My cheeks heat thinking about his half-shift. For reasons I cannot explain, memories of that huge, savage beast brings a flutter to my breathing and a tight urgent clenching in my womb. Given my mate’s enthusiastic attention last evening, I cannot imagine why I’m needy again. Perhaps I’m due for my heat?
As it often does, my mind turns to mischief. I think back to that conversation with Belle when we ate honey cake in my mother’s day room. Here, she confessed that she had goaded her mates into disciplining her to get her own way. I put the spoon down in the bowl with an exaggerated huff. “I’m powerfully sick of mash,” I say, drawing on my most regal and haughty tone that is sure to get me the spanking I so badly want.
“I think someone needs their bottom tanning again,” Raglan says, eyes narrowing on me, although I see his little smirk that says he sees right through my game. “Followed by a swift rutting to settle their attitude.”
“Oh!” I say as he suddenly stands. My bowl drops as he fists my arm and tosses me over his shoulder.
I giggle. My upturned bottom receives a firm spank as he strides across the deck toward the galley and our cabin.
“What has she done?” Caden asks as we pass him. I see him turn to follow our progress.
“Attitude,” Raglan calls, for we are making haste down the steps leading to the galley. “The wench needs constant rutting just to keep things on an even keel. Best fetch Brook.”
A small crowd has gathered at the ship’s prow as news of the port sighting spreads. I am powerfully tired of the sea and cannot wait to meet land . . . and Hawthorn. Since learning my first Alpha awaits us here, I’m aflutter with nerves and excitement.
Excited, because I have missed him more than I can believe.
Nervous because I have claimed Raglan as my fourth Alpha mate, and I don’t know how Hawthorn will react.
Overhead, the red wolf flag flutters. Seagulls fly circles around the ship, dipping and soaring on the currents. Ahead is a shoreline with buildings in shades of brown and grey jutting unevenly toward the sky. Hydornia is a strange, foreign land. Where we have one king, they have many. They also have unusual etiquette relating to Alphas and Omegas. I have heard that Omegas here are paired with a single mate.
One mate . . . it must be a strangely straightforward arrangement.
Caden and Brook come and join me, and we gaze together at the scene. Two great sailing ships predominate the small dock, but there are many smaller trading vessels and fishing boats bobbing alongside. To the port town’s right, set high against the backdrop of the mountains, sits a stately home. I’ve seen pictures in books, and from this distance, its grandeur already shines.
As we draw closer, details become clear. Tiny stick figures moving about on the docks. My tummy ties in knots. I wonder where Hawthorn will be? I feel like laughing and crying all at the same time, knowing he is near.
Then I see him. I know it’s him instantly, and my heart pounds with such joy that I fear it will burst. He stands proudly upon the dock, taller and far more imposing than anyone around him. At his side, I see soldiers, their fine armor glistening even in the dull day.
For so long, details of his compelling face remain indistinguishable, and then suddenly, they are not.
“Fuck,” Brook mutters.
“Fuck,” Caden agrees.
“Fuck,” I say.
Distracted, I don’t notice Raglan’s approach until he pinches my bottom, eliciting a short squeal from my lips when he finds a sore spot with ease. “Ah, the brooding, cloaked figure awaits us on the docks,” he says. “The honorable Hawthorn. As if we have not suffered enough, we must engage in a public challenge.” He sighs heavily. “It has been a while since we last conversed. Can he be reasoned with enough to delay confrontation until we are out of the town?”
“Maybe,” Brook says.
“I doubt it,” Caden disagrees.
This is not playing out to my liking. “This is bollocks,” I say, this time Raglan delivers a sound spank.
“One of you should go and reason with him first,” Raglan says, wrapping his arm around my waist from behind, which makes me deeply uncomfortable given Hawthorn’s thunderous expression.
“Me,” I say.
“Not you,” Brook and Caden say in unison.
“Clearly not you,” Raglan says. His other hand slips down to pat my bottom, and there is something about seeing Hawthorn after so long and yet feeling Raglan’s hand there that stirs a wicked kind of arousal that I cannot begin to understand.
“Why not me?” I twist around to look at Raglan, but his eyes are on Hawthorn. It is the look of a man sizing up his opponent. This has all become very messy. I did not credit just how much so.
“What do you mean, why not you?” Raglan asks, frowning now at the man on the dock. “Are you dim-witted, lass? He will toss you over his shoulder, take you off, and rut you.”
I shudder. It is not an unpleasant thought.
Raglan huffs out a breath, for he can read right through me. “The wench’s insatiable need for rutting will break us all.”
Brook chuckles. “There is no better way to be broken,” he quips, receiving a scowl from Caden.
“Let him rut her,” Caden says. “It will be the quickest way to calm him down.”
“It will not calm him down,” Raglan says, censure plain in his clipped voice. “It will rouse him to an even greater frenzy when he’s done, and he’ll beat me twice as hard.”
“You deserve to be beaten,” Brook says, earning a cuff from his older brother. “What?” He glares at Caden. “He has stolen a place with Priya while we have sailed the high seas. Hawthorn is right to be unhappy. He will not accept Raglan until he gets it out of his system. He will feel better only once he
