Page 19 of Evan and the Alpha

7

Sobek

Iknew, in an instant, that Evan was my omega. The knowledge became self-evident the second our snouts touched; strange as it was, it was perfect. Like we were always meant to be. Like he’d been crafted just for me.

And, I supposed, if he was a sun spirit, a child of the gods, then he had been.

Jealousy had been clawing at my chest all afternoon. I hadn’t wanted to take those bids. It had taken everything I had not to rip Nojak limb from limb. At first, I thought I was being petty and jealous; I am an unmated alpha with no prospects. Nojak already has an omega. Why should he have another while I have none?

Now I see clearly: I am not jealous of Nojak for having more omegas. I don’t want him to have Evan. I don’t want anyone to have Evan. The human omega is mine.

I should have listened to my phapha. I should have listened to my heart. I have made a grave mistake in selling Evan, and I will have to pay dearly for it tomorrow.

But that does not matter here and now, in this candlelit room of the inn. I’m ashamed: my omega knew and was able to open himself to this knowledge before I could. My omega had to ask me to keep him. He had to confess to me all that he feels. He had to beg me.

That should not have happened. I am the alpha; my job is to protect my omega, to anticipate his needs, and, above all else, keep him safe.

I have not kept my Evan safe at all. I have put him in danger. And worse, I have not anticipated his needs. I have all but ignored them, and in doing so, I have likely caused him no small amount of pain.

A flutter of panic rises in the back of my throat; perhaps we’re not crafted for each other the way I want to believe we are. Perhaps we’re incompatible after all.

I quash that idea as quickly as it bubbles up. Evan says he wants to stay with me and be my mate. He told me to make him mine.

And who am I to begrudge an omega anything?

I cup his cheek, mindful of my claws, and look into those glittering green eyes of his. They seem darker in the candlelight. Or perhaps that’s desire in them, unfurling slowly, like the flame licks the candlewick and slowly melts the wax away.

He rubs our snouts together. I nose at his neck; his breath hitches. I can’t tell if it’s pain from the livid bruising that has blossomed all over his skin or if it’s pleasurable for him.

I pull back, peering down at him. His eyes are even darker now, his round pupils even rounder. He seems rosier even in the firelight and he seems, for the first time in a while, like a little bit of divinity.

I was a fool for trying to give this away. I can’t sell him; Evan has no price. I will keep him in my bed, by my side, where he belongs.

With that thought, I slither off the couch I have been resting on. I pick my omega up from the floor, marveling at how light he is in my arms. He rubs our snouts together again, then presses his lips to the tip of my snout as I carry him to my sleeping chambers.

I lay him down on the bed—a plush, oversized pillow with a mass of furs and blankets. I wish fiercely that this was my bed, in my territory. A perfect nest for my omega.

No matter. I will find him a nest. I push my snout against his again, then travel down his body, nosing at his neck, his chest, heaving under the gauzy layers of the shendyat. Gods, he’s beautiful. Worth more than twenty-five hundred pebbles, surely.

I pause to unfasten some of the long ropes of finely wrought gold that encircle his waist. They fall away, glinting in the candlelight. The shendyat slides open from there, easily, as though welcoming my touch, inviting my hands to his skin.

Evan watches me as I let my hands rove the expanse of bronze-toned skin. I touch one of the strange discolored areas on his chest—a tiny circle, darker, pinker, than the rest of his skin. I’ve been surreptitiously paying attention to these all day. They seemed flat at first, but they stood up when he was cold. And then again when he was close to me.

Now, this one hardens under my touch, the center pulling in and standing at attention. Evan’s breath hitches, so I lift my gaze. “What are these?” I ask.

He turns a beautiful shade of pink. “Nipples,” he mumbles, like he’s embarrassed.

“What do they do? Why do you have them?” Surely, he’s noticed that kroakka do not.

“I, um.” He releases a breath; his eyes flutter shut for a second or two. “Humans are … mammals. Women—er, females. Or … certain humans, when they have a baby, they … feed them with milk.”

“From your own body?”

Evan nods. Something like panic flashes across his face. “But not me! Not … not humans like me. I’m, uh. Male. And we don’t have babies.”

I frown. “Then why do you have these nipples?” I think it’s good evidence Evan is more of an omega than he thinks he is. Why else would he have the equipment his people need to feed babies if he isn’t expected to undertake that task?

He considers for a minute; I can see he’s thinking hard. “Everyone here starts male,” he says. “Or … beta.”