by Leta Blake
“Looks aren’t everything,” Yosef said wisely.
“That’s easy for you to say when Rosen looks like he could be a star of stage and screen.”
“But he’s also an exquisite artist and can dissect the philosophical works of Jeveris like he teaches the stuff. Oh, wait, he does teach the stuff.” He winked at his lover and then leaned back in his chair, sighing softly. “How could this have happened, Vale? You, of all people, deserved better than this. You’ve suffered too much already, what with your parents’ death and then…”
It was the closest Yosef would come to mentioning the second horrible rebound heat and the illegal abortion.
Yosef went on. “And now this? Omegas have it hard, but you’ve had it harder than most.”
Vale always knew Yosef pitied him his lot in life, but it still hurt to hear.
“We don’t know yet if it’s as bad as all that,” Vale said carefully. “He seems kind enough.”
“Kind? Stalking you at your home, making you feel unsafe, and—”
“He didn’t mean to scare me. He’s not in control of himself right now. He brought alpha quell with him and he took it. He didn’t intend any harm.”
“Hmm.”
“Yosef, he’s my alpha. Even if I never contract with him, that won’t change. You’ll have to get used to it.”
“And Urho?”
“He’s…” Vale trailed off, not sure how to discuss it.
“Heartbroken,” Rosen said.
“He does love you,” Yosef added.
“And I love him, too, but we’ve never loved each other as life partners. Just as friends. It’s not like the two of you. And it’s nothing like this beginning bond I feel growing now.” He frowned.
“What’s that like, really?” Rosen switched off the water and set up to fry the fish in a dented pan over the stove.
“Intense.” Vale didn’t want to say more. It was too personal and left him feeling out of control, like heat: compulsive and needful. But he wasn’t going to say that either. “In other news, I’ve been let go from the university until I’ve contracted and bonded with Jason Sabel, or until he’s graduated after taking a surrogate. Whichever comes first.”
“What?” Yosef turned to him, brows drawn low. “Absurd. That’s discrimination, surely.”
“You’re the attorney. You tell me.”
He stroked his white beard slowly. “The law does give preference to the alpha in all things, obviously, and an alpha’s education takes primacy over an omega’s career. Their future is always so much more important than an omega’s present,” he said snidely, citing a familiar position taken by the omega freedom groups.
“Well, they do have to provide for us horny, pregnant, omega sluts,” Vale said, offering up the New Wolf Reform and Wolf Above parties’ counterargument as grossly as possible. He rubbed his eyes and slouched in his chair. “Alphas need a good education for that.”
Yosef patted Vale’s forearm. “Don’t talk about it like that. You’ll get yourself in trouble.”
Vale laughed. What was he in now if not trouble?
“What are his family’s politics?” Rosen flipped the fish and added some herbs he’d stashed in Vale’s cupboards. “Do you know?”
“They have money, so my default assumption is they vote Stringent Wolf Reform, but I can’t say for sure. They could be religious and go Wolf Above.”
“Yule Sable is his father?” Yosef asked.
“Yes, and his pater is Miner Hoff. I know nothing about either. I’m sure they’ve got an investigator looking into me, but I can’t afford to throw money at that kind of nonsense.”
“Actually, you can. You’re due an allowance now. No need to be so frugal with your inheritance.”
“I’m not going to accept an allowance. That’s absurd.”
“What’s absurd is that you won’t even consider it. Look, Yule Sabel owns a company that makes engine parts for motorcars. That family is beyond well off. They’ve also inherited money from lands they owned and sold in the last fifty years for a sum that would take your breath away. It was in the papers. You’d know these things if you read one from time to time.”
Vale rolled his eyes. Newspapers were for people who wanted to see all the ugly things in the world. Poets needed to see beauty or they’d never get a word down that wasn’t ruined by tears.
“Look who’s arrived for dinner,” Rosen said sweetly. “It’s my pookie-wookie wum-wum.”
Zephyr slinked into the room, sniffing the air delicately.
“She despises baby talk, Rosen,” Vale said. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”
Zephyr rubbed against Rosen’s ankles and meowed adorably until he dropped a piece of fish. She ran off with it to the corner, where she ate in jerky little bites of bliss.
“Well, if you’re going to bribe her, you can talk to her however you want, apparently. Some morals you’ve got there, Zephyr,” Vale called to her. “Who knew your affections were for hire?” He turned his gaze to Yosef. “Unlike mine.”
“That is ludicrous.” Yosef folded his arms. “As your attorney, I can’t allow you to leave that kind of money on the table.”
“I won’t be beholden to them. I won’t be forced into a contract by profiting financially from the imprinting.”
“That’s not how it works legally. They owe you the money whether you contract with their son or not. For the rest of your life. Even if he takes a surrogate. It’s how it’s done. Period. There’s no obligation on your part at all.”
“Don’t be asinine, of course there is. There’s emotional obligation, if not legal. I can’t accept funds from them and not have that play into my choices.”
“If I know you, and I do, it would make you resist contracting more rather than less,” Yosef argued. “You wouldn’t want to feel like a prostitute.”
