Page 137 of The Ashpaw: Part One

The bird kept flying around in circles, unable to find the exit it needed.

Fern searched the room to see if there were any more accessible windows closer to her height, but found none. Even better, though, was a door to the outside.

She checked it, feeling relief that it was unlocked.

“Over here, little one!” she called, opening it as wide as she could.

But the bird was too scared to notice, and Fern began to worry it would accidentally fly into the glass and hurt itself.

She spied a scrap of burlap forgotten by a gardener, and picked it up, shaking off the loose dirt. Then she carefully approached the bird, holding it up and waiting.

Once it was close enough to the floor, she threw it on top, gathering the ends loosely so as not to squish it.

“Shh,” she soothed, the poor thing rustling and chirping in distress. Fern rushed towards the door, opened it again and then placed the burlap on the ground, flipping over one of the corners.

The bird flipped onto his feet and hopped a few times. And then finally it took off, a little wobbly at first, but straightening out by the time it reached the tree line.

Fern smiled as she watched it disappear, then took the burlap and headed back inside.

“I think that may be the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She yelped, clutching her chest as she saw a man with shoulder length silver hair standing by an orange tree, his arms crossed.

He looked so much like his sister it was almost frightening.

“A-alpha Cyran, a pleasure,” she finally managed to get out. Her gaze then fell to the door behind which Lucas remained. If he stayed at his post, he probably wasn’t too worried about Fern getting hurt.

But Fern was fully aware that the worst things someone could do to you rarely left visible scars.

She bowed her head as she walked towards the exit, giving him as wide a berth as possible.

It took only two steps for him to block her path anyway.

“Easy there, I mean no harm. I simply wanted to meet you.”

Cyran held out his open hands in a gesture of good will, a smarmy looking smile on his face that she was sure he thought was charming, although it had the opposite effect on Fern.

“I believe we met yesterday. Or was it someone else who spoke of mating me in front of my alpha?”

She regretted the words before they even left her mouth, wincing and looking the other way.

Cyran’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he laughed. It sounded innocent and genuine, and the tension in Fern’s muscles began to wane just enough where she hoped that his similarities to his sister ended in looks.

“The books all speak of omegas as these meek, submissive creatures,” he finally said, shaking his head in amusement. “But I’ve read enough between the lines to have learned that’s only how they behave when they’re scared.”

He leaned forward. “I don’t scare you?”

She looked into his eyes, a lighter shade of blue than Kyntha’s. “No, I can’t say that you do. Compared to the women in your family, you seem as harmless as a kitten.”

Cyran threw his head back and laughed again. “Funny and perceptive!” he said, his chest still shaking in mirth. “My cousin was right. You are wasted here.”

Fern turned to leave, but he stepped in front of her again.

“Come now, little one. No need to fly away so quickly. I’ve always wanted to meet an omega, and you are an absolute delight.”

And then he leaned down, dragging his nose along her cheek to the crook of her neck, breathing her in.

“And you do smell tempting…” he groaned.