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Steve stopped bobbing his head and looked at his owner with what Sorin could only describe as irritation. He held the omega’s gaze for a prolonged moment, then got up and waddled off.
“I’m sorry,” the omega said apologetically. “He’s usually not like this—between having settled into his role as a big brother and going on this adventure in his cool new jacket, I think he’s gotten it into his head that he can do what he wants. I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“No,” Sorin said, watching as Steve used his claws to climb down the leg of his antique table. His temple twitched. “It’s fine. I wasn’t made uncomfortable, but, um, should we try to stop him?”
“Hmm?” The omega craned his neck to get a look at what Steve was doing. “Oh, no. He’ll be fine. He’s a little grumpy I told him he has to behave and probably wants to be alone for a little, but he won’t go far, and he only eliminates in water, so your rugs are safe.”
Sorin observed the marks now carved into his table leg.
Thank goodness for that.
“I’m Harry, by the way,” the omega volunteered. “Dr. Harrison Lessardi-Drake, to be more accurate, but really, Harry’s fine. And this is my friend Iggy—”
“Nate, please,” said the omega with the thick-rimmed glasses.
“—and Matthieu, and Wally, and Misha, and Finch, and Perry.” He pointed out each omega in turn, then raised his arm to show Sorin his wrist, around which was wrapped that strange black piece of leather-clad hose. “And this is… well, I actually don’t have a name for her yet, but I didn’t want her to feel left out.”
Sorin was about to ask if Harry named all his jewelry when the piece of hose slithered and shifted, and out poked a small triangular head with a short, rounded snoot.
“She’s a melanistic variant of a common European adder,” Harry explained, rubbing his finger on the top of her flattened head affectionately. The snake flicked her tongue out and tasted the air, regarding Harry for a brief moment before fixing her gaze on Sorin. “They’re venomous,” he added brightly, “but their bites are seldom fatal, and they’re not especially aggressive. They’d rather run than fight—isn’t that right, sweet girl?”
The snake glanced at Harry, then wove herself around his wrist once more, her head disappearing from view.
“I found her while we were renting our ATVs,” he explained. “Usually I wouldn’t take a wild animal out of its habitat, but snakes don’t normally like to be around people, so when I saw her out in the open near the rental place, I had to go take a closer look. It’s hard to say for certain, but based off my observations, I think someone might have stepped on her at some point—her head is a little misshapen and her teeth are broken, so she can’t effectively use them to inject venom, and since she can’t do that, well… she can’t feed herself. The poor thing was starving. I think that’s why she was out. Sometimes, when a wild animal is desperate, they’ll go against their nature and take a big risk like exposing themselves in the hopes that maybe humans can help them… and so I did.” He petted her scales, and she trembled at his touch. “If you think of a good name for her, let me know. I’ve been thinking about it the whole drive over, but I couldn’t come up with anything that felt right.”
“Um… okay. Sure. And I’m Sorin, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Harry beamed at him, and Sorin smiled uneasily back. It hadn’t escaped him that Harry—and every other guest at the table—had every reason in the world to hate him, and while they had all been polite so far, there was no telling when that might change. With that in mind, he moved on from the conversation and finished serving everyone tea, then went to sit at the head of the table, where he distracted himself from his growing anxiety by fixing a cup for himself.
He was mid-swirl of his teaspoon when there came a gentle nudge through the mate bond. He looked up and across the table at Bertram, who seemed tired and equally as stressed as he was, but who smiled for him nonetheless when their eyes met.
Sorin’s heart fluttered.
The situation they found themselves in was less than ideal, but as long as Bertram was there with him, no matter what happened, he would be fine.
“Well,” Peregrine said as Sorin gazed starry-eyed across the table at Bertram. “It seems all of us are settled now. Shall we begin our discussion?”
“Yes,” Misha said in a voice so cold and cutting, the deep connection between Sorin and Bertram was immediately severed. Sorin’s anxiety spiked anew, and he turned his attention toward the young man he’d once hoped to call his ally, only to find his eyes burning with hatred. “Tell me why I should forgive you when it was you who stole and damaged my eggs.”
A defensive flash of anger flared through the mate bond, and Bertram’s hands came down hard on the arms of his chair as if he was about to pop up onto his feet. Before he could, Sorin held out a hand to stop him. “What do you mean, ‘damaged your eggs’?”
“One of my eggs was crushed when it was stolen,” Misha said, slicing straight through Sorin with the anger in his eyes. “My child was not killed, thankfully, but he was maimed, and will live with the impairment you burdened him with for the rest of his life.”
The news made Sorin sick.
He thought of the egg he’d seen in the Vanguard stronghold, and how afraid the clutch had been, and felt the world lurch around him as the reality of the situation set in. The Vanguard had harmed what they’d sought to protect. His inability to lead them had not only led to the death of the men and women who served alongside him, but to the injury of an innocent. An injury that poor baby would need to deal with for the rest of his life.
Sorin’s mouth fell open. He felt tears stream down his cheeks.
Those poor eggs.
Those scared, lost babies.
He had tried to help them. He had tried to keep them safe, but he had failed.
Once more, he had failed.
Bertram bristled further, angry and reactive, but he didn’t know the truth. Not wasting any time, not even to brush his tears away, Sorin signaled another time for him to stop. “You weren’t involved, Bertram,” he said as kindly but as firmly as he could, doing his best to pull himself together. “You don’t know the truth. Magpie—Misha—I am so sorry. I didn’t know, and I swear, we never meant to do your clutch any harm. I swear it on my life.”
