said what he wanted—if he put any force behind it—Daisy would be sure to obey. With the heat on him, Daisy was his to command, but he didn’t want to command Daisy. He wanted Daisy to command him. So he summoned all his strength and lay still as a board, allowing his desperation to seep through only in the form of gratitude—how grateful he was for every look, for every touch. How even more grateful he would be if Daisy would touch his fucking cock already.
Then Daisy did, and it almost killed him. That sweet mouth wrapped around his dick with hungry suction. Daisy wanted it. That was clear in every fervent swallow, in the rumble of his moans around Quoitrel’s shaft and the slurpy, gasping, choking consummation. Quoitrel pled for mercy and prayed for strength as he hung on to his fast-receding sanity until Daisy let his cock fall free with a wet slap.
“Knot?”
“Yeah, little one. Alpha’s going to give you a good knot. Come on, sweetheart. Come and get it.”
Daisy crept forward on hands and knees until his ass hovered over Quoitrel’s cock. Quoitrel slid a finger into his hole, just to test it. His dick drooled in anticipation of being inside that slick heat as he added another finger and then another. His hand was about halfway buried in Daisy’s ass when Daisy hauled it out and threw it from him like a discarded toy.
Quoitrel brought his fingers to his mouth as he watched Daisy impale himself right where he wanted to be, and oh fuck was that good. Pleasure slid down his shaft as Daisy settled onto him. He gyrated, squirming downward as if he could find more cock hidden under Quoitrel’s balls, but that was all of it—harder than it’d ever been, thick and full with his knot rising.
Daisy began to work himself on it. When he got the angle right, he let out a deep, throbbing moan. His hips moved faster. Up and down, spiraling around Quoitrel’s sensitive head, then squeezing the even-more-sensitive base, rocking to drive Quoitrel’s knot against his prostate on the downstroke, then raising his hips to do it all over again. Faster with each round, never losing his rhythm, head thrown back to showcase his claiming bite stark red against the dark cream of his throat.
When Quoitrel’s knot grew too thick to take easily, Daisy ground down on it, expressing his frustration with guttural grunts.
“Knot!” he demanded, and Quoitrel didn’t hesitate to comply. He rolled Daisy onto his back, threw his legs up over his shoulders, and drove into him with all the adrenalin and lust and fear that’d been coursing through him over the last few hours. Alphas chasing his omega, the smell of heat, the flash of enemy claws and teeth, the snarls of combat—all that sensory input came out in the fury with which he fucked Daisy. As if fucking Daisy were a matter of survival.
“Knot,” Daisy gasped as fluid started to leak from his cock. His ejaculation picked up speed, the flow growing heavier as Quoitrel continued to pound into him, needing all his strength to force his knot through the constriction now, the squelch of its intrusion obscenely wet and violent. Quoitrel reveled in it, maximizing the impact as Daisy’s screams grew absolutely ear-splitting and then stilled.
“Alpha,” he whispered as a final voluminous spurt pumped from him. Quoitrel shuddered to a stop, surrendering to his own spasms. He anchored Daisy beneath him with his fangs and claws and the full weight of his body and nibbled at Daisy’s neck, teasing the claiming bite which he loved more than any of the hundreds of lovable spots on Daisy’s perfect body.
“Okay?” he murmured, unable to summon the breath for more, but Daisy didn’t answer because he’d already fallen asleep.
Thirty-six hours later, Quoitrel’s curiosity about what was happening outside his happy heat den finally outweighed his lust. Daisy was settled enough to be left alone for a few hours, so he showered off the stench of sex, put on his uniform, and stepped outside into a bright morning sun to figure out where he ought to go first. To the jail to check on the prisoners Donovan had brought there? To the western woods to see if an enemy encampment remained? To the palace to receive orders from whoever was currently in charge? He was so far out of the loop he didn’t even know who that was.
He headed for the palace, but he ran into Angel before making it halfway across market square.
“You’ve emerged,” Angel said cheerfully. His smile relieved some of Quoitrel’s anxiety, but there was an emptiness behind it that said not everything was well.
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. Priorities are priorities, and we’ve been at a stalemate anyway. I was just heading over to the brothel to see if Harrod’s willing to talk rationally yet.”
“So
they’re still in there?”
“Oh, yes.” There was that empty smile again. Angel was dressed like Devin today, in royal robes and nothing else.
