CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Are you coming down for breakfast?” Mir hated the hesitation in Tor’s voice. Because of them, their sibling felt uncomfortable knocking on their own damn bedroom door. “And don’t worry, neither of us will mention the D or B words. We’ve got a bet going that you’ll finish a whole slice of toast today.”

“Idiot,” Mir grumbled with a smile. Yes, they wasn’t eating much, but they was still eating even if they had no appetite. They knew they had to for the sake of the pups. ‘D or B words’ were an entirely different matter.

By leaving the room whenever either of their sibs mentioned seeing a doctor or making arrangements for the birth, Mir had pretty much made the subject taboo. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Their blood-soaked baggy beta bib overalls and shirt hadn’t survived the gunshot or attention of the medical profession. The only things Mir had left that even had a hint of Tavish’s scent were their shoes and the girdle, and Mir suspected that was pretty much wishful thinking. Horse and sweaty omega were pretty much all Mir could smell on them now. They never took the girdle off except when washing, and the carefully cleaned shoes still found their way into Mir’s bed every night.

Mir now wore beta boxer shorts shoved down under their bump and big shirts they’d borrowed from Corish. What they wore, as long as they was covered enough not to reveal the scars that made their siblings scowl, didn’t matter as they wouldn’t be going out, and no one other than Tor and Cor ever came up to the living area unannounced. And even they coughed or stamped to let Mir know they were coming up the stairs from the ground floor office.

Today’s shirt was dark green and, like all the others, draped over Mir’s huge belly nicely. They reached for the door and paused at a particularly vicious dig by one of the babies near Mir’s right hip.

“Oi, stop it. I’m going to get something now. Stop nagging,” Mir murmured and rubbed their huge, rock-hard belly, trying to work out if it was Kev’s foot or Mar’s elbow causing the problem. The third baby still didn’t have a name, and Mir spent many hours agonizing over whether to use Cor, Tor, or something different.

Something like Tav. Gritting their teeth, Mir pushed down the jab of longing. I survived Hell. I survived losing all the other babies. I can survive losing him.

Maybe the little monsters were ganging up on them. The thought that they were already cooperating produced a smile. These pups would be like Cor, Tor, and Mir had been, like Corish and Toren were now. They would care for each other, not compete and bully, as Tav’s older brothers did.

Or maybe the babies were already fighting for dominance inside Mir. Was one being bullied? Were they all getting enough food in there? If Tavish was here, he’d notice Mir concentrating on their belly. Without a word, he’d whip out his stethoscope and…

The sharp stab of grief jabbed even harder than the baby. Mir leaned a palm on the door and their forehead against the wall next to it and conjured Tavish in their mind.

A goofy, lop-sided smile would grace his lips. “Let’s see what the little monsters are up to.” Then he’d use his stethoscope with gentle, knowing hands, and his safe scent would surround Mir. Then he’d say something idiotic like, “Well, this one is composing poetry, this one is plotting to take over the universe, and this one trying to eat their toes.” Mir would laugh, and they’d invent more daft things for the triplets to do or say.

But Tavish wasn’t here, and he should be. Why did I allow myself to rely on him?

The fact that they’d spent the first few days sleeping in the bath instead of the bed hadn’t been mentioned by either of their siblings, even though they’d forgotten to put the pillow and blanket back the second day. Toren had returned it to the bed. It had to have been Toren. Corish never got too close in case Mir panicked. Neither of their siblings called Mir on their odd choice of sleeping place like Tavish did. The lack of nagging made Mir miss him even more.

Seeing Zepish and Sakish again and not having Tavish near caused the nightmares to return with a vengeance. Having one or both of their siblings barreling into the room, thinking Mir was being murdered, made Mir decide that sleeping was an overrated pastime. The chamomile tea that appeared in the kitchen without comment the next day caused two bewildered siblings and a crying fit that soaked Mir’s pillow.

Mir’s appetite had flatlined, and they only ate as much as would satisfy their mother-hen siblings. Mir appreciated their concern and help, but Corish’s impotent reassurance and Toren’s false heartiness, had Mir mourning the life they’d started up in the wilds of the north with the alpha who fit Mir like a puzzle piece. Or at least that was what Mir had thought.

I’m so damn stupid. Fancy thinking someone as wonderful and classy as Tavish Grabar actually wanted someone like me.

