Chapter 4

4

When Jamie was a wee one…

W ynter Jaymes lazed somewhere between waking and dreaming when a noise caught his attention. Languidly lifting one lid, he heard Warden preparing for the day in the bedroom next door. He lay listening for long minutes, wondering if he should force himself to rise and have the conversation he'd been visualizing for days, since before his homecoming.

Things between them had been bad before he left. Returning, it was worse.

One of them had to offer the olive branch and try to change course before what happened transpired again. Wynter rose from the bed and pulled on his dressing gown over the soft, silk pajamas he'd worn to bed. The sheer material billowed about as he traipsed across the room.

He knocked on the adjoining door.

Wynter thought he heard cursing but ignored it.

Warden flung the door open, staring down his nose at Wynter. "What?"

Panic gripped him. He swallowed the lump in his throat, wondering if he'd made a mistake. "Good morning, my alpha," Wynter muttered as evenly as he could. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Cook made me something."

"Oh. I thought we could perhaps eat together before you left."

"I need to get to the office." Warden turned and strode from the door to face himself in the full-length mirror, adding a tie to the button-down shirt.

"We need to talk."

Warden glanced at his watch. "So, talk. I can spare a few minutes."

"I need a little longer than that."

"Take what I have," Warden said, brushing a hand through his hair. He spun back. "You're wasting what little it is complaining."

Wynter eyed the alpha. "Let me fix your tie." He crossed the space and for once, Warden didn't wince away from him. He smiled wanly, lifting his hands to untie the mess his mate had made. The scars at his wrists appeared over the edge of his robe, reminding him once again of what he'd done. He pushed the guilt aside, focusing on his plan. "Who taught you to tie these?"

"I don't know," Warden murmured. "It's been too long ago."

"I can't believe Ferron would allow you out the door like this," Wynter whispered.

"My papa isn't as demanding as yours." As soon as Warden's gaze fell on the scars, he tugged his tie away. "I've got it."

Wynter backed away, crossing his arms and hiding the signs of what he'd done. "Neither of us is happy."

"Tell me something I don't already know."

"We're stuck in this mating, Warden. Instead of hating one another for it, perhaps we find a way to coexist together? I'm not stupid enough to imagine we could ever love one another, but is civility too much to ask?"

"I tried civility. It got me nowhere."

"I was young. Scared. Can't you give me another chance?"

Warden's gaze went down to Wynter's wrists. He turned back to the mirror and his tie and said nothing.

"We could learn to be friends."

"Is that something you learned at that expensive treatment center I paid for?"

"Yes, in a way, it is," Wynter said, ignoring the snipe about expense. "Why spend the rest of our existence at once another's throats, Warden?"

"Is that what we are? At one another's throats?" Warden asked, finishing the tie and tightening it. "And here I thought it casual indifference? You spent your days sleeping away while I worked and raised our child."

"I wasn't well, Warden." Not that I'm much better now.

"Oh, I know how unwell you are. I was the one who found you, as you might recall. Or maybe you don't… you had lost quite a bit of blood at that point."

"It was a cry for help."

"It was a cry for attention," Warden blasted back.

Wynter fought tears. "I cannot live as we have these last five years. I won't survive it."

"Is that a threat?"

"No," Wynter whispered. "It's the truth."

Warden eyed him. "Why did I even bother saving you if you simply plan to do it again?"

Wynter wiped the tear that slid down his cheek. "Perhaps you'd like to answer that? You have such disdain for me, it's clear my death wouldn't have been a great loss to you."

Warden held his gaze. "It wouldn't have." He broke away to glance at himself in the mirror again, which seemed a favorite pastime. "But I've just gotten Jaymes & Associates back on solid ground and in the black."

"I fail to see the connection."

"People shy away from widowers. I can't lose business because a potential new client assumes I'm grieving your loss."

"Of course," Wynter muttered.

"I've worked tirelessly to lift J&A from the ashes of my father's mismanagement. I won't see all of my hard work destroyed because of you and your selfish choices."

Selfish choices? "Then meet me halfway! I'm trying to find a way through this, but I need your help, Warden. I can't do it alone."

"I've done it alone. For over four years, I've raised our son and worked to provide for this family, without a single ounce of help from you."