“Are you the head alpha?” Quoitrel asked as he followed the swish of those robes toward the brothel.
“No, still Marta.”
“She’s alive? I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry she’s alive. I’m sorry—”
Angel held up a hand to stop his babbling. “She’s alive, but she’s not in a position to command. Ideally, we’d have an acting head alpha, but the situation’s complicated. When we swept the Western Pack camp for stragglers, guess who we found cozied up amongst them, busy spilling the details of what happened at the town hall?”
Quoitrel could think of a few possibilities. “Your brother?”
“No, not Devin, though I’m not sure whether that makes him loyal or lazy. Cyril.” Angel named the wolf who was so much Devin’s spoke-monster that it might as well have been Devin. “And three members of the council. The Senior Member and two others. The four remaining council members are deadlocked on how to proceed, and since Marta’s not in a position to issue orders at the moment, we’re muddling along as best we can.”
“Meaning you’re trying to lead without the authority to do so and Devin’s doing nothing.”
“Something like that.” Angel shot him a glance without slowing down. They were proceeding at a brisk pace toward a major racket.
“And your mother’s recuperating?” Quoitrel asked, trying to catch up mentally while keeping up physically.
“You’ll see.”
When they turned the next corner, Quoitrel at least understood where all the noise was coming from. North Leland’s red light district was usually pretty quiet at this time of day, but it wasn’t normally host to a horde of enemy alphas.
Glass lay in broken piles on the ground beneath the brothel windows, and behind the iron bars still guarding those windows angry wolves roared out their fury—raking their claws across the bars or throwing themselves against them. Quoitrel was amazed they could still be so frenzied after thirty-six hours of captivity.
“Daisy wasn’t kidding about this place being a fortress,” Angel said. One of the enemy wolves spotted him, which sent them all into even wilder paroxysms of howling. “They’re not fond of me. Or of those two either.” He indicated Carmen and Owen, who were approaching the brothel much too closely for Quoitrel’s comfort. Each of them carried a pair of baskets, which they set down below the windows. Carmen pulled a loaf of bread from one and waved it at an alpha in human form who was trying to catch hold of her through the bars.
“Yum, yum,” she taunted. “Who’s hungry for a nice, nutritious breakfast?”
“Just give them the food,” Angel prompted. “You’re not helping.”
“Who’s trying to help?” She wagged the loaf of bread again. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about. Haven’t we been feeding you?”
“This is super fresh rabbit,” Owen said, hefting another basket up where the alphas could smell it but not grab it. “Carmen and I went out and caught these rabbits especially for you. I hear the beds are really nice in there too,” he confided to Carmen. “The comforters are covered in silk and stuffed with down,”
“Three meals a day and a nice place to sleep. You’d think they’d be grateful.”
“We’re only keeping them locked up because we worry about them so much.”
“Aww. We’re so thoughtful.” She and Owen put their heads together to offer matching innocent smiles.
“Feed them,” Angel insisted. “No more games.” He shook his head with a muttered omegas as Owen and Carmen got down to business, lobbing loaves of bread and rabbit carcasses up at the windows. The alphas might be pissed, but they were also hungry. As they caught their breakfast, they disappeared from the windows, leaving the street blessedly quiet.
“Everyone’s mouth is full,” Carmen said to Owen. “Can you hear the sound of chewing?”
“Hmm.” Owen cocked his head to the side. “Sounds more like the sound of losing to me.” They shared a laugh, then picked up their empty baskets and headed back up the street together.
“Now what?” Quoitrel asked when only he and Angel remained.
“Now we see if Harrod’s ready to surrender yet.” Angel looked up at the top floor, then shook his head with a grimace. “But apparently we’re still doing that.”
Quoitrel followed Angel’s eyes to find Harrod standing at one of the windows in Daisy’s bedroom—the fucker—with Head Alpha Marta in front of him. Marta was in human form, but her body was covered in so much dried blood, she almost seemed to be wearing fur. Harrod had an arm around her neck, his claws pressed to her jugular. Quoitrel could smell fresh blood oozing out to join the crusty remains of the previously dried runnels.
“She’s been in there with them this whole time and she’s still alive?”
“Harrod thinks if he tortures her enough, I’ll trade her for his freedom.”
“And you won’t?”
