Page 168 of The Ashpaw: Part One

Mimicking? Around him?

But…

No, no, she was so naturally sweet. So… so…

The silver-haired alpha continued. “She’s been studying omegas since she was a pup, my mother preparing her for an eventual union with a powerful alpha. It’s why we all know so much about them. It’s supposed to strengthen the bond if the she-wolf can trick the alpha into thinking he’s courting an omega.”

Then he looked off and snorted. “Imagine her surprise when a real one showed up.”

“Trick?” Darion asked, still not believing what he was hearing.

“The high voice, the soft touches, the whimpers… have you ever met a she-wolf like that before my sister?”

When Darion didn’t say anything, Cyran’s brows pinched together, a mocking smile growing on his lips. “I had my doubts any alpha would be ignorant enough to fall for it, especially when presented with an authentic omega to compare the two. But I guess my sister really lucked out with you, didn’t she?”

And then he laughed, walking away.

Darion couldn’t speak or move, struck dumb as he was.

Sixty days he’d been with Kyntha, and not once had he ever suspected anything but sincerity in all of her manners. Not a fleeting moment where he thought he heard a duplicitous word.

“Cyran,” he called.

The alpha turned around.

“What do you know of omegas and willow bark?”

Cyran raised an eyebrow in confusion. “It is used to ease the suffering of an approaching heat.”

Darion closed his eyes, trying to remember exactly how Kyntha and Serich had worded it all.

“I read about it a long time ago, that omegas could bring their heat early by chewing on willow bark…”

“… Omegas didn’t chew on willow bark to induce their heats, but merely to relieve the symptoms preceding them…”

“And your sister… she would know this?”

“Of course. Why, I saw her re-reading that chapter of ‘The Compendium of Omega Nature’ just last week.”

His mouth dropped open, and before he could even form a reply, a gong sounded from somewhere deep in the temple.

“Hurry and get dressed, son,” his father warned. “Your mate awaits.”

* * *

The culmination of sixty days of rituals, rites, and traditions was here and now.

A process he’d learned far too late was supposed to approximate the instincts he’d had with Fern.

Instincts Kyntha had convinced him were wrong. Instincts he should ignore. Instincts he should fight.

And he’d allowed her to do it, all because he’d been distracted by wide hips, pretty eyes, and pale thighs that parted whenever he looked her way.

He was every bit the fool Cyran had called him.

He knelt alone in front of the altar, the priestess chanting in the old tongue.

“Lur shae ta devaris.”