Mir straightened up and wiped their eyes. Get it together, shithead. You’re a proto-alpha, not a crybaby. Your pups need feeding.

Corish had taken his usual seat at the table, as far away from the stairs up to the bedroom as physically possible. He looked ridiculous with a napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt to protect it from stray food. Toren wasted time in the kitchen, pretending to plate the food while waiting for Mir.

Mir slid into the seat opposite the alpha that their sibs had left free after the first day when Mir had constantly twisted around to watch the stairs. This new strategic position overlooked both the stairs up to the bedrooms and the flight down to the office. No one could creep up on them from behind here.

“Busy today?” Mir asked to kill the silence.

“Nope,” Corish replied.

“So there are no cases that need your attention?”

Corish reached for the jug of apple juice on the table and concentrated on pouring it into the three glasses. Mir might not be a professional investigator, but they could tell a distraction technique when they saw one.

He shrugged. “Bit of research, but nothing that’ll take me out of the office.”

Mir reached for their glass. “There are no court cases involving omegas in the whole of Malthusia that need your expertise?”

“I’m not the only lawyer in the city.”

Why they couldn’t keep their mouth shut today, Mir didn’t know. “How many omega law specialists are there?”

Toren carried the plates over from the kitchen area. A huge plate of eggs and bacon for Corish, a smaller portion for Toren, and a little scrambled egg and a slice of toast for Mir.

Good food. Healthy food. Mir didn’t want it. The contrast between now and when they’d wolfed down whatever Tavish put in front of them when they first met couldn’t be more extreme, but a lot had changed since then.

“I’m betting you can finish yours before Corish finishes his,” Toren said as they dug in.

The attempt to get Mir to eat was hardly original. Mir scowled at their beta sibling. “I invented that. Remember when you had the flu and wouldn’t eat?”

Toren grinned. “Can’t get anything past you, can I?”

Mir picked up the toast and took a bite. “You never could. But like I’ve said a hundred times, there’s no room inside anymore. That’s the only reason I’m not eating much in one go.”

“Better start having more snacks then,” Corish said. “Because you’re hardly eating enough to keep a fly alive, let alone feed that lot.” He waved a fork with half a rasher of bacon on it at Mir.

Toren frowned at his brother. “What happened to not mentioning how much they are eating?”

“What happened to ‘we’re going to do everything we can to help Mir?’” Corish shot back.

Before the twins could get into it, Mir butted in. “What happened to treating Mir like an intelligent, sane person who can decide what they want to eat?”

The joint, “Sorry, Mir,” with hunched shoulders reminded Mir so much of the little sibs they’d raised that a smile twitched their lips.

“What do I get if I beat him?” Mir waved their slice of toast at Toren. “And no, a promise of a second helping is not going to work.”

“Your choice, with reason, although it has to be something for you, not the small portions.” He nodded toward Mir’s belly.

“I’ll think about it,” Mir said and picked up their fork, but they already had something in mind.

The way Corish slowed down his normal eating rate would have been laughable in any other circumstances. Forcing down the last bit of egg took effort, but Mir managed it.

Corish put his knife and fork back on his empty plate with a loud clank, pulled the napkin from his pale blue shirt, and shifted in his seat. He always wore a black kilt, but the color of his shirt, tie, and socks varied daily, although they always matched. A far cry from the pup who could, and had, stripped naked every time Mir turned their back.

“You win,” Corish huffed as if actually upset about losing. Mir hoped his persuasive skills were better when in front of a jury. “Well, better get on with the day.” After breakfast, he usually went downstairs to work and sometimes after dinner too, although Mir wondered if he was only down there in the evenings so Mir didn’t go hide upstairs. But spending time alone upstairs was essential for Mir’s plan.

When not working, Corish sat in the living area, in the chair farthest from the stairs, so Mir always had a clear exit. Much to Mir’s embarrassment, they’d galloped out of the room on several occasions during the first few days and locked themself in the bathroom until they’d managed to persuade their stupid omega hormones that there wasn’t a threat. It hadn’t happened for two weeks, so Mir assumed they was getting used to being here.

The daft pair had even left books they thought Mir would be interested in lying around. The books changed according to the attention Mir paid to the various subjects, and currently, books about farming and horse training heavily outnumbered the childcare ones. Mir didn’t need much information about any of those subjects, but the ones that pictured smiling pretty omegas, written by alphas, only reinforced their precarious position. Mir wasn’t anything like the people in the ‘How To’ books, and they didn’t want to be.

