Page 120 of The Ashpaw: Part One

Fern sat and watched as Darion’s eyes widened at first, the surprise soon turning to anger. His muscles tensed, and the grip on his cup tightened.

Kyntha’s face scrunched like she’d just swallowed a jar of vinegar.

Alastair’s expression was more guarded, his eyebrow raising in what could either be amusement or concern. “You escort your brother’s Naravekh to the meal?”

Eidan shrugged, taking the other chair beside Fern. “I wanted to see how she was faring since I’ve been gone. Turns out, she agreed it was time to dine with the clan. So she will be here for every meal from now on.”

Darion’s face turned red, and he looked straight ahead.

“Excellent!” Karn exclaimed. “We’ve been sorely missing your company, my dear. Even before your designation was revealed, you always had such a calming effect in the Council Chambers. I’m glad the clan will get to experience it now, too.”

Kyntha choked on her ale.

Fern’s cheeks heated as she felt the attention of the Lurvekh land on her, and as Solvekh, who would have tripped her going down the stairs mere weeks ago, now added a setting for her at the head table, filling her cup with bowed heads and averted gazes.

The music was an excellent distraction for her own gaze, not knowing where it should land, and she watched the performers play a song she hadn’t heard before.

One of the musicians caught her eye almost immediately.

He was quite handsome, both she and her wolf agreed. His features were finer than most wolfkin men, the passing Solvekh women whispering behind their hands whenever he smiled at them.

A silver flute rested against his lower lip as he met her gaze. Then he winked, and her heart skipped a beat.

“You must be famished,” Reinn said, piling slices of wild boar and chunks of roasted turnips on her plate, while Eidan heaped stewed plums on top of the meat.

She took small bites, not wanting to make herself sick, and basked in the glow of company. She could make a meal of that alone, starved as she was.

“How fares your nest?” Reinn asked.

“Oh!” Fern replied, swallowing the bite of food in her mouth. “Um, it’s terrific, really.”

“Come now, mustn’t be too shy,” Norden said. “Omegas are only happy when their nests are perfect, or so I’ve heard. Darion, have you made sure she has everything she needs?”

She dared a peek down the table. A forkful of meat stopped halfway to his mouth, and Fern worried the vein in his temple might pop.

Could he lie about his broken promise, or would he be forced to admit he’d been neglecting her?

Then Kyntha placed a hand on his arm and looked at Fern, pouting. “I’m terribly sorry I’ve taken up so much of our alpha’s time these days, what with all the rituals and preparations. If you want to take a look at my nest for inspiration, I’d be happy to—”

“You don’t have a nest, cousin,” Reinn interrupted. “At least, not a real one.”

Kyntha’s eyes turned murderous, but she attempted a sweet smile. “Whatever do you mean? Alpha Darion has graciously seen to my every need and whim, supplying me with the best the Sabletail Clan has to offer. Blankets of the most luxurious fabrics, pillows stuffed with the softest down…”

“But you’re not an omega. Fern’s nesting comes from instincts,” Norden said. “I’m utterly fascinated by the process. I’ve read that each omega tends to gravitate towards different textures and colors. If Darion would allow me, I’d love to come to your room and take a look.”

“No!” he blurted, causing Kyntha to flinch. He took a deep breath, cracking his neck, and then responded more calmly. “I mean, it wouldn’t be proper. The only one to see her nest should be me.”

Her wolf’s eyes were trained on the alpha, glowing from the dark recesses of her mind where she’d been watching.

“Then tell us!” Reinn said, cradling his chin in his hand as he stared at Darion. “What does it look like?”

When Darion didn’t answer, Alastair looked at his younger son. “You have seen her nest, haven’t you? You claimed her as your Naravekh ten days ago. Do you mean to tell us you have not bedded her yet?”

Fern wanted to slither under the table and eat there again, if possible. To have the whole table discussing the fact that Darion didn’t want to lay with her was too much to bear.

“Good wolfkin of the Sabletail Clan!”

The flutist called out to the hall and stepped in front of the head table, bowing deeply at the waist.