"I'm sorry," Wynter said. "I've gone through the program, and I feel stronger now. I'm ready to try and be the omega you need me to be. I just need help to get there. Please."

"You forget that I, too, am trapped in this misery," Warden said. "Yet, I found the strength to rise above, ensure our child was cared for, and work my fingers to the bone. I have nothing left to give you after all that. "

Ensure our child was cared for? Do you mean ‘hired the manny' . "You'd rather we remain as we are?"

Warden sighed, pinching his nose. "I'm at my wit's end, Wynter. You've already taken too much of my time and attention, as it is."

"Then we're doomed. We'll remain miserable. Is that what you want?"

"I wanted none of this. I didn't want you. I didn't want Jamie. I didn't want this life. You forced it on me."

"I forced it on you?" Wynter shook his head. "We were both victims of circumstance. My therapist at the center has helped me come to terms w?—"

"Did you tell him we're not mates?"

Wynter stiffened, noting the anger simmering in Warden's eyes.

"When we dropped you off, I specifically told you to avoid the more… indecent parts of our arrangement, if asked."

"I never came out and said we're not true mates… but I think he deduced it."

"Lovely. What other family secrets did he drag out of you?" Warden demanded.

"None!" Wynter said. "And I never admitted what we were to one another."

Warden searched Wynter's face, clearly disbelieving. "I knew this was a mistake. Why I listened to my papa, I don't know."

"Your papa is the only one who's ever shown me a lick of compassion," Wynter spat. Even that lick had been meager, at best, but it was better than nothing. "Had it not been for him, I'd likely be six feet under right now."

Warden eyed him with disdain, silent a couple of heartbeats. He didn't say the words, but Wynter could see it in his eyes.

Warden wished Wynter had died.

Wynter's bottom lip trembled, and he hated allowing Warden to see how weak he was. His mind spiraled, the dark whispers returning. He closed his eyes, forcing those thoughts away. "I made a mistake. I was in a dark place… and I made a decision I now regret." Wynter drew in a steadying breath, reminding himself of the tools his therapist had given him. "I'm trying to make things between us better, Warden. Wouldn't a life as friends be better than what it is now?"

"A life apart sounds better."

"We don't have that luxury," Wynter said. A glimmer of hope sparked in his chest. "Or do we?"

Warden searched Wynter's face. "Sadly, no."

Wynter narrowed his eyes as the spark died. "I know you're angry. I have been, too. If we continue battering one another, where does that get us?"

"I've got to get to work." Warden stepped away, the distance—both physical and emotional—widening more. "Have you put some thought into the spa I suggested? I don't think either of us is ready to face another heat together quite yet."

While he wasn't looking forward to spending another heat with Warden after six months in the facility apart, Wynter knew they couldn't continue to avoid one another forever. "We have to face reality eventually. We are mated, and that is part of it."

"The past months have been heavenly. I'm not ready to be forced into your bed again."

"Do you think I enjoy it any more than you do?"

Warden growled. "It sickens me when I rouse from a rut and see what I've been forced to do."

"You act as if I have some control over my heats. I promise you, I don't."

"Sure."

Wynter frowned. "What?"

Warden rolled his eyes.

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing," Warden spat.

"Do you really believe omegas can control a heat?"

"Leave it be!" Warden roared.

Wynter stared wide-eyed at the man. Surely Warden wasn't one of those alphas who believed the myth that omegas controlled their heats. It was medically proven that they couldn't, time and time again—no more than an alpha could control his rut. If Wynter had been able to control such a thing, there was no way he'd have trapped himself in hell with Warden.

"That's another thing I've been meaning to discuss."

"Oh?" Wynter murmured.

"I think we should have separate bedrooms."

"They already are."

Warden ignored him. "I plan to move to the East Wing of the house as soon as possible. Perhaps you could do your duty as my omega and facilitate that move for me? I believe you owe me one."

Wynter glared. He sensed the battle was a waste of his time. If he wanted distance, Wynter would give it to him. Maybe that was the only way through. A life lived separately, together. "Of course… my alpha."

"Good." Warden sighed. "As far as the spa, I'm not ready, Wynter. I would leave the province but with work and my responsibilities, it's harder for me to take the time off. You, on the other hand, are free to go wherever you wish."