“I don’t have the authority to. She’s still head alpha.”
“Come on, Angel. Even Devin’s not so callous as to leave his mother to be tortured. The two of you could agree to make the trade. Fuck whoever the council thinks should be in charge.”
“Devin might agree to it, but I wouldn’t. We’re negotiating for an entire pack, not a single person.”
“But that person is your mother.”
Angel just shook his head. Up in the window, Harrod raked his claws down Marta’s body, carving fresh grooves over ones that had started to heal.
“Angel,” Quoitrel protested.
“I honor her best by making the choice she would make herself. And she has been making it. Watch.” Angel hadn’t taken his eyes off the window, showing a determination Quoitrel couldn’t match. He looked again, at Angel’s prompting, and saw how Harrod poked and prodded Marta, how he made her open her eyes to see Angel below her.
“Look at your son,” he said, “standing there, watching you suffer, doing nothing to help you. He could grant you mercy if you asked him for it.”
Marta’s tongue flickered over the dry ruin of her lips. A barely audible roar rumbled from her chest, and her hands fluttered at her sides in a weak approximation of a clawing motion. Through the bloody tips of her human fingers, Quoitrel could make out a hint of claw.
“Be brave, stay strong,” Angel translated for Quoitrel. “She wasn’t the warmest mother. Too busy fighting off challenges and making sure we’d be able to fight them ourselves when the time came. There were never hugs when we were sad or hurt, only that. Be brave, stay strong.” Angel returned the gesture, his claws all the way out and his voice ringing with the strength hers had lacked.
Harrod roared back in annoyance. He flung Marta from him with enough force that Quoitrel heard her body strike something out of sight. Quoitrel winced, but Angel didn’t.
“The troops Lisol sent up from the Southern Pack arrived yesterday,” Angel called up. “But after being advised as to the current situation, they decided they weren’t interested in a war after all. They left again this morning.”
“I don’t need Lisol’s troops.”
“If you’re waiting for your own people to save you, you should know they aren’t here anymore either. Turns out big wolves can run pretty fast when they’re motivated.”
“They’ll be back with reinforcements.”
“I don’t know why anyone would bother rescuing your ass when they can just claim the throne in your absence, but let’s pretend they really love you that much. How long does it take to get to Western Pack territory and back? Six weeks? Two months? Enjoy your gilded cage.” Angel turned on his heel, swirling his robes around him like the pro he was.
“Wait!” Harrod called after him. “Let’s talk.”
Chapter 16
While the brothel was being emptied and the line of enemy shifters escorted out of town, Quoitrel helped Angel carry Marta to the palace.
Two days of compounded injuries had bled her beyond the point of recovery, but she regained enough consciousness to wave away the pack shaman and call Enid to her instead. The two of them had had so little time to enjoy being mates, thanks to the rules that’d bound not just Marta’s subjects, but Marta herself. Now Enid sobbed as she clung to the limp hand that had once been so powerful.
Quoitrel left them to finish their goodbyes in private and went to check on Daisy, who he found awake and eating. He filled him in on what had happened, then took him to the bedroom and fucked him slowly. Their joining was heavy but necessary. Daisy’s heat was still coming in flashes, and Quoitrel needed to banish pain with love.
Even after his knot receded, they lay curled around each other, long past the point where there was an excuse for it, because the world outside their embrace was a sad and scary place. But the continual tread of people walking past the windows on their way to the palace was a reminder that they couldn’t keep reality at bay forever, and eventually Quoitrel rose to put on a clean uniform.
Daisy insisted he was well enough to go to the palace too, but they didn’t have anything for him to wear. Quoitrel was prowling through his living space, contemplating ripping down the kitchen curtains because he didn’t like the idea of putting Daisy in the middle of so many wolves without even a layer of cloth to diffuse the scent of heat coming off him, when his gaze lit on a box wrapped in silver foil and topped by a blue velvet bow.
“My tribute. I forgot all about it.”
“Tribute?”
“The first time we, uh—”
“Fucked?” Daisy laughed as he accepted the box. “I remember now. I said you could buy me a bauble if it made you feel better about fucking me for free. What’s got you so shy all of a sudden though?”
Quoitrel waved at the box with a shaky hand. So much had changed since those days when he’d been more client than lover. He would never forget how valuable a prize he’d won without ever paying for it at all.
