Page 27 of Glitterati Omega

Six

R

upert woke up face-down on a scratchyquilt. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, sniffing gently at it until he realized that, beneath the hint of detergent, everything smelled likealpha.

He opened his eyes. Then he twisted around in the bed, sitting up and peering around the crowded little room. The bed, with its dark-stained posts, seemed to have been crammed into the room, with barely enough space to walk down either side of it. It was nearly jammed up against the massive, dark oak dresser that dominated the opposite wall, and Rupert stared at himself in the oval mirror—blond locks tousled every which way, red marks pressed into his flushed cheeks, dress sliding off his shoulders and skirt crinkled up around his thighs. He’d lost his skivvies at some point.

“Heavens,” he muttered, glancing around at the rest of the room, trying to remember what the hell had happened. This looked like one of the cottages at the old estate.

Something banged—a metallic sound, followed by a click and the hiss and flare of gas, another bang, and then running water.

He toppled himself out of bed, barely straightening his skirt, then tiptoed down the hall, still trying to place the scent of alpha. It wasn’t Thomas, that much he knew. He didn’t remember going to a bar last night—although he smelled like booze. He remembered dinner with Winston, and oh, God, the cancer charity, and feeling sick to his stomach and …

And …

He stepped into the kitchen before his brain could sputter to a start. He stared dully at Winston, who glanced over his shoulder and pointed to a drip coffee-maker on the counter, the carafe filled with dark liquid. “Help yourself,” the alpha said, then went back to stirring something in a pan.

Rupert stared for a moment more, slowly remembering he’d wanted to leave the party and Winston had taken him home to wait, because …

“Oh,” he said when everything finally clicked, then flushed up to his ears when he remembered Winston kneeling on the floor in front of him, the lawyer’s face buried between his thighs, his tongue—

He collapsed onto one of the stools at the island. He’d really gone into heat, hadn’t he? He felt fine enough now, so maybe it had just been a fluke.

Winston glanced over his shoulder again. “How do you like your eggs?”

Rupert startled, then stared at him, trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about. Yes, Rupert knew that was what a heat cycle was about, but he didn’t think Winston should be asking him anything about—

The alpha pointed at the pan. “I hope scrambled is all right?”

“Oh!” Rupert cried. “Yes, that’s—that’s all right.” He preferred poached, but he didn’t think he had much room to be particular. “I’m a bit scrambled myself.”

Winston chuckled. “You had a lot of wine.”

“Huh.” Rupert raked a hand through his locks, then peered through the sliding door into the backyard. There was an awful lot of plants; it looked like a jungle. “You’re a gardener?”

“Something of one,” Winston said, then dumped eggs out on a plate. “Much better at that than cooking, at least.”

Rupert looked at the charred egg on the plate. “Well,” he said. “We all have to have talents.”

“Mm,” Winston agreed.

“Mine’s fucking things up,” Rupert grumbled, accepting a chipped mug of coffee as Winston slid it his way.

“Oh?”

Rupert nodded. “I was infamous for killing plants in horticulture. And I was not any good at the culinary arts.”

Winston laughed, then settled beside him. “Surely, you have some talents?”

Rupert glanced at him, then hesitated. He shook his head. “No,” he said, “that’s why I went into nursing.”

Winston set his coffee mug down with a clink. “I think that takes talent,” he said.

“Not really,” Rupert murmured. “Does it take special talent to get a bedpan full of liquid poo flung at you?”

Winston snorted. “I think there’s something in sticking with it.”

Rupert shrugged. “I’ve always liked it well enough,” he murmured. “I debated going back to it, after …” He hesitated to mention the cancer. “Although I don’t suppose I have to stick with it. I don’t need to stick at anything.”