If only. "What of Jamie? I need to work on rebuilding his trust. I can't leave him again."

"As if you were there for him before your incident? The manny is more a papa to him than you. He'll care for the child while you're away," Warden said, his voice low and filled with disgust. "As he always does."

Wynter cringed. He'd learned some techniques at the facility and was trying to implement them, but he and Jamie were near strangers as it was. The boy didn't trust him and understandably so. Wynter would need to work to build that trust, but if he abandoned the boy again? "How about this? I'll go to the spa if you agree to meet with me and my new therapist sometime after I return, so we can work toward finding a path together. Is that fair?"

Warden turned to face him. "You're home. They said you were better. Why do you need more therapy?"

"I am better, but I'm still a work in progress. The facility set me up with a therapist here in the province to continue my care."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"And give the gossips more fodder?"

"More fodder? I don't take part in society, so how in the world is there gossip?"

"You've been holed up in this house for five years, rarely leaving. As it is, some people think you don't even exist. It's time you took your place in society and followed in your papa's footsteps. His rise in society has given your father connections and power he'd never have had otherwise. If I have to suffer with you in this house, you will pay for that suffering one way or another."

"I was told to keep a low profile when I arrived. To help prevent the scandal from following us from Blacksburg. You didn't want people to see m?—"

"More than enough time passed, but yet you remained abed, ignoring your duties to me and this family."

"I was sick!"

Warden continued, unphased. "Yes, you were sick. A doctor and nurse were rushed here by papa to prevent taking you to a hospital—though they tried to force us to take you anyway. We offered them enough money to keep their mouths shut—another thing you owe me for."

"I didn't realize I had a list of credits and debits attached to my name."

"Debits. There have yet to be credits," Warden replied. "Once they had you stabilized, we got you on a helicopter and off to Eriberg to the facility—both of which were not cheap. And the mess you made! I sent all but Barrymore away for the night. He helped me, but it was still too much for the two of us. I myself had to carry your ruined things to the incinerator and burn them just to hide what you'd done from the staff. Bedding, mattress, furniture, clothing… all of it, burned. We tore the very carpet from the floor and burned that, too. Ripped the paper from the walls. After, I hired a contractor to repair it and return your bedroom to what it had been, but even they had to notice the blood stains I couldn't scrub from the floor. The staff had questions I refused to answer. I'm sure they guessed some of it and assumed much more. While you were gone, I heard a story circulating that I'd killed you. Another that you'd died in childbirth. I squashed them all, telling folks you'd simply returned home to help your papa, who was unwell. I don't know how many of them believed me. I'm sure some of our staff was surprised to see you walk back through the front door, alive."

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Warden growled. "You were inconsiderate. I didn't deserve that dropped on my shoulders."

"In that moment, I wasn't thinking about anything else but my pain."

"Clearly, but when have you ever considered mine?"

Wynter dragged his gaze from Warden's.

"No more therapy. No more gossip. No more scandal. I will not go through all this again. I can't."

"How am I supposed to fix myself without help?"

"Figure it out," Warden snapped. "You had six months of help. That's enough."

"Therapy saved me." He cocked his head, searching Warden's face. "But I'm not done. I can't be this person you want me to be without help."

"You will. Or else."

"Or else what?"

Warden growled, but otherwise remained silent. The threat in his eyes seemed fairly clear, though.

"All I'm asking for is a little help."

Warden spun to face him. "This therapy has done wonders—you've gone from quiet and meek to outraged and hysterical in those six month away. I won't spend another hard-earned dime on this idiocy. It's a scam. I'm cancelling your appointments."

Panic gripped Wynter. "Please, Warden. Don't do this. I need help."

"You need to focus on your child and supporting your alpha. Not in this mistaken therapy that has done more harm than good," Warden growled, fire in his eyes. "You will go to the spa and give me another month's reprieve, because that is what I demand of you as your alpha. Understood?"

Wynter glared.

"Don't look at me like that," Warden murmured.

Wynter turned to look elsewhere since there was no way he'd be able to mask his disgust.

"I think we would both benefit from more time apart. The spa would be a means to make that happen… and not create more gossip."

"Of course," Wynter agreed. "Perhaps I go there every cycle from now on."

