Page 9 of Evan and the Alpha

4

Sobek

Evan has not said a single word since we arrived in kel-Akurr. I am surprised that I do not find this a relief. At all.

Perhaps it’s the air of foreboding around him. Or perhaps it’s the thunderclap expression brewing in his eyes. One thing is very clear to me—the sun spirit omega is very, very angry.

I try to tell myself that is not my concern. In three days, we will take him to the market and he will become someone else’s problem. It was our intent to sell him from the very beginning.

He will fetch us some very pretty pebbles. Even if he claims he is not a sun spirit—and not an omega—someone will pay for him. He’s rare enough; I’ve never seen anything like him before.

His silence is perhaps more grating than his incessant whining. I debate what to do as I lead the way through the crowded streets of kel-Akurr. I do not like his silence, but if I ask him to speak, I might be admitting that I like his voice. I will be so glad to be rid of him.

For now, he is my shadow as we make our way past the market, past tenements and restaurants and brothels alike. Clothes hang from lines strung between buildings. The air is thick with the scent of frying fish, bird, and gazelle. Some people—many of them young betas—stop and stare at us.

Yes, Evan stands out. He doesn’t seem to notice; he is too busy sulking.

An insistent thought nudges at the back of my brain: if Evan is so sulky about being sold, does that mean he wants to stay? With us?

I am not sure why there’s a flutter of excitement at the idea. He’s nothing but trouble—and maybe bound to be more, if the looks we’re garnering from the shadows are any indication.

I tug on Evan’s lead. “Stay close,” I growl at him.

He stumbles but says nothing still.

Some vendors call out to us, hawking their wares—most of it fried and delicious-smelling. I glance at Evan, wondering if he’d be amenable to a food offering. Like he was in the tent two nights ago.

I should have never agreed to that. The omega is more clever than he lets on; he no doubt knew how intimate it is for an alpha to share his plate with an omega. That kind of behavior happens only between mated couples or courting pairs.

A dull thought dawns on me: is this stupid omega trying to court me?

I glance sideways at him. No, I decide. He said his people share food all the time. They think it’s normal. And he knows very little of our ways. Otherwise, he would not make so much noise.

Besides, even if he were trying to court me, I would not accept him. He’s far too much trouble.

There’s another issue, of course: I am not in a position to court or be courted. To even consider that, an alpha must have an established territory. My brothers and I are all still nomads. I thought I was content with that, but …

I steal another look at Evan. His face is stained red from the sun and he’s dusty, but I still like to look at him.

I decide to experiment. “Stop,” I command, and he jerks to a halt, his eyes popping open as he glares at me.

I turn to one of the street vendors. “Three,” I instruct, holding up my fingers to ensure he’s understood me. He nods, then picks up two huge carving knives, swishing the blades against each other before he hacks into the meat.

I step back, feeling Evan’s curious gaze pinned to me. When I look at him though, he turns away, like he’s fascinated by the game of kickball a few children are playing.

I hand the vendor some pebbles in exchange for the kebabs. Then I turn back to Evan, offering him one.

He seems … surprised. Then angry. He tries to bat it out of my hand. I blink at him, surprised and confused.

The children playing kickball have stopped. The vendor is watching our exchange with wide eyes, waiting to see if I’ll stand for this kind of treatment from an omega.

With a huff, I yank on the rope, nearly toppling the fragile sun spirit. “Ow! What the heck?!”

I wrap the rope around my hand and yank harder. I start walking away, as briskly as I can, practically dragging him behind me. The nerve of this omega. Embarrassing me like that.

A warm hand lands on my elbow, no claws. I pause. Evan is practically doubled-over, one hand clutched to the rope. He’s wide-mouthed, gasping for air.

I glance hurriedly around, noting now the other people watching. Two betas catch me looking, then whirl away, whispering to each other.