“Not like old Zephyr over there,” Vale said, eyeing his cat. “The little fish whore.”
They fell into silence, both of them mulling over the situation as Rosen finished up dinner. Vale rubbed at his eyes, imagining not having to worry any longer about money. It was tempting. And yet…
“I’m due the money even if he takes a surrogate?” Vale asked. “Why?”
“Because, as the omega, you’d be forbidden to contract with another alpha for life. He’d also have to pay the government a handsome annual fine for the loss of your potential reproductive benefit to the world at large—”
“Will he have to pay that if I contract with him?”
“Only if you refuse to contract for a live birth.”
They stared at each other.
“So he’d have to pay the fine regardless,” Vale said eventually.
“And the allowance to you, as well. If he took a surrogate, he’d have to file papers to the government explaining why. In your case, infertility or age would do the trick, and he could continue on with another omega for the purposes of making a family. The government approves of that. But given that you’re Érosgápe, there would be blood on the street if the discarded omega reproduced with anyone else, thus the laws preventing you from such, and the fine Jason would need to pay.”
“Why wouldn’t that be forgiven if the reason for taking a surrogate was my infertility?”
“Because the government prizes two things above all else: money and babies. Period. Logic need not apply.”
Rosen removed the baked sweet potatoes from the oven and retrieved plates for them all.
“Let’s assume he takes a surrogate,” Vale said, his throat tightening strangely. “What happens with my heats?”
“You’d have to be incredibly discreet in how you handle them from now on. Though, so long as you had minimal contact with your alpha, there would be almost no way for him to know how you got through them or with whom.”
Rosen spoke up. “I’ve never understood why an infertile omega has to be discarded. Can’t an alpha handle two? A surrogate and his Érosgápe can’t be too much for a young, virile
alpha to care for simultaneously.”
Vale growled under his breath, a sick, rolling feeling starting in his gut at the idea of sharing his home or alpha with another omega.
Yosef’s brows lifted in amusement. “There’s that reaction for one,” he said. “But more importantly, they used to do just that. Omegas in days of yore were treated like breeding stock, with important and powerful alphas literally purchasing uncontracted omegas for the purposes of spreading their seed wide and far. This ultimately resulted in a reduction of the gene pool and genetic anomalies, and some unsatisfied alphas started renouncing their contracts to sell their omegas to wealthier alphas with two, three, or up to five omegas. Eventually the government stepped in and put a stop to it. That was well before New Wolf Reform took over, obviously. Apparently, even the religious kooks in Wolf Above could see the problems of human trafficking.”
Vale stared out the kitchen window, watching a few leaves float on the breeze and land gently in the yard.
“But there’s no reason to assume he’ll take a surrogate,” Yosef said soothingly.
Vale shrugged. It shouldn’t matter, and yet his stomach knotted up at the thought of being rejected by his Érosgápe. Logic need not apply in his heart, either, he supposed.
“How can we make it palatable for you to take the allowance you’re owed?” Yosef asked, bringing the conversation back around to money again.
“You can’t.”
“I’ll find a way.
“Dinner is served.” Rosen brought plates of fish and baked sweet potatoes to the table.
They dropped the topic of Vale’s unexpected Érosgápe for dinner, instead speaking of Rosen and Yosef’s tentative plans for the various upcoming Autumn Nights celebrations. After they’d eaten, cleaned up the dishes, and moved to Vale’s study, it was clear Yosef was ready to get into it again. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the doorbell rang.
Vale’s stomach flipped and tangled as he walked down the hall toward the front door.
Would it be Jason? Did he hope it was or dread the idea? Damn the Érosgápe imprint. It clouded everything.
A messenger stood on the front stoop with two fat envelopes in his arms.
“Mr. Aman?”
“That’s me, yes.”
“These are from the Law Offices of Tissue & Freet. If you’d sign here…” He indicated a form and held out a pen.
As Vale signed, Yosef appeared at his elbow. “What’s this?”
“No idea.” Vale passed the form back to the messenger and accepted the packages in return. “They’re from a law firm.” He tucked them under his arm as the messenger stepped through the front lawn, dodging the falling leaves and dropping acorns of the oak tree by the gate. “Maybe Rory has already sent the terms of my temporary resignation, but I can’t imagine it’d require two packets to get the job done.”
“Ah, no,” Yosef murmured, grabbing the top envelope from Vale’s hands. “These are pre-negotiation disclosures. Everything about Jason Sabel his family deems important for your consideration and review before the official contract negotiations begin.”
As they made their way back to the study, Zephyr darted in front of them, prancing with her tail held high. Vale turned on the hallway lights, using the dimmer his father had installed to keep the atmosphere pleasantly intimate. He rarely turned the lights to full brightness since his parents’ death, preferring the gift of shadows over the stark revelations of white electric bulbs.
Back in the study, Rosen and Yosef lounged against each other on the sofa with Zephyr perched on Rosen’s thighs. Vale settled in, and they all stared at the packages on the coffee table.
“Pre-negotiation disclosures,” Yosef explained in response to Rosen’s questioning look.