"Perhaps you do." Warden glanced at his watch. "Now I'm late. I need to get to the office."

Wynter eyed the alpha.

"This will be good for us both. Trust me."

Wynter forced a smile, but there was absolutely no mirth in it. "There is no good here."

Warden's face turned pink, a hint of a smile on his upturned lips. "Not until one of us is dead."

Wynter narrowed his stare as his husband passed.

"Daddy?"

Wynter turned to see their son, Jamie, standing in the doorway, eyes wide. "Who's dying?"

"No one," Warden said, glaring at Wynter. "Unfortunately."

"Stop this," Wynter said, holding a hand out to Jamie. "Come, darling."

Jamie looked hesitantly between them before scooting closer and taking Wynter's hand.

Wynter fought the stiffening of his body when Jamie took it, reminding himself that the boy had come to him. Willingly. He smiled to himself, happy to see it.

He only had to ignore the similarities to the man who'd caused him so much anguish.

If he lost the therapist, he'd lose all his forward progress. All his plans to work through his resentments. "I'll go, as demanded—just please—don't cancel my appointments. I need it, if only for a short time."

"Yes, you will go," Warden said. "And the appointments are cancelled."

"Then I stay," Wynter murmured, lifting his chin. "And forget about the spa."

Warden bared his teeth. "You will go!"

"No."

Warden lifted a hand, as if he planned to strike Wynter. He lowered his head and lifted his shoulders, pushing Jamie behind him as he prepared for the blow.

It never came.

He blinked a few times and lifted his gaze to Warden, who wore an odd expression.

"You will go… and we'll discuss further therapy. After you return."

"That's not much of a guarantee for me."

"Fine," Warden spat. "You can go, but if I see more unwanted behavior from you, I will shut it down. And you won't see someone here. We can take a heli once a month to Eriberg so you can see the doctor at the facility there—otherwise, I won't agree."

"Only once a month?"

"Take it or leave it, Wynter."

"Thank you," Wynter whispered. It was better than nothing. He absentmindedly brushed Jamie's hair gently with his fingers.

Jamie cuddled closer, snuggling against his leg. Wynter smiled. The sight gave him hope.

Warden moved closer and scooped Jamie from the floor, a jealous gleam in his eyes. "Let's get you to your manny. We both know how tired papa always is."

"I'm actually not tired. Perhaps we can go to the park today, Jamie?"

Jamie's smile grew. "Yay!"

"I'm afraid not," Warden said. "You have your tutor coming today."

"Tutor?" Wynter asked, frowning.

"Yes, he was tested for school placement, and it seems he's a bit behind the other children. We can't have a Jaymes begin behind the curve, so I've hired a tutor to come give him the boost he needs."

"When did all this happen?"

"While you were away," Warden said glibly.

"I've been home several days. You didn't think to inform me?"

Warden shrugged. "I've handled everything without you for years. I've grown accustomed to it, I suppose."

How long would he be penalized for his illness? "I'm here now," Wynter said. "I want us to make these decisions together moving forward."

"Are you ready, though? You're still in treatment. A work in progress. You've said it yourself. Focus on yourself and I'll manage our child's care."

Wynter trembled with anger, refusing to unleash the fury within in front of Jamie.

Warden ignored the look in Wynter's eyes and smiled at Jamie. "I'll be late tonight, but home in time to read you a bedtime story."

"Can I go to work with you, Daddy?"

"Omegas don't go to work," Warden replied, chuckling. He turned to Wynter. "They remain home, to care for their children and home, not that you've seen much example of that. Had you, you might not require that tutor that comes today."

Wynter glared at the alpha.

Jamie pouted, glancing Wynter's way a brief second. "I don't wanna stay home."

"Jamie," Warden said, his tone hinting at irritation. "I must go to work. Be a good boy, now. Do as you're told."

Jamie pouted and then raced off toward his own bedroom without another word.

"One minute you tell me I don't care enough for our child and in the next, you color me as the villain in his eyes."

Warden scoffed. "How did I do that? By stating the truth?"

"He's four. He doesn't understand nuance or that I've been ill, incapable of taking care of myself, let alone him."

"Are you saying I should lie to our son?"

