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Orley, poor man, growled his displeasure.
“I did, duchess. It was fair sport. There are no life threatening injuries amongst the lot of us.” Aching and my vision impaired because my left eye was beginning to swell shut, I watched my mate from across the drawing room. How strange to think of her in those terms after all of these years. A woman now full of a magnificence so few accomplished. Though dressed in a suit of dark blue velvet, she sat on the elegant sofa as if she wore the finest gown—ankles crossed, legs angled away, and hands resting gently in her lap. She looked stunning, formidable, and furious as she sat before me, neat as can be, her cravat tied in a complicated knot, her long hair braided like a crown about her head.
And now I knew why she covered herself, covered all her skin. For to wear a fashionable gown would expose my mark on her body.
She was a clever thing, my Trix. I grinned at her, filled with pride, and thrilled by the knowledge that she was mine.
“And the dead? How many have you killed?” Beatrice asked.
“None since the war,” I grunted. My rib had looked purple in the mirror, but, on being poked by a disgusted Pax, I didn’t believe it broken—though I might change my mind on that later. “Though there have been times when I’ve considered killing a man for a bottle of whisky.”
“What, then, were you thinking?” She stormed over, completely ignoring the way the rest of the room watched us. Pax stood by Orley. Both alphas frowning. I grinned. I’d not had fun like this since… Since I’d last spent time with Beatrice before that fateful heat.
“Was I thinking?” I challenged when she was close enough. “Begad, m’dear, you think I must have reason to start a brawl? Tis a poor soldier who backs down from a fight.”
“Oh, you make me cross talking like that. When did you pick up the habit of speaking like one of the macaronis?… Of allowing… Oh! And to take that tone with me as if you aren’t in your very heart a plain speaking villain.”
“As you have always insisted,” I gave her a gallant, mocking bow. It hurt to grin as hard and wide as I did. But what else could I do? Though it would be a mangled smirk by the time it got out. Making Trix cross, as she put it, had been one of our shared and greatest pastimes. I remembered listening to her for hours on end, talking and trying to provoke me. How I’d looked at her, so vibrant, and wanted what I could not have. Then she was all mine. All mine.
“I drive you mad, Trix… Don’t I?” I asked, though it came out much more tender than I’d intended. We’d slipped back into a familiar kind of intimacy that had been cut off a decade ago. Would it last or would she remember what I did?
“You hurt me.” She twisted her face away from me. “I should not forgive you.”
“Trix…” Her eyes were back on me. Watching the flames in her eyes, I was amazed at how alive she looked. I pinched her chin between my fingers, angling her face towards the light. She snarled, perfect little white teeth ready to bite. “You grew up, but didn’t grow wise.”
“Let me go, oaf!”
“There you are,” Paxton growled, as if he hadn’t been just across the room watching us the whole time. In a matter of seconds, he manoeuvred the three of us into a corner. The volatile omega trapped between us and spitting mad. “Never thought I’d be hunting you down, Vixen.”
It occurred to me to remind him that antagonising Beatrice might not end how he wished. But call me a hypocrite for I’d been doing just that and succeeding in my aim to draw her ire towards me. Still he did not know her well enough to cross swords with her in this arena. Instead, I preferred to watch them together, their scents spiking. Did they know how stunning they were together?
"Do you know what they call alphas like you in Paris? Alpha-bois. Alphas with the personality and abilities of a piece of wood.” She threw the taunt out with a wicked grin.
"I've got wood for you…" Pax took a step closer backing her up against my body. I wanted to know if he was hard, like I was.
“Where are the others? Why are they allowing this to happen? This is…” She complained. Pax was too large for her to look around, but bless the tiny omega, she tried. I glanced over his shoulder to see Viola grinning at Orley—they’d set this up. Did they know that Beatrice was my mate? Mrs Hartwell looked like she’d been forced to drink a blend of human waste, her lip curled into a silent snarl. A growl built in me. If she dared to try and take my mate from me again, there would be violence.
“Your Grace…” The butler eased himself into the room and unwittingly deflected the tension. “Dinner is ready.”
“Viola…” Mrs Markham prompted.
“Oh!” The little political mind seemed to stall as she realised she now was hostess and required to pair us up for dinner. “Syon… Your Grace. Your Grace, take Mrs Markham. Uh, Bea… shall go in with Lord Paxton…”
The little redhead beside me growled. I didn’t bother to hide my chuckle when Viola’s eyes got big as she realised that her eldest sister might injure one of her guests. The duchess cleared her throat and began again.
“Mama, perhaps it is safest if you take in Bea… And then I can have Colonel Fordom and Lord Paxton. Perfect. Two alphas since I am myself one omega and then a little one growing inside of me.”
“Very diplomatic of you,” Orley snorted.
Everyone but my mate, whose growl had only increased in volume, and Mrs Hartwell, seemed pleased. But then, the old bitch hated me and would probably have thrown me out of the house in a heartbeat if given the chance.
“I shall take my leave!” Trix declared. “Mama is taking me in to dinner.”
She pushed between us, the minx. Her breasts brushing against our arms. I caught a whiff of her scent. How to describe a mate’s scent? I knew our very beings were entwined since I’d bit her, taking the toxin produced in the mating gland into my body and infecting her with my own alpha essence. Our scents had changed, as we had as people. Our scents… She’d been so much sweeter during the heat we’d shared—like a new blossom. Now, though, rose water. Richer, stronger. More addictive to me and less attractive to other alphas—all but Pax who responded to her as if she didn’t carry my mark. I looked at my friend whose face was impassive, though his eyes flashed as his passions—always so close to the surface, so easily read if you knew how—bubbled like hot tar. If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself burnt, and we’d both be out of luck with my mate. There was nothing more true than the fact our stars would rise and fall together.
“We could be kinder to her,” I said, knowing I sounded as tired as I felt. “Honey and flies.”
“What? How would that help? She hates me.”
