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At least I assume the lyrics are bawdy because the men around the singers slap their hands on the table, roaring with laughter and mimicking the sexual act with their fingers.
It’s… interesting. My body heats as it remembers what we did last night, though I still feel embarrassed about it.
About wanting it so badly.
About demanding it.
About feeling the need day and night, even if it’s an omega thing I can’t control. If I wasn’t an omega about to go into heat, would I want it so badly?
And would that be a bad thing? Why should it be? These men treat sex like great fun—and why shouldn’t it be? Why should we be taught to keep quiet about it and feel embarrassed at the mention of it?
Lifting my chin, I make a vow to accept my desires. Wanting my men, wanting the pleasure, the touch, the joining of our bodies is a beautiful thing. I should take a page out of Kiaran’s book and not let society dictate how I should feel about this or any other topic.
We take our seat at the far wall, the only seats left because they are the farthest from the roaring fireplace and its warmth. I’m almost in Taj’s lap, which makes the fire in me flare, but I grit my teeth and try not to rub myself all over him, because we need to remain discreet and invisible.
Somehow.
Though the soldiers are mostly drunk and busy singing their ditties, I seem to be the only woman in the room.
So not good.
I keep my head down as the innkeeper brings us our own trenches of stew and some ale and pretend not to see the looks cast my way. Kiaran is growling deep in his throat, a constant roll of distant thunder, and I swear his hackles are up. Taj is growling, too, I realize, the rumble I feel against my back.
They are alphas. My alphas. And I am theirs.
I just hope for no bloodshed as we dig into our dinner.
Things seem to be going well for a while. The stew is hearty and filling, the ale weak and yeasty. The warmth is a bit too much for me, making me uncomfortable. Sweat trickles between my breasts and down my back, making my dress stick to me, but I can stand it.
Just eat and you can go lie down, I tell myself, away from all these raucous soldiers and the heat, together with your alphas. They will take the pain away and cool down the heat so you can sleep. Just a while longer…
“Hey, you!” one of the soldiers calls out. “The wench by the window! Come here, my pretty, come to daddy.” He slaps his lap and grins. “Guys, we have a girl to serve us tonight.”
Shit.
Soldiers start getting up and turning their heads to see me, yelling at me to join them. A couple actually move toward us, and fear grips me.
Growling, Taj gets up, his arms tight around me. He seats me down and starts toward the soldiers, but Kiaran beats him to it. He’s already leaping at them, more panther than man, snarling all the while.
“What the hell?” one of them yelps when Kiaran punches his way through them. “Who is this guy?”
“Berserker!” someone else yells, and chaos erupts.
“Drakoryas!” Soldiers are falling over one another, trying to get out of Kiaran’s way, and it’s sort of funny.
Even Taj chuckles, though he’s standing in front of me like a one-man regiment, ready to tackle any soldier who as much as thinks to come our way. There’s a small cushion on the bench and I clutch it to my lap as I watch the show unfold.
Kiaran moves through the room like a whirlwind. Chairs and benches are overturned, trenches go flying, spilling stew everywhere, men fly like puppets through the air and crash, groaning, on the floor.
He grabs two soldiers by their necks. “You don’t talk to her,” he growls, “you don’t look at her, you never touch her. Ever. Understand?” He shakes them. “I said, understand?”
The soldiers nod frantically.
He’s panting, blood spattered on his arms and face, pale hair sticking to his neck. “Good. Now stay the fuck away from her.”
The innkeeper is staring at us from across the room, eyes round in his white face, a tray loaded with trenchers and ale in his hands. I see him open his mouth, looking at Kiaran, but he seems to rethink it. He just carries the tray to one of the tables, plonks it down, then retreats to the kitchen.
Kiaran releases the two soldiers and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then stalks back to us and sits back down in his seat, reaching for his trencher.