"Not lie," Wynter said. "He's four. Explain things in terms he can understand." He shook his head. "Or do you say these things on purpose? To distort his view of his own papa?"

Warden frowned. "I talk to Jamie with respect, and I tell him the truth. I won't sugarcoat things and make you feel less guilty over what you've done to him. Or rather, what you haven't done."

"How am I do make things right when you won't allow me? I want to learn how to be a papa to him."

"I've been his sole parent since birth," Warden said. "Now you demand rights? You haven't earned them yet."

Wynter knew then he'd have to play Warden's game if he wanted any kind of relationship with Jamie. "What do I do to earn them back?"

Warden eyed him up and down. "You do as I say. Play your role as my omega. Impress me and perhaps you earn privileges." He spun and exited the bedroom.

Privileges? With the son he bore from his own body? He fought tears, departing Warden's bedroom. After returning to his, Wynter sat down on the edge of his bed, stunned by the utter callousness of the man he'd been bound to. He'd seen hints of it over the years, but in the fog he'd existed in since arriving, perhaps there had been more he'd refused to notice. At least he'd gotten one little thing from the fight—he could continue his therapy. Once a month wasn't enough, but he'd have to make it work.

He eyed his scars, wishing he'd never allowed the darkness to drag him so deep—but after being forced into a mating he'd never wanted, filled with a child his body was barely capable of sustaining, and sent to live in another province, away from his entire family and any friends, he'd been lost. The initial sadness had swallowed him whole, and he'd not been able to see how far he was sinking until it was too late.

While it had been difficult coming out of the darkness, doing it without Warden at his side had been amazing. He hadn't wanted to come home, but he'd had no other choice. He needed to face his life and try to find something within it to work. If he could win Warden over, perhaps he might survive.

Wynter reached for the calendar beside his bed. The next cycle would come in a matter of days. Rising, he opened his closet, ready to pack his bags. Not that he'd need much. He'd spend most of his time in a bed naked with a tool to help calm his need.

Why he ended up packing four large suitcases, he wasn't sure—other than the desire throbbing within.

The one that whispered to never return.

A few days later…

Wynter stepped onto the first-class train car, a beta porter struggling behind him with his many bags. He stalked ahead, along a narrow corridor past door after door, seeking his private cabin and a little privacy. While there were another two days before his heat was fully upon him, he sensed the glimmer of it already. Privacy was a necessity if he didn't want to cause a scene.

"It's the next door on the left," the porter called out.

"They're all on the left," Wynter spat before taking the door he'd been instructed to.

As soon as he whipped it open, he found an alpha seated inside the cabin. A very handsome alpha. Handsome or not, he wasn't in a sharing mood. Wynter frowned and spun to the porter. "Are you sure this is the right one?"

The porter stopped just outside and lowered his suitcases. He checked Wynter's ticket, as well as the number on the door. "Yes, sir, this is the cabin listed on your ticket."

Wynter turned to eye the handsome alpha sprawled out on the seat that was supposed to be his. "You'll need to leave and find your cabin, sir."

"No," the man said, his slightly accented voice languid. He fished something from his pocket before rising to his feet. He brandished his own ticket to the porter. "This is my cabin."

The porter read both tickets before eyeing them both. "I'll go get the conductor."

"At least bring my bags in from the hall before you leave," Wynter snapped at the beta.

"Something wrong with your arms?" the alpha asked with a raised brow.

"It's his job," Wynter snapped before taking a seat. He crossed one leg over the other. "I suppose I'll just have to wait here until they remove you."

"Or they remove you," the alpha said with a grim smile.

Irritation filled Wynter, growing by the second. Sure, the situation was troublesome, but arguing wouldn't help anything. He had quarreled with Warden yet again that morning, so perhaps that was it. Spillage. Wynter took a deep breath and sighed.

The porter brought his suitcases in and left them in a discombobulated pile. "I'll be right back," he announced before leaving them alone.

Wynter eyed the stranger. "I understood this car was omega and beta only. I'm sure they'll find you better accommodations elsewhere."

"No, darlin', this is an alpha car."

An alpha car? No. There's no way Warden—or whoever had scheduled his trip—had put him on an alpha car. Wynter spun his wedding band, knowing it was the thinnest of barriers between him and another alpha. "I'm not your darlin'."

