Page 34 of Evan and the Alpha

Ge-Ro sets me down at the table. Someone pours a cup of tea. I can’t drink it.

Finally, Sobek’s omom looks at me. I lift my gaze, then drop it hurriedly, lowering my head. What does he think of me? Sobek was killed over me.

Silence reigns.

“You are a very silly omega,” Sobek’s omom says finally, setting down his teacup. There’s no rebuke in his voice. “Crying like this.”

I want to protest—doesn’t he feel anything? Any grief? His child is dead!

Those golden eyes land back on me, raking me over. “He didn’t even give you a mating bite,” the omega mutters, frown deepening. “And yet you cry like you’re going to die too.”

“I feel like I am.” I can’t keep any of my misery out of my voice.

The omega clucks his tongue, then sips his tea again. “Perhaps,” he says sternly, “you should supplicate your divine parents instead of shedding so many tears.”

I look down into my tea. Now isn’t the time to explain that I’m not a sun spirit or whatever, that I don’t even believe in gods.

We fall silent again.

Some time later, a door opens. There’s a quiet murmur through the crowd that’s gathered in the house. Sobek’s omom looks up. Then he says, in a hushed, harsh whisper, “There is great honor in having an alpha who dies for you.”

I choke on a sob. I don’t want Sobek to die for me.

I want him to keep living. For me. With me.

Sobek’s phapha enters the kitchen. He looks tired. His scales seem dull. He scans the crowd, then lets his gaze land on me. “My son asks for the omega,” he says.

I feel dizzy again. Sobek’s alive. He’s not dead! Yet. He wants to talk to me. Am I in trouble? Is he going to die? Is this some kind of … deathbed wish or ritual or …

I glance at Ge-Ro, who has been sitting beside me silently this whole time. He nods. Hesitantly, I get to my feet. I follow Sobek’s alpha parent down a skinny little hallway, dodging some of the spectators.

His alpha parent leads me into a crammed little room. It smells earthy and then, over top of that, there’s the tang of blood and antiseptic. I look to see an old kroakka leaning on a wizened staff. He nods to me, then turns his head.

Sobek is lying on a stone slab with a few blankets. He looks dead.

I reel back, nearly knocking into his phapha. I don’t want to see him dead.

A firm hand on my shoulder guides me toward the bed. Even if he hadn’t grabbed on to me, his physical words would have spurred me on. “My son fought for you today. He nearly forfeited his life for you. He has asked for you. You must fulfill his wish.”

“Is he …”

I turn to look up at the old alpha, but he says nothing. He just pushes me closer to the bed.

I stumble a bit, still looking at him for some kind of sign. I get nothing. I kneel down, realizing I’m smeared with blood everywhere.

Hesitantly, I take Sobek’s hand. I don’t dare glance down toward his middle, where I know the wound lurks.

I squeeze Sobek’s hand. He’s cold. So cold. I wrap my other hand around his massive mitt, like a relic I’m praying to or something.

Sobek’s eyes open. He stares at the ceiling. Then he turns his head to look at me. “My injuries are grave,” he says.

I shake my head. I don’t want to hear this.

He continues anyway. “I fought for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to!” I shout. “I told you not to, and you did it anyway!” That unbelievable anger floods back into my veins, threatening to lift my head right off my shoulders. Nothing feels real. “Why didn’t you listen to me?!”

Sobek just gazes steadily at me; he lifts his hand and strokes my cheek. I start crying again. “Why didn’t you listen?”