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As we continued deeper into his residence, he murmured directions going up a flight of stairs and then another until we were on the third floor and in front of another plain door. Oberon knew what he did when he put a hand on waist as he opened the door to my room. Shying away from his touch, I perforce entered the room, however unwillingly, of my own volition.
When I saw the space, I understood. It was a nesting room. Square with chests piled high with nest material, no doubt filled with more. By the single window, a small table and pair of chairs with a washstand tucked into the corner. However it was the deep box bed lavishly decorated in crimson satins and velvets that dominated the room. For instead of the typical doors, were gold bars.
I whirled on him, took in that malicious countenance, and knew myself a fool for not believing when he said he would put me into a cage. “You’re mad. You cannot truly mean to put me into a cage.”
“Do the bars bother you? I trust that once you are nesting, they’ll be removed.”
“Nest,” I hissed the word. “I do not nest.”
His scent turned bitter. “You are an omega.”
“I am nothing like an omega,” I ground out. More than the gold bars, the cloying closeness of being in a room that held so much meaning for our dynamics turned my stomach and I pressed a hand against my mouth. “I won’t stay here.”
“You are an omega. And if a nest truly bothers you then think of it as a cage. For my little bird.” His sentences were clipped, the bitterness sharpened. “I didn’t bring you here to nest.” He did. I could see how his eyes flicked between the nesting bed and me. He meant it for a nest. “Dammit, did you think I expected to fuck you tonight?”
“You’re upset by what was an obvious conclusion?” I was wrong to continue to engage with this alpha. But a disconcerted Oberon could only be considered rare.
His eyes danced around the room, catching every detail but never resting on me. He didn’t appear anxious, more on edge. A man about to do something. If only I could guess. His bearing wasn’t one of a man about to make love.
Whatever his intention, I took advantage of his distraction and made to slip around him. Perhaps, unlikely but perhaps, I could push him in and lock the door.
Again, he moved faster than I could have predicted. His hand snagging my arm and tugging me until my front was pressed against his side. Our bodies were pressed close. My omega swayed towards him, curious about the alpha who wanted to possess but not make love. Perhaps, I’d come to the wrong conclusion. He might not want me like that at all. He might not want anyone, want only men—Sarah had never made it into his bed and I’d never asked about the gender of his lovers.
“My lovers are willing. My lovers know better than to think I would force them. And when I tell you I’ve not interest in your cunt because you are an omega, best believe it.”
“Why else would you want me? My business? What?” My head hurt from his proximity and the hatred towards his dynamic, which I so relied on, seemed shackled by the mere existence of this alpha. He took advantage of my confusion and bundled me into the cage without a care and shoved the key in the lock with a strong twist of his wrist. I grabbed the bars. “I’ll not stay here. You can’t keep me like this.”
“This is your home unless I say otherwise. Make your nest in it if you ever want to leave.”
He didn’t pocket the key but put it on the dresser before slamming the door closed behind him. Another lock and then the sound of the deadbolt being shunted into place. My golden cage was symbolic. This nesting room with all the accoutrement was the true prison. One lit by a sliver of moon out a single window that lacked a curtain. Not much light but enough for my plan.
By the goddess’ blessing, I wasn’t entirely helpless. I pulled the pins from my hair and dropped them into my skirt. With a little shake of my head, it fell loose around my shoulders. Two years ago it had fallen to my waist. I’d cut it short like a boy and it had only just become long enough to pin up. But the pins were what I was after. Selecting the ones I needed, I tucked the rest, along with my fork, under the mattress. Then I went about the simple task of picking the lock. The door swung open. I didn’t waste time and explored the room. The nesting materials ranged from the finest satin to rougher, loose woven linen. I brought fabric to my face, allowing the clean scent to clear away the heavy scent of alpha musk that still clogged the back of my throat.
Putting everything in its place, I returned to the cage and climbed back in. Reverse picking a lock would always be more fiddly but for the time being I did not want Oberon or Puck knowing I could free myself.
I flopped onto my back and blinked. The moonlight reflected against something in the ceiling. Oh goddess, the ceiling of the box bed was mirrored. Not just a single pane but a central oval surrounded by eight circular mirrors.
“And now we must wait,” I told my reflection.
6
Puck
The hackney was silent on the drive to the docks. Paxton and Jack sat facing forward, and I watched as them with detached interest. They were still uncomfortable with alpha-alpha relations. Same dynamic sex was one thing but an open relationship could draw censure, though having an omega mate would probably defuse some of the comments.
Oberon and I were already considered outside of society’s norms. Fucking him, being with him merely added to our notoriety. At first we’d been a novelty, at last we’d become part of the scenery. That would change when we mated Polly. Her brothers-in-law were focused on their mate, but when the dust settled, they’d want Polly back into the safe fold of social respectability. She might rob wealthy alphas on the highway, earning her title as queen of the high toby ten times over, but her family was ancient, well established in political circles. Far above the touch of the son of former slaves and the son of a German general and a courtesan. No matter that my father had been the son of a king or Oberon’s father had commanded the Hessians in the war with the colonies. Even to these alphas, I was but a boxer and gambler. Disabusing of their ignorance was useless. British arrogance was an ugly trait and one I had no interest in indulging. As trite as it might be, I chose whose opinions mattered. Theirs did not.
The carriage rocked to an abrupt halt some twenty minutes after we’d left the Hell. They nearly broke the door in their haste but had to stand waiting for me because they did not know where the ship was docked. Sometimes Oberon was correct and rushing into a situation put you at a disadvantage.
“Go that way.” I pointed into the dark as I jumped down. “I’ll go this. We’ve some men following, they’ll scour the riverbank. And no, I’m not sending you the wrong direction. There are three of us. I’ve reason to think Oberon could be wrong and Stimpson’s taken her to the schooner up river which is set to leave with the tide. The Little Dove is that way.” Paxton drew himself up and Jack took a step towards me but I was in no mood to brawl when Sarah was at risk. “You want to save your omega? Go to the Little Dove.”
Without waiting, I took off and shifted through my fears. Each possible outcome played out like a game of chess, a million moves considered and discarded. Chief amongst them was that Sarah had been disposed of. She had been taken against her will, I was sure. No chance of my girl turning on me or on Polly. But what use was she? Especially since Oberon suspected an omega smuggling ring was responsible for freeing Stimpson from the cell we’d dumped him in. We’d been going through our information when the others had burst in. The timing was poor since we’d not heard from all our informants. Then again we hadn’t known Beatrice had been taken. I wondered at Jude, Polly’s faithful bodyguard and Oberon’s once spy, not being with her. Enough with that. Eliza Brown, an alpha who swanned through society single and with unknown capital to spend, owned the impressive schooner I was about to board. When you didn’t know where the money came from, you looked closely.
I was barely aboard when a shout gave me the kind of hope I’d not dared entertain. Beatrice Hartwell stumbled on the deck, bloody and shaking
“Puck?” she asked too loudly. She had a good spine.
“Yes,” I assured her in a whisper I knew would carry in the still night. “I’ve got you, Lady Paxton. Your alphas are nearby. Stimpson took a different ship than the one we thought. But they’ll be along soon.”