The alpha eyed the twirling band with an arched brow. "Where's your alpha? Shouldn't he be here to— protect you?"

Wynter clicked his tongue, wondering what other insult had nearly been flung his way. "I don't need his protection." Wynter tossed his long hair over one shoulder. "He had to remain home for work."

"So he sent you away? I wonder why?" the alpha asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Are you always this rude?"

"Only when someone's rude to me," the alpha murmured before lifting a newspaper and opening it—cutting off Wynter's icy glare.

It left Wynter to boil and churn on the other side of the printed pages—but why was he boiling and churning? Something about the man felt… off. It rubbed him the wrong way. After taking another settling breath, he turned his attention away from the galling man and outside the large cabin window. There, on the platform, he observed families and friends reuniting or saying their long goodbyes. Businessmen with their suits and briefcases strode confidently past. A lone omega with two babes in a stroller wandered by, appearing lost.

No one had been there to bid him adieu, unless he counted their driver. Certainly, no loving family member. An ache formed in his belly. He'd never known that and likely never would.

Time drew on, the clock ticking. The train was soon to depart, and no one had come to fix their situation.

Finally, the door opened. "Mr. Jaymes?"

Wynter turned to see the conductor entering. "Thank heavens. Will you please remove this man from my cabin?"

The conductor's face darkened. "I apologize, Mr. Jaymes. It seems as if you were booked into the wrong cabin."

Wynter's jaw clenched, and he heard a low chuckle coming from behind the newspaper before it was fully lowered. The alpha's smug smile begged to be slapped away.

"I assume you'll move my belongings to the appropriate cabin?" he asked the conductor, standing taller and lifting his chin—all while ignoring the alpha's too pleased face.

"I'm afraid not," the older beta said. "There's a problem. The train's fully booked. There are no seats left anywhere. You can either remain here in Mr. Cavanaugh's cabin, if he's agreeable— or we can book you another trip in a few days."

In a few days? His heat was coming… there was no time to waste. As it was, he was leaving at the last possible second. But to share a cabin with a stranger—an alpha, at that? It ran the risk of causing gossip if anyone found out. Yet, the thought of going home with his tail tucked between his legs to an alpha demanding his absence didn't sit well, either.

"An omega in a private cabin with an alpha who is not their mate?" Wynter asked quietly.

"You are mated," the conductor said. "I assumed it wouldn't be an issue, considering you've already been claimed."

"The train doesn't arrive until morning. You expect me to sleep inside this cabin— with him?" Wynter asked. "Money's no object. Perhaps we can convince another omega to give up his seat."

"Money's no object," the alpha repeated in a mocking voice. "Give me a break. Entitled assholes like you are what's wrong with the world today."

Heat flooded Wynter's cheeks. "Oh, yeah? Maybe it's alphaholes like you who lack the ability to empathize with an omega's situation that's the problem." He gasped inwardly. Where was his bravado coming from? He'd never spoken to another person that way before.

"Your situation? You mean, you—not getting your way?" The alpha eyed the conductor. "Don't you dare ask another omega to give up their seat for him."

"There could be someone on this train who could use that money," Wynter stated. "You may be robbing someone of much needed financial assistance." He eyed the conductor. "It couldn't hurt to ask, right? I'll take anything in the omega car. I'll even share."

"How magnanimous of you," the alpha murmured.

The conductor appeared uncomfortable as Wynter stared at him, ignoring the alpha. "We don't have much time left to make inquiries. None, in fact," the conductor said as he eyed his watch. "We leave in two minutes. I'm afraid we'll have to deboard you." The conductor winced. "Unless Mr. Cavanaugh will allow you to remain here."

There was no way Wynter was going home to Warden. He couldn't wait two days, or he'd end up in heat. He eyed the smug alpha.

"We will, of course , refund part of your ticket as thanks, Mr. Cavanaugh," the conductor said to the alpha.

"Part? Try all."

The conductor opened his mouth to argue, but Wynter intervened. "I'll pay it."

Wynter forced a smile as sweet as he could make it and leveled his gaze at Mr. Cavanaugh . "I can't waste days waiting for another train. Would you agree to— share —your cabin with me? I think we can manage the next… few hours … together." It was going to be hell, but the alternative wasn't much better.