They wouldn’t say no to a book titled ‘Getting used to being without Tavish’ but such a book didn’t exist. With a market of one reader, they didn’t think it’d ever get written, especially as the chapter titles would conflict each other. Mir didn’t know whether to be furious about being abandoned or guilty because they was sitting here and not jumping into action to save him.

There was so much Mir didn’t know about the world Tavish inhabited. They didn’t know what happened to wealthy alphas in musth, especially ones without legal paperwork. If he could be here, Mir knew he would be. Unless... unless it’d all been due to forced proximity, and once his head had cleared, he’d decided he was better off without saddling himself with his brothers’ cast off.

The front door banging open made all three of them jump, but the surprise on both their siblings’ faces sent adrenaline surging. They weren’t expecting this visitor.

“Hey, pups, stick the kettle on. I’ve got some juicy stuff for you.”

The voice of Makish Reeve, the father Mir hoped never to see again, rang through the house, followed by his footsteps jogging up the stairs. The stairway was next to the one leading upstairs. There was no escape, and hiding under the table wouldn’t help, although their knees shook with the need to try. Mir turned on their chair, facing the window that looked over the back of the property, heart pounding like they’d been sprinting.

Corish and Toren both shot to their feet and moved to intercept their father, but from the sound of his footsteps, Makish was already near the top.

The memory of laying on the floor, looking up at him through a half swollen shut eye, as he beat them, the confusion, the pain, the fucking betrayal hammered down on Mir again, making them fold into themselves.

Don’t see me, fuck, don’t see me.

“Pa, let’s talk downstairs,” Corish said.

“Don’t be daft; I’ll have a cuppa up here. Those chairs downstairs are damn hard on an old man’s backside.”

Frozen in place, Mir kept their back to him.

“Oh, now I see why you’re all protective; you’ve got yourself a bit of fluff. About time too, but by the smell of it, you’ve been bloody busy. Bit big for my tastes, and the hair’s too beta-ish, but if you like a bit of flesh to grapple with in bed, that’s up to you. Now, about this Taven Grabar; getting dirt on him is like getting blood out of a stone.”

Dismissed, just like before. Anger coated the fear, almost smothering it.

On autopilot, Mir stood, straightened their back, turned around, and stared their father in the eye. Graying hair and beard, plus more wrinkles, showed the passage of time, but he still exuded the same arrogance, the same entitlement.

How was I so proud to be his kid back then?

“Yep, you’d better run along, honey. This isn’t for omega ears,” Makish said before turning back to the important people in the room, the ones without working channels.

Toren gritted their teeth. “Don’t you recognize them, Pa? I know it’s been a while, but—”

“Them?” Makish scoffed. “That ain’t no beta. She’s ready to pop.” He took a step forward.

Corish’s hand shot out and landed on his sire’s chest. “That’s far enough.”

Every instinct and experience over the last eight years told Mir to hit the floor, to cower and cover their head. Instead, they lifted their chin and stared at the person who had blighted their life almost as much as that fucking doctor.

If Makish had bothered to show an interest in his children, had taken them to the doctor for vaccinations himself, the doctor who gave Mir the manifestation drug might not have done it. They had only been interested in proto-alphas who wouldn’t be missed.

Sakish had been searching for a big, bolshie, unwanted youngster to turn into an omega for his club and experiments. Thanks to Makish’s obsession with the bottom of a whiskey bottle, the doctor found exactly what his master wanted in Mir.

“I can’t have changed that much,” Mir bit out. Their words caused Makish to lean forward and squint. Then his eyes widened, and he turned to Corish.

“Where the fuck did you find her? And who knocked her up? Well, at least she’s fertile; it’ll increase her price—”

His son’s fist found his face. The older alpha staggered back, but unlike when Tavish hit Telish, Makish ended up on the floor on his back, holding his jaw with a trickle of blood on his lip.

“You will speak to your eldest child with respect in my home and anywhere else, that is, if I ever let you near this place or Mir ever again in your sorry existence,” Corish growled, his body tense and ready to do far more to his sire than bloody his lip. Makish stayed down, eyes lowered in defeat, just like when his bonded mate’s sire hit him all those years ago. Then, Mir had jumped in to protect their Pa, now, kicking him while he was down sounded like a great idea. One of the babies kicked, hurtling Mir back to reality.

