Chapter Twenty-Nine Bastian

All markets are essentially the same. The crowds of people, the dust, the noise, the smell of donkey shit and body odor and spices, all mixed together in a kind of sensory blur that can be soothing if you're used to it. I've seen dozens of them over the years I've been in my pack, since traveling is part of the deal when you hang out with royalty.

More specifically, I've been to the market in Blessen, the town a few jaunts from our fort, hundreds of times. I barely registered the experience these days, except to note who is getting married, who had given birth, who seemed to need a smile, and who should be mentioned to Lynter or Sinclair.

And yet, seeing it through the delighted eyes of our… of the omega turned it into an event. Rosemary, my little wildcat, somehow made it all seem sparkling and fresh. Thinking back a few days to when she was still trying to appear meek, I wondered how she ever managed to contain herself, when she can become this exuberant over soap.

"The secret is the oil," Merrick, the soap-seller explained, as if he were the one who made all the soaps on display in his stall. I knew for a fact that he bought them from the widow Jane. The black-haired one, not the blonde one. "You've got to use high quality oil, or it will never smell right, no matter how many pretty flowers you try to stuff into it."

"I've only ever used pig fat," Rosemary confessed as if it was the greatest sin ever committed. "We didn't really have access to anything else in my village." She turned to Cantor and my big packmate lit up as if she'd set a match to him. "What do you use in your creams, Cantor? They always smell amazing."

"Almond oil," he said, and there was a note of pride in his voice I'd never heard before. "We grow them in the orchard."

I have to bite my cheek not to beam like a lunatic as he promises to show her the trees tomorrow. He's a far cry from the dejected man I had to bully into visiting her door today.

The omega kept chattering on as Cantor gazed down at her, pure adoration in his pale eyes. It wouldn't matter if the soap she's sniffing right now was 100 gold coins a bar, he'd buy it for her. Poor bastard.

Not that I'm any better.

And Merrick looks absolutely thrilled .

When I scented her perfuming outside the laundry room and found the two of them kissing it took everything in me not to just knot my hand in her beautiful, thick hair and drag her mouth down to where we could make other uses of it. My instincts assured me her scent and the glazed look in her eyes at that moment meant she wanted it. Wanted us .

But, of course, even if she did, it would have been a terrible move, especially after Cantor's tearful, mumbled confession of doing something horrible that scared her away. He wasn't quite sure what exactly he had done, but he did know it was somehow all his fault.

It sounded to me like the sweet woman had trauma and, aside from murdering whoever caused it (which would mainly be for my own benefit), I knew that gentle handling, with lots of talking and patience, are the best remedies for that. None of which necessarily includes her on her knees with her gorgeous lips stretched around my cock.

None of which can really be done properly in ten days either, but godsdamned Davos just had to set us an impossible task.

It wouldn't surprise me if he's the source of her trauma. I don't like to think badly of my packlead, especially when I know what he's gone through to get us this far, but the way he handled her after we found out she was an omega didn't seem… right. She had gone absolutely catatonic with fear and he had purred for her and kept her by his side. That's what alphas are supposed to do when an omega is upset, so I didn't say anything, even when he refused to let any of us help. Even when it started to seem wrong , for her to be that limp and unresponsive.

Except then he decided he wanted to bond her right away, even though she still seemed completely out of it and unable to agree. I don't know what he expected us to do… bite her without consent? Surely not, but by the time I had decided to go and object more strenuously about the rush, Sinclair had already shut it down.

Our sneaky little con-artist is one of the only people Davos will listen to when he gets in that state, so I was grateful until I heard about the terms they had agreed to. Ten days. What the hell were we supposed to do in ten days with an omega who was adamantly refusing our bites? Who had to be coerced into staying with us in the first place?

I'm told I'm extremely charming when I don't let myself get too sarcastic, and she seems absolutely smitten with Cantor, of all people, so it's possible we have a chance.

If Davos and Sinclair don't fuck it up further.

And yes, she seems to be our scent match, which is supposed to be this great mystical thing, according to Sinclair, but that isn't the reason I want her in our pack. Davos can fuck off with his dreams of becoming the next king. As much as I want to free all the omegas in The Nest, the only people I truly care about live right here already.