"You forgot something," the alpha murmured.

Wynter frowned.

"You didn't ask please," Mr. Cavanaugh said with a grin.

Wynter fought the need to roll his eyes. He clenched his jaw, his teeth almost hurting before he opened his mouth. "Please?"

The alpha's grin made his teeth ache again. "As long as you promise to play nice."

Wynter glared. "Of course."

"I'm glad you could agree," the conductor said before clicking both their tickets and handing them back. "The club car will be opening within the hour, and dinner will be served later this evening. Your porter will notify you both when the time comes. Have a pleasant trip, folks."

"Could you have our porter come and stow my bags a little neater?" Wynter asked the man.

"I'm sure he's busy," the alpha said, rising. He hefted one of Wynter's suitcases with a grin. "Hell… what do you have in this thing? Stones?" He turned to the conductor before the man left. "I can handle Mr. Priss's bags."

"You don't have to do that, Mr. Cavanaugh… I can have the porter come," the conductor said, eyeing the bags.

Mr. Cavanaugh carelessly tossed Wynter's suitcase onto one of the overhead racks. "No worries," the man said before grabbing another. "I've got it."

"Careful!" Wynter cried.

The alpha ignored him, tossing another suitcase without care. Luckily, the conductor didn't leave. Instead, he assisted the big brute as the alpha manhandled the rest of Wynter's luggage, attempting to ensure they were stacked somewhat neatly. Once everything was on the upper rack and tied down, the conductor left them alone.

Wynter did not wish to be alone with the man.

"Was that really necessary?" Wynter asked as he sat on the opposite bench facing Mr. Cavanaugh. He folded one leg over the other and glared at the man.

"Was what necessary?"

"Throwing my baggage around like that? I asked you to be careful. I do have breakables in there." He huffed. "The porter can handle taking them down, thank you very much."

"Is it really necessary for you to treat people like your slaves?" the alpha asked as he leaned back against his bench seat.

"As I said—that's what they're here for. They're employed to take care us, of the bags, and so on."

"I bet you have a houseful of servants, don't you? A cook, a gardener, and a manservant, right?"

"And a manny," Wynter added with a sly grin.

"You have children? Those poor, wretched things."

Wynter scowled. "One. I have one child."

"One more than you likely should," the alpha said.

The words stung. "It's not as if I wanted a child," Wynter snapped before he realized the ugly words that had fallen out of his mouth. Oh my gods…

Shame filled him as he noticed the surprised look on the man seated across from him.

"And here I thought fated mates loved one another so deeply and couldn't wait to pop out babies? Didn't you get down on your hands and knees and beg him to put one inside you?"

Wynter cringed at the memory of doing just that. The words had been innate. He'd been lost to the heat. He'd never have said them without the influence of pure biologic need.

"That's really none of your concern," Wynter stated before looking out the window. His stomach knotted up… how in the world could he have said what he did about Jamie… to a complete stranger? He was a terrible person and now this man knew just how terrible he truly was.

"My parents… they weren't exactly a match made in heaven, either. I personally think the whole fated mates thing is a bunch of B.S.," the alpha said before offering a hand. "Wilder Cavanaugh, but you can call me Cavanaugh."

Wynter eyed that hand and ignored it. "Wynter Jaymes."

Cavanaugh slowly lowered his hand. "Nice to meet you, Wynter."

The way the alpha said his name sent a shiver down his spine. He clenched his jaw and ignored the sensation, attributing it to the proximity of his heat. Brushing some invisible lint off his thigh, he did everything in his power not to look at the man facing him.

The train jerked as they began to move down the tracks. A spiral of exhilaration churned through Wynter. He hadn't been back in his home province since…

Since I'd gotten pregnant with Jamie.

"Nice to meet you as well, Cavanaugh." An interesting name. Too bad the man attached to it is a brute.

He dragged his tote closer and fished out the book he'd brought for the train ride. Wynter had never been much of a reader, but he'd picked up the habit at the facility to pass the time. It had given him an escape out of the realities of his life and allowed him to be immersed in another place. That escape had helped him, tremendously. The tome he'd brought with him was one he'd found in his mate's library—about an alpha who'd left the Palatinate and explored other cultures around the world, showing a glimpse of how others lived. He'd hopefully live vicariously through the man's exploits because there would never be adventures for him. He was trapped in his tiny part of the world, behind the thick, high walls of the province.