If there had been an escape route that didn’t involve getting closer to the battling alphas, Mir would have taken it. Seeing Makish taken down a peg was immensely satisfying, but they also knew what a dirty fighter the bastard was. How much had he taught Tor and Cor after Mir left?

Toren came over and stood beside Mir as their alpha sib loomed over their sire, and the tang of Corish’s aggression clouded the air.

“Don’t worry,” Tor gritted out. “We won’t let him hurt you, and he can take a running jump if he thinks we’re ever going to let you go again. I never affiliated to him, and I left home as soon as Corish finished Law school. He lost the farm six months later. We top up his government stipend so he can afford his—” Toren glanced at his alpha sibling before continuing. “—other expenses. In turn, he does a little research for us. He can get information as an alpha that I can’t, and he can go into situations that would compromise Corish’s professional reputation as a lawyer.”

Like that bar owner who used that shitty alpha to work out I manifested.

Mir didn’t know what to think about their childhood home no longer being in the family, but Makish’s purpose for being here sent all sorts of alarm bells ringing. Why were they investigating Tavish? Was that why he hadn’t come? Was he in jail somewhere? Do they think Tavish did all this to me?

“You going to hit me again, son? Because if you are, I might as well save myself the trip and stay down here.”

Long seconds passed as they all waited for the most dominant person in the room to make a decision.

Corish glanced at Mir, as if asking for their approval, then back at his father.

“Alrighty then,” Makish said and started to get up while rubbing his jaw.

It didn’t look as though Makish would attempt to fight back against his son, so, as long as Corish and Toren were between them, Mir felt relatively safe.

“I think we’d better carry on this conversation downstairs, don’t you?” Toren suggested.

The beta’s comment pissed Mir off, and they wondered vaguely whether they’d ever stop flipping from abject fear to raging. The only person who seemed able to settle Mir’s emotions, even a little, was Tavish, and Makish had news about him.

“Would you stop treating me as if I’m a delicate flower? You’re nearly as bad as he is. This clearly concerns me too. If you’ve got something to say, Makish, say it. I promise I won’t have a meltdown; I’m too damn big to hide in the bath anymore.”

Mir’s three relatives shared a glance, but none spoke.

“If that’s not the reason, are you fortunate, big dick-endowed lot trying to work out whether the idiot omega will understand the long words?” Mir glared at their siblings.

“We know omegas aren’t less intelligent than alphas or betas, and we haven’t thought like that for a long time.” Corish said. “In our defense, do you remember how many omegas we’d interacted with before you left? Pretty much zero.”

Mir frowned, remembering how they’d thought of omegas before they manifested. They’d thought their Ma was the exception to the rule.

Tor butted in, but they’d dialed down the aggression. “Yes, we were ignorant, but we’ve done everything we could to learn since then. Just because he’s a throwback to the stone age and still thinks brains are contained in dicks and balls rather than skulls, it doesn’t mean we think that too.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that; I’m still your father.” Makish took a step forward. Toren shifted in front of Mir, and Corish stuck his hand out, blocking their father’s progress.

“Hold on, Tor. I’ve got something to say to our dear old Pa.”

Toren glanced back over their shoulder at Mir. “You sure?”

Mir pressed a fist to Tor’s shoulder, gently but firmly moving them aside. “Do I look like I’m joking, little sib?”

Toren moved a half-step to the side, but Corish stayed between Makish and Mir. The twins clearly didn’t trust Makish any more than Mir did. Their solidarity with their sibling, rather than their sire, injected a heady dose of confidence. Maybe, just maybe, the broken trust between them could be healed.

Moving around Toren, Mir walked up to their sire, who seemed as big as he had the last time Mir saw him, but after the alphas in Hell, and meeting the Grabars, his intimidation factor had dropped a shit ton.

He was still plenty big enough to hurt Mir, but the difference now was that their siblings were all grown up and firmly in Mir’s corner. The fucker wouldn’t dare to physically hurt his oldest child now.

“Do you know why Toren asked you to find out about Taven Grabar?”

“No, I just do what I’m paid for,” he said, a sneer twisting his features. Makish looked at Mir as if they was a lesser being, like adults saw a pup, like most alphas viewed an omega. He hadn’t changed, and never would.

“What did you find out?” Mir prompted, biting back the urge to bait him about following his beta offspring’s orders.

Makish turned to Toren. “Why does this concern her?”

