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She lifts her hand and beckons over an attendant dressed in sleeveless red robes that fall to the ground. The young woman has a small bowl of oil on a tray, and she bows to me and smiles before anointing each of my wrists and the sides of my throat.
As the attendant steps back, the crone says, “Before you can understand your mate, first you should understand yourself. These oils enhance your natural Omega scent. Try your wrist again.”
I lift my hand to my face and breathe in, not expecting much.
A wave of scent washes over me, and I cry out. The sweetness of honeysuckle. The forest after it rains. Fresh, clean, sweet scents fill my lungs and warm me to the tips of my fingers. “This oil smells amazing.”
“It is not the oil, Lady Isavelle. It’s you.” The crone waves the attendant forward again, who holds the bowl under my nose so I can compare it to the scent coming from my arm. The oil in the bowl has no scent at all.
“That’s incredible,” I murmur with my wrist to my nose as I study the ground. This is what Zabriel can smell when he breathes in my scent? I wonder if he likes it.
Does Alpha love my scent? Run to him and beg for his praise, whimpers that needy voice, and I hush her.
Does he, though?
I shift in my seat, suddenly eager to know as much as she does.
The crone answers the question I haven’t asked. “Ma’lenloves your scent, and it causes a strong reaction in him and no one else. It speaks to him, just as his scent speaks to you.”
My bubble of excitement is suddenly squashed. “But I can’t… Do you have anything…” I trail off, afraid of this woman’s wrath if I say something that insults her king or reveals I’m a broken Omega.
“You may ask me anything, Lady Isavelle. Permit me to be your guide in all things.”
“I can’t smell Zabriel. Not in the way he wishes that I could.” Saying those words out loud makes a fierce ache open up in my chest and my heart beat sickeningly fast. I hunt the crone’s expression for any flicker of disgust or outrage.
At the monasteries, any flaw that was discovered meant punishment. Starvation. Sleep deprivation. Beatings.
The crone nods to the attendant, who disappears. While we wait for her to return, I see another small dragon wander sleepily across the temple to where a woman in red is copying out manuscripts at a table. The dragon flops down with its head on her foot. The woman’s quill doesn’t stop moving, but she smiles when she feels the sleepy creature using her as a pillow.
The attendant returns and places a small glass bottle into my hands, filled with oil and sealed with a cork and red wax.
“A little of this will help, but only a little. Rub this oil on his neck or his wrists.” The Temple Crone’s bright amethyst eyes run over me. “I do not think you will need the oil for long. If you have not had your first slick, it will be soon. If you have not endured your first false heat, that will be soon also.”
“What’s a false heat?”
“My apologies. A heat is when an Omega is fertile and craves her mate most, and it lasts for several days. A false heat is a prelude to the real thing. They are unpredictable and much shorter.”
My eyes drop to my lap and my face flames hearing her speak these things so matter-of-factly. Craves her mate. A woman of a religious order is speaking about me having sex with Zabriel, a man I’m not married to and the king, no less, like it’s nothing to be ashamed of. “Endured? Is it some kind of trial?”
She shakes her head and smiles. “Not at all, Lady Isavelle. It is a time for intimacy between you and your mate. A sacred time when you will begin to understand what the two of you mean to one another.”
“But what do we mean to one another?” I plead with her. I wish someone would give me a straight answer about what all this is about.
“He is for you and you are for him. The power he has over you is as strong as the power you have over him.”
I don’t know about that. Given Zabriel’s size, position, and dominant nature, I doubt I’ll ever have any power over him. I barely have any grasp of my own will right now. I hold the little bottle of oil between my hands in my lap, feeling it grow warm from my touch. It’s peaceful in the temple with the flicker and crackle of the flames and the soft snoring of the young dragon sleeping in the fire’s warmth.
Do I want to use this oil on Zabriel? If I catch his scent, will I make a fool of myself like I did last night? I want to be sure what I’m getting into before I take such a drastic step.
I stand up and slip the bottle of oil into my pocket. “Thank you for your time, um, Grandmother?” I guess the honorific, remembering how Zabriel addressed Biddy Hawthorne.
The Temple Crone smiles and bows her head, and then draws a scroll out of her robes. “You may return here at any time, as often as you wish. You may meditate here, and it will calm you and bring you peace. Meanwhile, may I ask you for a small favor? Will you please take this message to the dragonmaster? It is important information we have uncovered about dragons and the barrier. You will likely find him at the dragongrounds.”
“You’re trusting me with such an important message?” I ask in surprise, taking the scroll from her and turning it over, wishing I knew what was written inside.
“Ma’len’smate is trusted asMa’lenhimself is trusted. He is you and you are him.”
With that, she gets to her feet and drifts away.
