Page 10 of Evan and the Alpha

It will not do to submit to an omega. But equally, an alpha should not harm an omega. After all, omegas are life-givers. Our job is to protect them, not hurt them.

Evan’s grip on my arm tightens. He straightens up, still breathing hard. I think I understand guilt better now. I feel wretched that I have hurt him.

I glance up, unable to gaze at him while he catches his breath. I peer at the cornices topping the windows, the elaborate stonework on some of the buildings. It dawns on me where my feet have taken me.

Home. To my parents.

Evan’s blunt nails dig into my arm. “You,” he practically snarls, and I turn to find him leaning up toward me, all his blunt, white teeth bared.

Gods above, help me if I think anger looks good on him.

I pat his arm. “Come along,” I demand, tugging—gently—on the rope. I unwind it from my hand, giving him as much slack as possible.

He seems skittish of letting the rope tighten too much. He follows along behind me without a word, but his lips don’t uncurl. The fire doesn’t leave his eyes.

Slowly, I lead him through the winding streets, where they turn from mud to brick, and then up the stairs of a brick house ornamented with carved gods and other fine art. Evan looks at me, now curiously more than angrily, and I nod. I push open the door and lead him into my phapha’s house.

***

There is a reason I do not visit my phapha often. I am reminded of that as we sit in his house, on overstuffed cushions on the floor, sipping tea. My sire is silent and critical.

Or perhaps he is judging not me but the omega who sits beside me, pulling faces at his tea. Does he not understand this is rude?

“So,” my phapha says slowly, his wizened gaze shifting between Evan and myself, “you have come to kel-Akurr.”

“Yes,” I agree.

“With an omega,” my omom says as he enters the room with biscuits. He kneels beside the wooden slab that serves as a table, balancing the tray on it. He jangles as he moves, draped as he is in gold and jewels.

Evan stops making faces at his teacup for a moment and watches, apparently mesmerized by the golden bangles sliding down my omom’s wrists. I watch as Evan watches, his green eyes roving over the one who gave me life. I cannot make anything of the sun spirit’s emotions, although I realize this must be the first time he has seen another omega here.

“Yes,” I agree with a huff.

“Such wonderful news,” Omom enthuses, sitting back and clasping his hands together in his lap.

“Not if he doesn’t have a territory, Tek.”

“Now,” Omom says, giving Phapha a reproachful look.

I cough into my hand. “Phapha is right,” I say, lifting my head. “This is not my omega.”

Evan jerks his head to look at me. He looks upset again. I can’t think of anything that I’ve said that could possibly be wrong, yet he looks like he wants to argue.

“Oh.” Omom looks worried.

“You should go and see if the cleaners have finished in the other room,” Phapha instructs. Omom gives me a scorched look—one that says he’s both upset and worried. But he gets to his feet and leaves the room, jangling the entire way.

Phapha looks back at me. “You know,” he starts.

“We need the money,” I counter, and Phapha closes his mouth. I know what he’s going to say anyway, but it doesn’t matter.

He cannot simplybuy me a territory. He cannot hand it to me. We need money now for food and lodging, weapons—maybe medicine or other things. Phapha could give it to me, but there would be no honor in that. What kind of alpha would I be?

Evan’s watching the exchange with a critical eye. I don’t think he understands much—how could he? He’s not even kroakka.

Phapha turns his golden gaze on Evan. “And just what sort of omega is this, Sobek?”

“I’m a human,” Evan says before I can stop him.