“You enrage the King every fucking week,” I say. “So, aye, I did think you had gotten up to some misunderstanding or other.”
He chuckles. “This is true. Which is why I cannot be her first Alpha.”
“If you do not take first Alpha, we will fight again when I make a decision you do not agree with,” I say.
“Perhaps less often than you might think,” he says, eyes turning to stare at the bleak, edge-of-winter landscape. “We have not seen each other in a few years, but I’ve not changed so much. If I wanted to lead, I could have led my pack long since. I am reckless, suffer an overabundance of pride, and have the worst sense of humor.”
He does have the worst sense of humor, this much is true . . . and excessive pride. He is undoubtedly reckless. He would make a truly terrible first Alpha.
“And besides, a miserable bastard like you is much better suited to keeping the little brat in her place.” He grins. “Which means it will be me the wench turns to for comfort . . . and mischief.”
My eyes narrow.
“She is reckless, too,” he says. “It is in her blood. Who better to understand her needs, and who better to protect her at such times than me? You will keep a tight leash upon her. And while I can see it would keep her safe, she has a soul that needs a sense of freedom, too.”
My head pounds, but I can still see sense in what he says. She has a fourth mate now, and nothing is drawing her to flight. Yet, she possesses an untamed wildness, one I have fallen in love with long since. Over time, I might stifle that, but Raglan will set it free. Together we will find a middle ground where our sweet Omega might flourish and yet still be safe.
“We will be joint first Alpha,” I say. It is what Bram and Silas do . . . sort of. Silas is still officially first Alpha, and Bram is still officially firstborn and lord, although they have reached an agreement. I remember well the day they set upon one another in the farmer’s field. Now, here I am doing the same.
“We will not share first Alpha,” Raglan says, scowling. “Do I need to beat you some more before you accept the fucking title?”
I hold up a hand. “Fine, I will take the fucking title.”
A call comes from the direction of the house. It is Caden. “Priya is going into heat!”
Raglan
When we arrive at the rooms that the kind Duke and Duchess have provided, a small army of servants are waiting with provisions. There are also two maids laden with soft nesting materials.
I swallow thickly, beyond the closed door comes the unmistakable sounds of rutting.
My claws spring, and my inner wolf throws his head back and howls. Caden instructs the servants to leave everything on the floor, but Hawthorn is staring at me . . . at my claws.
Fighting my bestial side, I retract them. I have not yet had a chance to discuss my way of mating with Hawthorn. He whisked Priya to the room and spent a full day and night rutting her. Then after emerging, he immediately challenged me.
So, here we are, and Hawthorn is staring at my human fingertips, expression so grim that Caden stops and stares, too. From beyond the door comes Priya’s wild scream that is unmistakably pleasure. My claws spring again, and I must battle to keep my shift at bay.
“He will need to rut her last,” Caden says, breaking the impasse.
My wolf is clamoring under the surface. He wants to feel her tight little hole clenching around a cock that is half beast and half human. I understand Caden’s caution that it is better to rut her last. The further into her heat, the more limber her body will become.
Hawthorn’s jaw locks, and a tic thumps as he stares me down. “You are not rutting her in wolf form. She is no wolf bitch.”
“Half-shift,” I say, my voice turning to gravel. “I cannot fully mate her otherwise.”
“You have already fucking marked her,” he says.
“Half-shift,” I repeat. “I will go last. She is not afraid of that form.”
“She would be afraid of your fucking monster cock,” Hawthorn grits out. “Were she not high on her heat.”
“I will go last,” I say once more, not prepared to back down, even if it means we must fight, and I take first Alpha place as my right.
Hawthorn doesn’t argue further, for another high, rapturous scream pierces our attention. He nods, thrusts open the door, and strides inside, leaving Caden and me to gather up the things.
“Better let me get the nesting,” Caden says, glancing meaningfully at my claws.
It is not easy carrying laden trays with claws better suited to ripping flesh apart, but I manage, kicking the door shut behind me. I don’t look at the bed, although the sounds are twice as intense now that I’m inside. The air is saturated with pheromones, and the sweetness of slick, my dick aroused painfully, throbs behind my pants.
“Do not fucking knot her,” Hawthorn growls.
Brook growls right back.
“Test me, lad, and I will put you in your place, and you will not rut her until all of us are done.”
I dump the cloth-covered food and water on the table; I cannot see us eating or drinking much. Omega heats can take anything from a day to a week. I’ve no clue how long it might last for Priya or whether my inclusion will change things.
Caden has dumped the mountain of soft nesting beside the bed—Priya does not notice. Brook has her face-first into the bed by the hair, and she is already half-feral as she humps her hips back, encouraging him to rut. Hawthorn strips, the powerful body that I have beaten bloody, emerging. Caden and I wordlessly follow suit, our eyes on the bed where Brook now tempers