“Already? It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”
“They’ve probably been compiling the file since Jason first presented as an alpha,” Yosef explained. “Most families do. Then when the time comes, they only have to add the latest information to the top, usually the alpha’s final grades, specific plans for his immediate future, career goals and living arrangements, that sort of thing. But aside from those items, they’ve already got a nice packet put together for the family of any omega their son imprints on or considers for a contract.”
Vale picked up a packet, weighing it in his hands and examining the unbroken seal. “These are big envelopes for only a few years’ worth of information on Jason.”
“There’s probably family information as well—ancestry, accounts of the most recent live births in the family, properties Jason would stand to inherit, business endeavors. Basically everything you could possibly need to know about the Sabel and Hoff families. And given their wealth and status, that information might go all the way back to early post-Death years.”
“What am I supposed to do with it all?” Vale brought the packet to his nose, smelling the sweetness of fresh paper mixed with the dust of old documents, too. Whatever was in these packets was more information than he wanted. But it was all things the Sabels would expect him to know.
“I’ll be happy to sort through it with you. I’ve overseen contracts before.”
“I can make myself scarce with a book, or better yet, hop out to the grocery to restock your kitchen,” Rosen offered. “Whatever is in these packets isn’t any of my business.”
Vale nodded slowly. “I appreciate that. There’s plenty of cash in the second drawer down in the kitchen. Below the knives.”
“Because a thief should definitely have access to weapons before robbing you blind,” Rosen scolded.
Vale shrugged. He used to keep his money in a safe in his father’s old study—now a guest room—but then he’d forgotten the combination, locking a nice wad of cash up for all eternity, apparently. So now he just shoved whatever cash he took out of the bank into the drawer in the kitchen. Why not? There were plenty of nicer houses on Oak Avenue for thieves to hit before his. Who’d decide that a house with an overgrown garden and an abundance of dust on all the furniture visible through the windows made for a good bet?
Rosen unsettled Zephyr who protested with a screechy meow and took off for a bookshelf, knocking a few smaller volumes to the floor in her temper.
“She likes you much better than me. Just take her with you when you go.” Vale frowned at the book of Calitan poetry that had landed on its spine, pages falling open.
“Yosef is too demanding of my attention.” Rosen chuckled. “She’s better off with you. All right, I’ll be back in a hour and half with some fresh, mold-free food.” He bent to drop a kiss on Yosef’s head, and then headed out, calling over his shoulder, “Hire my lover, would you? Before you screw yourself over, Vale.”
Vale moved from the wingback chair to the sofa, bringing the packet with him. “Yosef, you know I trust your judgment. Despite our disagreement about the allowance, will you agree to act as my attorney in this matter?”
“Of course.”
“I suppose I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask about your fees.”
“Waived.”
“I insist on paying you.”
“If you accept the allowance, I’ll consider it. If not, then absolutely not.”
Vale sighed and held the first packet out to Yosef. “Will you do the honors?”
“With pleasure.”
There were pictures. Vale hadn’t expected that.
The first photo was of a tiny Jason on his pater’s lap, face covered in what appeared to be chocolate pie, and the words “Mister Mess, age 2” printed neatly on the back. The second was of Jason as an infant, held in his Father’s arms, a tiny fist pressed against his puckered lips. The third was from Jason’s fifth birthday party—cherub cheeks lit by five candles on the cake. The fourth was a painfully awkward shot of Jason during puberty; his nose was too big for his face and his right cheekbone was warped by a large pimple. He was smiling, though, and Vale recognized that smile from earlier in the day when it had flashed at him momentarily and beautifully.
“He’s smart,” Yosef said, tapping the last picture. “That’s an award for the highest marks in science for his school.”
Vale hadn’t even noticed the small trophy in Jason’s hands. He’d been too transfixed by the gangly boy he’d once been. Well, the even ganglier boy. Jason was still tall, thin, and moved like a puppy growing into his bones.
“I’m sure they have his grade reports in here somewhere,” Yosef said, moving on to sort through the rest of the papers.
“Why would they send these?” Vale went back to the first pictures of Jason as a baby. The parents—Yule and Miner—looked quite young in them. They almost glowed with happiness, and Jason was adorable in their arms.
“Two-fold: to show that he’s been a healthy child all through his life, but also to whet your appetite for babies of your own. ‘Look how cute your alpha was! Don’t you want to make one of these with him?’”
Vale chewed on his bottom lip. Truth be told, if circumstances were different, then yes, he’d like to have one of these of his own—to carry on his parents’ genes and to satisfy his own yearnings, and presumably, the yearnings of his alpha. But…
“Is it working?” Yosef asked quietly, reading through more papers and laying them out in some order Vale didn’t understand.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Vale shrugged and put the photos aside. “What else is there?”
“A letter from his parents.” He passed it to Vale. “For the most part, it states the usual: their hopes and dreams for a good pairing with their son, desire for grandchildren, and a confidence that the families can be joined amicably. But the second page is interesting. It outlines Miner Hoff’s biological condition, potentially heritable, that made carrying to term nearly impossible for him. It’s relevant only in that your own offspring with Jason could carry the gene. If there’s to be any offspring.”