“Answer the question, Pa,” Corish ground out, “and Mir prefers they/them. If you use she/her around them again, you’ll end up on the ground again.”

Makish’s brow furrowed. “But you’re fucking pregnant.”

“I can see your alpha eyesight is as sharp as ever. Speaking of which,” Mir turned to Toren. “I’ve decided what I want from winning our bet earlier. Spectacles. I’m sick and tired of the world being in soft focus.”

“But… omegas don’t wear—” Makish started.

“They also don’t punch their sires, but if Mir wants to, I’ll hold you still for them,” Corish said. “So maybe you’d better get on with your report before they get any ideas.”

Makish rolled his eyes, then glared at Mir. Mir stared back, eyebrows raised in a dare.

Makish turned to Toren, as if speaking to an omega physically hurt. “I hung around the pub the medics use, bought a few drinks, and got talking about being grateful to Dr. Grabar for saving my daughter from an abusive alpha.”

Mir gaped at Makish’s accurate description of what had happened, then cast a quick glance at their siblings. No one seemed to have noticed their reaction as Makish continued.

“I said I wanted to give him something in appreciation.” Makish gave a smug smile as if expecting a pat on the back for thinking up such a simple ruse. “But those medics are a close-mouthed lot. Most betas talk when I ask questions, but this lot, other than agreeing that Grabar is a great doctor, wouldn’t give me any other current details apart from that they wasn’t currently working at the hospital. They were fine with sharing older details though. The three I spoke to thought Grabar was some sort of hero. They qualified early, just like Corish did, and in ten years, worked their way up to Head of Omega Medicine, although why such a bright person would—”

“Just get on with it,” Toren prompted.

“An older beta turned up, one with significant status, judging by the way the younger ones scuttled off when they glared at them. If I was a betting alpha, I’d say one of them went to fetch them.”

“Did they give their name?”

“Dr. Alcott. Spectacles, fifties, fit for their age, smartly dressed. Looked completely out of place in that bar. They wanted to know why I was looking for Grabar. So I trotted out the grateful relative story.”

The description matched the beta Mir had seen going in and out of the building opposite, although there could be hundreds of people like that in this city of betas.

“And?” Corish prompted, but Toren focused on Mir. They schooled their features into ‘interested’ rather than surprised.

Makish shrugged. “They said if I wrote a letter to them at the hospital, they’d see that it was passed on. I asked for Grabar’s address so I could send a gift, but they wouldn’t give it. No one would come near me after that.” A grin lit his face. “Not in that bar anyway.”

“If you’re expecting a tip, you aren’t getting one,” Corish said. “Spit it out.”

Makish rolled his eyes. “You two have got to get out more. I’m meant to be the old boring one around here. A beta caught up with me and claimed their sib had been a security guard at the hospital, and in the hearing when Grabar was given his marching orders. I had to give them four sovereigns to get them to spill.”

Makish looked between the twins. With a slight growl, Corish reached into his sporran, drew out the required coins, and handed them over. Mir imagined Makish coming begging to his oldest child, and yeah, refusing him would be damn satisfying.

“Grabar got kicked out when he attacked the alpha of an abused patient about eighteen months ago, just after he manifested. Rumor has it that the fucker alphaed at twenty-seven because he provided a little ‘therapy’ to some of the more volatile alphas of his patients to calm them down.” He mimed thrusting his hips. “Have you ever heard such a thing?” His lip lifted in disgust. “An alpha letting a beta mount him? It turns my stomach.”

Mir looked away. It sounded pretty much like what Tavish had done with them. Sex for the sake of a patient, rather than what he personally wanted. If Mir had balls, it would have felt like they’d just been kicked in them.

“What happened to him?” Corish asked, looking straight at Mir. Mir stared back and raised an eyebrow, daring him to ask a question, but he turned back to their sire when Makish continued.

“Seems Grabar was completely freaked out about growing balls, being an omega rights advocate and all, so he buggered off up north to become a hermit to wait out the two years before he can get his balls cut off without his father’s permission.” Makish grimaced as if merely saying the words hurt.

Mir kept their face blank, knowing Toren watched for any twitch of reaction, but none of this information was new.

“Alcott has been fielding his mail, so his family doesn’t suspect what happened.” Makish shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t get it. Why on earth would someone not be pleased that they developed balls?” He looked at Toren. “I mean, given a choice, wouldn’t you?”

“No. Being a beta has its advantages.”