Page 4 of Evan and the Alpha

“Yes, yes,” I grumble. Yafir has spent the better part of two days reminding me that the omega isn’t one of ours. Not one of us. I can’t expect a sun spirit to behave like a kroakka.

I clear my throat. “Shouldn’t a sun spirit be able to handle the heat?” I look Yafir dead in the eye.

Yafir blinks a couple of times, then looks away. He opens his mouth a couple of times, then closes it tight.

There’s a shift in the air around me. The others have taken notice of our altercation.

Something to keep an eye on, I suppose. Power shifts rarely come out of the blue. No, they happen slowly, incrementally. Faith goes rancid, leads to rebellion. Once the limb’s septic, all you can do is hack it off. The same is true of rebellious brothers and treacherous betas.

Being an alpha is not an easy task. One must always be on guard, ready for the attack. The alpha must be ready to lead the attack, to strike first and claim victory.

Up ahead, Evan takes two more steps, then wobbles. He collapses into the sand without so much as a cry. I grit my teeth as Yafir rushes by me, the omega’s name falling from his tongue.

This will not play to his favor. I won’t allow it.

***

I call a halt, and we break camp. It’s a terrible place to stop, really—we’re as far from the river as we are from kel-Akurr. Both suns blaze overhead, and there isn’t even the hint of a leaf to protect us from the wrath of Nomantru and Enochtra.

We can’t go on though. The sun spirit omega is burning up.

I’m concerned that the omega’s sudden collapse, so soon after Yafir challenged me, will shift my brothers’ loyalty to Yafir. Yafir is clearly wiser. I will push too hard, too far. I will get them all killed.

I cannot let anything happen to the omega as a result. If he’s been wounded, if he’s taken ill—if he dies—then my brothers’ trust in me will be broken. I cannot allow it.

So we pitch our tents. I carry the omega to mine. He seems caught in some fevered nightmare, panting and twisting by turns.

His skin has turned a furious red, but only where the sun has touched him. I wonder if Nomantru and Enochtra are angry with their child.

Ge-Ro used the water in one of the skeins to wet a cloth and laid it over the omega’s feverish forehead. I’ve been picking it up and rewetting it periodically, then laying it over his brow again. I’ve forced him to drink water as well. He keeps shaking, and I wonder what’s wrong with him. He seemed quite fine before.

Perhaps I should have listened to him when he complained.

I ignore that thought, shaking it away like I shake the near-empty skein. We’ll be short of water for the rest of the trek. I frown.

Then I notice Evan has turned to face me. His eyes are mere slits, but they’re open. “I’m cold,” he says.

“How can you be cold?” I demand. “Nomantru and Enochtra burn down on us. Heat wafts on the open air.” I’m baking, and Ilikethe heat.

He shakes his head, then sits up slowly. He clutches at his head with a soft groan. He points to his shoulders. “It’s the sunburn,” he murmurs.

“Sunburn?” I frown. “Nomantru and Enochtra burn you?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. He still seems poorly, so I offer him what’s left of the water. He takes it without thanks, drinking it down greedily, his throat working as he swallows.

I clench my jaw. Wordlessly, I take the empty skein back. He touches his red skin gingerly. “It’s called heat stroke,” he offers. “We get it if we’re out in the hot sun too long. We overheat.”

“What is the cure?” I ask cautiously.

He laughs a little. It’s a strange noise, nothing like the clicking and chirping we do. “Water. Cooling off.”

He snorts with amusement, and I almost can’t help the smile that lifts the corners of my mouth. I tamp down on the smile the second I realize I’m doing it. There is nothing funny about what he said.

“If you have not noticed,” I say, letting the irritation seep into my tone, “we are in the middle of a desert. There will be no ‘cooling off’ until nightfall.”

I watch as his spine straightens; the amusement evaporates from his face. “I know,” he says, glancing away. Like he’s afraid to meet my gaze.

No, that’s not right. He’s … embarrassed? Guilty. It’s not an emotion I have a terrible amount of familiarity with, but seeing it in the solemn lines of the omega’s face, I find it very satisfactory. He has been sufficiently chastened.