Chapter Eleven

Kane

A bath before every dinner. Clothes washed every week. Hell if this pretty little omega isn’t demanding.

By the second laundry run, Willow knows to have a blanket ready for me. By the third, she nearly manages to conceal her blush. That part, I quit complaining about.

The baths, on the other hand, are getting harder to brave.

One particularly brisk night, Willow barely lets me through the door—like she knows I’m going to give her a hard time. I hold up my latest kill, a couple squirrels, hoping it’ll distract her.

She folds her arms. Something about it makes my inner alpha hungry for the challenge.

“You know, bunny …” I lean against the doorframe. “I think I finally got you figured out.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Bunny?”

Shit, did I say that aloud? A dead rabbit was the first gift I ever brought her. Even though she didn’t accept, I think back on that day all the time. Maybe more than I should.

I clear my throat. “You’re so damn hung up on making sure I’m clean. Hell, you’re even taking my clothes.” My lips part with a grin. “Your omega like my scent that much?”

Willow’s eyes burst—green blown with black. She’s mad, alright. Mad, but not scared.

Well, there’s a nice change.

Growling, she slams her hands against my chest, shoving me out the door.

“What?” I goad. “I strike a nerve?”

She snatches the squirrels straight from my hand. “Don’t flatter yourself!”

And slams the door behind me.

Maybe, to a more civilized alpha, this would be the cue to fuck off. Me? I take my wild ass around back, strip down, and dunk myself in the tub. The water hits me like a goddamn glacier.

Nothing quite so humbling as remembering Willow does this shit every single day.

She’s an idiot , I remind myself, teeth chattering, as I dry off with my cloak. It’s a miracle she’s only gotten sick once so far.

Tonight’s dinner is skewered squirrel. I don’t know what else she’s put on it—some green stuff, some brown stuff—but I’ve polished mine off long before I think to ask. She’s still eating as I poke around the scarce leftovers.

“Here,” she sighs, handing me the rest of her skewer.

I stop. Frown.

“Have it,” she says. “I’m full, anyway.”

My mouth waters, but I pull back. “That’s not enough,” I grunt. “Eat more.”

“You’re twice my size. ‘Enough’ is relative.”

My inner alpha won’t hear it. I hunted for omega. Provided for her. She’s going to eat it, all of it, if I have to feed her myself.

Growling, I grab the skewer and tear a chunk off the tip.

“ Eat ,” I say.

Her features, normally so striking, turn all soft when she’s caught off guard. Slowly, tentatively, her lips close around my fingers.

At once, my cock thickens, blood racing downwards.

She chews. “How many times do I have to tell you?” Swallows. “I’m not a pup.”

I rip off another chunk. This time, she plucks it from my fingers, our hands brushing. Her scent swirls out, fruity undertones mixing in with the smoked meat. If I’m not careful, she's going to catch on to the rising tent in my lap.

“Must be hard,” she says.

Shit . She saw. “Huh?”

“Having a big appetite isn’t very convenient out in the wilds.”

Oh. I loose a breath. “Depends on the season.”

“Winter, then.”

My chest puffs up. “So far I’ve done alright.”

Three weeks ago, it was like pulling teeth to get her to accept anything from me. Now we’re eating meals together, sitting by the fire so close our shoulders are nearly touching. Maybe now would be a good time to ask.

“Not that I care—” strong start, jackass , “but what’s a scrawny little thing like you doing out here, picking mushrooms? I thought packs were meant to look after their omegas. And, y’know, feed them.”

Willow bristles. She turns her glare to the fireplace and doesn’t answer for several long moments.

“Maybe I don’t want to be looked after,” she says at last.

I scoff. “Yeah. No shit.”

“You have a problem with my hospitality? Door’s right over there.”

“Easy, bunny. I get it, alright? Family’s not a barrel of laughs for me, either.”

She hesitates, like she wants to ask, but is afraid where the conversation might lead. “You said … your parents died.”

“Not a real tragedy.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

“Two of each. All alphas.”

“That’s a big pack.”

“Yeah, well.” I twirl the empty skewer. “We weren’t much of a pack.”

Willow casts me a sideways glance. Fire twinkles on her lenses. “Is that why you left?”

I’m not sure how to answer. My reasons for leaving home seem so far away now. Maybe, if I wanted to go back, it’d feel different. But I’ve always belonged out in the wilds—even before I knew what that meant.

“I made life harder for them,” I say at last. “And we weren’t exactly well-off, so harder was, well, pretty damn hard.”

She tilts her head. “Harder how?”

I shrug. “Got into fights. Wouldn’t court anyone, no matter how much my parents wanted me to.”

“What? Why not?”

Really? She’s asking me that question—an omega in her prime, without a bond mark of her own?

Teeth clenched, I answer, “No-one interested me. All the omegas in my village were … insipid.”

Willow laughs. “Wow.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

She stares at me, waiting, so I sigh.

“They didn't want me any more than I wanted them. It was all a ploy to make their parents happy.” My lip curls. “I don’t want an omega who chooses me ’cause they’ve got no other choice.”

Willow seems taken aback, though I can’t pick why. She’s got to know what it’s like when alphas and omegas come of age—the lengths their families will go to court them off. Or maybe it’s that she knows this all-too-well.

She says, “I think I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“You could’ve claimed me. Could’ve done just about anything you wanted.” She looks up. “But you didn’t.”

Christ, is that what she’s been so worried about? I knew she was twitchy—what omega wouldn’t be, alone, way out here?—but those are some next-level trust issues.

Who hurt you? I want to snarl, probably for the hundredth time.

This omega wasn’t chased out of her village. That much is obvious. She chose this path, which means, somehow, the risk of being alone in the wilds was preferable to whatever’s waiting for her back home.

“No matter what I look like,” I rumble, “or how I smell, I’m not some damn animal.” My eyes flash. “So quit treating me like one.”

I half-expect her to snap at me. Maybe I want her to. Instead, she sits back, like she’s taking me in with fresh eyes.

“Yeah,” she concludes, “okay.”

“ Okay ?”

She quirks a brow. “You want a trophy for not mounting me?”

You would, too, if you knew the restraint it takes.

I shove my inner alpha down, turning away so she doesn’t see my blush.

That night, for the first time, Willow brings a pillow out to the fireplace.

Inviting me to stay.