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All I could find that was fit to wear were my breeches, but so long as my cock, raw from days of fucking, was tucked away, I didn’t care what I wore. Goddess, I’d have worn Trix’s skirts if it meant I could get everything her heart desired to her faster. For now it was breeches and the sweetest tea possible. I grinned. My mate. Goddess, I was the most blessed alpha ever born. She had wanted me. Had wanted my bite. I could not believe it. A perfect omega in every way: face, form, ability, and more besides. My heart grew so large with pride and joy that I could feel it in my throat. If I’d been a lesser man, I’d have cried, I was that happy. By the First Lady, I’d not be ashamed to cry for the blessings the Goddess had granted me.
“You!”
I froze. My in-laws to be stood in the doorway. Mrs Hartwell radiated anger and her mate cast nervous glances at her, clearly distressed.
“Ma’am!” I stepped forward, ready to give them the good news. “I must get her some tea—“
“Come in here. We must talk first. But put this on first.” She flung a shirt at me that was too small but it covered what she wanted covered. “Sit.”
“I prefer to stand. I must not stay away. She is at a very delicate stage… Her mate bite is fresh.“
Mr Hartwell sucked in a breath. I looked over at the older omega. Trix would be beautiful if she aged like her father.
“Please, John. Sit,” Mr Hartwell said, so much softer and more refined than his wife. “We—“
“Enough, Charles.” She refocused her attention on me. “Your maternal grandfather is a fisherman from Fife,” Mrs Hartwell snarled.
“There is no shame in that!” I barked before remembering my manners.
“Shame? No one said anything about shame!” She snapped. “It is not a matter of shame. But of pride! My grandfather was a prime minister. The Hartwells go back to the Conqueror. The family must maintain its position. Must continue too these great legacies so that all omegas can prosper.”
“And how does my—“
”What can the son of a printmaker offer us?”
“She is my mate,” I growled.
“Only proof of your lack of control.”
“You insult your daughter to say so.”
“You will leave now. And If I must, I shall use force.”
“You will not keep me from her.” I barked. The omega whined at my outburst. Mrs Hartwell growled, unhappy that I’d distressed her mate.
“I shall have you arrested for rape. Do you think they will take your word over mine?”
I froze. “You’d… You’d not.”
“Come in here, Smythe.”
A weasley looking man walked into the room with a large cudgel in one hand. A nasty smile on his pockmarked face. “This him?”
The blood in my veins froze. “You…”
“I would do anything to ensure her happiness. Now leave and never return. You are unworthy of my child. Of any omega.”
I flinched as if hit.
“Come, it is better this way.” The gentle Mr Hartwell said. “Perhaps,” he looked at his mate. “Perhaps if things change, we will write to you?”
I felt cornered. Instinct urging me to go to my mate. Genuine belief that Hartwell would carry through with her threat. And who would take my word? Trix would be considered too vulnerable, too weak to give evidence in my favour. The world narrowed into one thing. “You will write if she needs me. If things change, you promise to write.”
Mrs Hartwell radiated smug pleasure that I had submitted to her. All the while, my alpha screamed and clawed to break free and take our mate, because she was ours.
“I would never go back on my word,” Mr Hartwell tried to smile.
“I want to see her and explain why—“