Though, he'd have hours on the train between there and Blacksburg without more than razor wire atop a chain link fence for protection.

"What'cha reading?"

Wynter glanced up before he hefted the massive thing. "This."

"Who's it by?"

Wynter hadn't even bothered to pay attention to the author when he'd picked it. He glanced at the cover and read the name. Wilder Cavanaugh . Flipping to the back inside flap, he saw the alpha's face grinning back at him. When Wynter lifted his stare to the man, he hated the knowing smile sent his way.

"You'll have to let me know if you like it," the alpha murmured, returning to his newspaper.

Unwilling to let the alpha have the upper hand yet again, he searched for a stunning comeback, but nothing came to mind. He grasped at some straws. "An alpha writer? Most alphas I know are titans of industry, not mere scribes." He was reaching, and he knew it. Of course there were alpha authors out in the world. He didn't know any, but then, he'd lived a very sequestered life.

Unlike Wilder Cavanaugh, clearly.

One of the alpha's eyebrows rose. "Are you trying to imply something?"

"I doubt I know a single alpha who participates in the arts —other than to plunk down a few million renos on a painting or two at his omega's behest. Alphas work hard to provide, or rather, they should." He held the massive tome aloft. "They're not drifters who sit around, lazily typing their precious little thoughts down on paper."

Cavanaugh carefully folded his paper into his lap. "First off, there are plenty of alpha writers out in the world. Secondly, I make a decent living writing my precious little thoughts down on paper . I am no drifter. I'm an adventurer. Lastly, even if alphas didn't write, I would because it's who I am. I don't believe in following the class system or its expectations. I live my life outside the box and do as I damn well please."

From the tone to his voice, Wynter sensed he'd plucked a nerve. "Easily said for an alpha. Omegas don't get that choice."

"True," the alpha murmured. "You have a valid point."

Wynter sat up straighter. He hadn't expected the alpha to agree with his statement—and he found he rather hated it. It made it harder to argue with someone who was agreeing with him. Chin up, he smiled cheekily, feeling a tiny bit victorious all the same.

"But you can choose to be a nicer person," the alpha tacked on before eyeing him. "Instead of making everyone else miserable around you."

Wynter glared at the man. "You know nothing about me!"

"Nor do I want to after less than ten minutes in your presence," Cavanaugh roared back. He reopened his newspaper and looked around it. "I think we spend this trip avoiding one another as much as possible."

Wynter winced inwardly. Another alpha who couldn't stand his presence. Maybe he was the problem after all. A few minutes passed in heavy silence, with an apology weighing on Wynter's tongue, but he wasn't sure he should be the one to apologize.

The porter poked his head inside their car and announced, "The club car will be opening in the next five to ten minutes."

Wynter rose to his feet. "Good. I believe I need some fresh air anyway."

"Don't let me stop you," Cavanaugh growled from behind his paper. "Stay there, for all I care."

Wynter seethed. Seven hours stuck in a cabin with that alphahole? He'd be lucky to make it to the spa with his sanity intact. He stalked out into the cabin and down the hallway in the direction the porter pointed him toward.

But not until after casting a look over his shoulder.

At what, he wasn't sure.

Fighting with Warden was exhausting. Arguing with Cavanaugh had been almost… titillating. His blood pulsed quickly, his face warmed by it. Wynter's body thrummed with a need he couldn't explain. His opponent was even more titillating than the arguing. Dark blonde hair that looked as if it had been raked by those big, strong fingers over and over again. He'd seen how much bigger than his they'd been when he'd tried to stop the man from manhandling his suitcases. Imagining them sliding over his body made him flush in parts below.

But it had been the alpha's green eyes that had flashed with gold when they'd bickered that had gotten him most—that and a mouth that looked to be made for sin. As if Wynter knew what true sinning was. Still, he'd sat there, images of them kissing passionately playing in his mind as they'd quarreled.

A few feet down, he cast another look over his shoulder.

Why would he follow me?

Wynter scoffed inwardly before forcing himself through the doors separating the cars.