Folks always assume the opposite, since I like to remember things about people and make them smile, but that's just how I survive. If people like you, they won't go out of their way to hurt you. If they think you're a smiling fool, they let their guards down. Sinclair might be our resident former street-urchin, but I lived somewhere even more cut throat when I was young, and I know what it takes to keep yourself and your loved ones safe.

Safe isn't enough though. None of us have been happy . Cantor acts more like he's a servant than a packmate. Lynter tries to micromanage the whole pack with no success. The gods only know what's going on inside Sinclair's brain and Davos radiates so much stress all the time I'm often surprised he eats, sleeps and shits like a regular person.

Rosemary prances on to the next stall and I follow as Cantor quickly buys up half a year's supply of soaps behind her. He's beaming. The smile on his face matches the one that Lynter had after bullying her all day yesterday into being healthy or some nonsense.

She just brings that out in them, and if she was ours, they might smile all the time. That's why I need to convince her to bond us. For my packmates. If they don't end up ruining everything.

She grinned at me as I sidle up to her and asked if I like anything I see at this stall, and I can't help being a cliche and winking at her, with her gorgeous, gray eyes and bouncy curls and telling her I very much do like what I see.

"I mean do you like any of these timepieces?" She said, blushing and rolling her eyes at me.

I tore my eyes from her, but stepped as close as I dared while I glanced at the woodcarving stall. Her warmth soaked through my side and I wondered suddenly if I'm really just fooling myself, thinking I only want her for my packmates.

Nothing at the stall looks particularly memorable, not when all I can think about is her. Gods, I miss her gorgeous scent.

"I kinda like this one," she said and opened a tiny music box. It creaked out a tune, as a tiny, wooden shepherdess spun in the cradle of it. Her carved hair was thick and brown like Rosemary's and a tiny crystal hangs from her crook.

"How much do you want for it?" Rosemary smiled at the stall keep, who winks at my omega. A surge of jealousy pummeled me, shocking in its intensity. God's knot, I'm not the jealous type. And I know Jerry. He's been married to Clara for 24 years and he's only trying to make a sale.

Still, I found myself digging my fingernails into my palms to keep from drawing her away from him.

Jerry directed a tiny stream of magic into the crystal, and little rainbows scattered around the stall. Rosemary giggled with delight, a bright sound that outshone every music box in the world, and tried to catch one of the shattered rainbows on her palm.

I rolled my eyes at the canny salesman even as Cantor finally caught up to us, his arms piled with soap. Oh, this market is going to make a killing from us today.

Rosemary insisted that she didn't need the box, and even scolds Cantor for buying so much soap, so of course I simply wait until she and Cantor moved on before talking to Jerry. I hardly even bartered with the man, which has him grinning and slapping me on the back, as if in congratulations. He knows I love driving a deal as close to the core as possible. It's the kind of game I enjoy. But, what's a few coins when I could be strolling around next to her, right this moment?

Fuck, I was in trouble. Even when she was a beta, I wanted to be around her. I'd found myself thinking of ways of getting her to stay once we took care of her brother. Now that she's an omega…

Unable to bear being left behind, I wrapped the little box quickly in some cloth scraps and tucked it into my pouch. I hurried down the road, scanning the booths until I saw my packmate, who is really quite impossible to miss. He was bending over one of the two main herb stalls, picking out flowers from among the piles of leaves, because of course he was. As if the girl needed more flowers.

Hopefully he will remember to attend to his actual duties at some point as well.

Hopefully I will too.

I searched the crowd at the stall for Rosemary's purple dress and copper-tinted hair but couldn't see her. A slight fission of unease streaked through me. She's just gone to the next stall, right?

Quickly, I searched there, and then the one beyond it, and then everywhere else within sight. She's nowhere. She's gone.

When I turned around, clawing at my own hair with anxiety, Cantor was right behind me. A bouquet of flowers was clasped in his hand.

"Where is she?" he asked, and that's when I started to run.