Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a crispness to the earth around this time of year that usually made George Davenport excited. It was in the way the ground froze and crackled beneath his feet, the normally damp grasses crunching. We was excited for the way the moon grew too-large in mid November and the air gained a supernatural coolness to it that heralded the snowfalls that made everything tinted with glittery magic. He liked the way frost drew sharp patterns over the window panes and the way his breath looked when it steamed from between his lips. It taunted his imagination. It inspired him to dream of things he had not yet found in his life—the warmth of things to come.

He had been to several parties, much to the delight of his Father, and London, like Mother Nature, was spiced with the dazzle of the Season. He had been teased and cajoled by many an Alpha, he had been pranced across dance floors and hidden in the center of huge clusters aimed to protect. He had learned the language to survive and keep his virtue intact but alas, sometimes he supposed this must not have always been useful in obtaining anything of value—after all, he had done everything right…should he not still be the toast of London?

“I just don’t understand it,” his father murmured, the business man that he was, sitting on the other side of his large cedar wood desk imported from North America. A tall, slim but solid Alpha, Henry Davenport was a man who very often got what he wanted and sometimes by more than wiles alone. “For the past few weeks, you’ve been the darling of London. What’s gone wrong?”

“I cannot know, Papa,” George tried, though he knew his voice too quiet that his father could not hear him or he didn't care to.

“The papers adored you! Now there is not even a hint of you. Not even a scandal. What is it that you’ve done?”

That was a prick to his integrity and he was not so low to ignore it. He spoke louder though only by a little so his father could hear it.

“I have done nothing to cause this, Papa. I've done everything right.” He thought of the many times he had stood like this in this particular study. His father had not gained enough wealth for this town home until George was nearly eight but still, he recalled many times thereafter standing upon this very Persian rug or was it a similar one? being scolded before he was spoiled again by a doting father whose love was shown in gifts rather than with physical affection. He stared down at the pattern in the carpet, now fully wondering if this was a new addition to replace an older, more threadbare one.

“If not your virtue then what?” He rubbed at his clean-shaven chin and his brows furrowed hard in thought. “Perhaps a vicious rumour spread by some chit rival. If so, then we will have to find out what it might be and set the record straight. Even so… a lacking in such an area would not keep the cash-poor gentry from sniffing at your heels. This must be something grave indeed.” He tapped at his temple. “Think, George. If you’ve been kissed, I wish to know now. I won’t be angry.”

Annoyed by the accusation, George responded harshly.
“I haven’t been kissed, Papa, though had I been, I could hardly be blamed for being reluctant to tell you. A gentleman could lose his head and I could then lose my father.”

“I should never seek to embarrass you by committing murder…I simply would not be caught.” He grinned finally, allowing for levity even as his hard Alpha scent implied naught but severity. “George, I love you more than the world itself. My only child. I built this business for you. I’ve gathered all my wealth for you. I bought Weirwood for you. So that you might have somewhere to live all on your own with your partner and your children. I never thought to marry you to someone less than a gentleman so please…do not burden yourself with the worries of the common debutante…save that which would make even the gentlemen flee.”

“But Papa, I told you—”

“Yes yes, that you’ve not been kissed. A boy does not have to be kissed for his name to become besmirched.” A warm glitter shined in his eyes and the scent of his affection was like the crunch of autumn’s first apple. “Come here My Dove.”

George shuffled to the side of the large desk and stood patiently while his father reached from where he sat to fuss with his already-perfect cravat and push back at the strands of his dark hair with two fingers as though wishing to tame it. This cold touch was rare and decisive, the only sort Henry Davenport was ever capable of, he supposed. “Papa…”

“Now remember…don’t find yourself alone—“

“Papa, I know.”

“And if they wish to play parlour games—“

He scoffed. “I’m not a fresh boy.”

The elder Davenport sighed, setting his hands in his lap again. The side of his mouth tightened and concern shone in his eyes. “I do not know how to tell you this, my son…but yes…you are. You are only twenty-three. It must seem so old to you but to a man like me, you are still very much the child I remember.”

He swallowed, feeling a frustrated lump in his throat. He was not a boy. He was not a child. He was an Adult Omega which was nothing of the sort like what he used to be. He felt like a man, he felt grown—when would that simply be enough? His emotions produced a sour scent and speech wasn’t required for his father to comment again.

“One day you will see a boy of twenty-three stare at you and you will know a father’s weary patience. Please. Be careful. I send you with your cousin as your chaperone but we both know he has been lax in his duties…you are cared for by your friends, but what of you if they become bitter toward you?”

“It seems that the men of the ton have bittered toward me first,” was his retort. “I’d rather not discuss it. The girls are very kind to me and I ought not speak of things I wish would not occur lest I invite them.”

“You’re right. But we will still have to discover what’s happened to your popularity. I’ve never heard of such a thing before…a boy as lovely as you losing favour so quickly…even that Calvin Roan plain-looking and brash as he was…even an Omega like him could capture a mate.”

George sought not to remind his father that Calvin Roan was born from an empire and wealth worth a tidy sum, or several in fact, more than a handful of soap factories. The man could have looked every bit a tramp and rolled in the gutter before attending a party and still walk away with a mate. That was the benefit of being richer than Croesus. Instead of saying all that, he nodded slowly. There was an answer, of course, but what it was he couldn’t fathom. It would take a little snooping around…though snooping around was not in George’s interest.

“Leave it to me,” his father said, patting his elbow lightly, a brush that was greatly unexpected which had George jumping softly with his shock from it. “I’ll have your cousin look into it and I’ll see what I can find out myself. Surely a few of my associates would have their ears to the ground…and should things go poorly…of course you know Mr. Gillenberd would…”

“He’s as old as grandfather,” George scoffed, crossing his arms before him, unnerved by his father’s unusual closeness. He must be nervous. He thought. He never reassures me in such a manner…

Henry bellowed a laugh. “He’s lonely! Take pity on an old man. Besides, it won’t come to that anyhow. In the past few weeks, you had quite the look at all the young men…if you have a favourite, perhaps we shall allow your popularity to wane if only for the singular pursuit of one gentleman. Any thoughts?”

He had thoughts. He had plenty of thoughts. He had thoughts when he was near to sleep of the memories he’d found conjured by a very particular scent. A scent so handsome he’d searched for it at every party and found its source ever elusive though he caught whiffs of it seemingly everywhere. He felt like a prince searching for his Cinderella—that one perfectly matched scent that would lead him to his mate. It was like dew clinging to evergreens, fresh as a damp forest of sprawling pines. He could recall it even now, as elusive as it was.

The softness of the forest floor. The earthy scent of a glen described in some fairytale story. Tall grasses which tickle fingers along deer paths… Gone. Gone. Gone. Mingled with other things. Lost to other scents. Caught only as though one of life’s afterthoughts. The scent of a memory. Or even a ghost.

He had plenty of thoughts of which gentleman he wanted—he wanted that one. One he’d never seen before. The man was probably married. He was probably old or hideous or otherwise undesirable. Perhaps he would be the most evil of husbands, one that might call to mind the legend of Bluebeard.

Oh but I might take the risk. If only I could find him. If only I could bring myself to his side if only for an evening to know him truly. To find my heart broken at the very least so that I might move on from this wonderful, handsome scent. I could lose myself to it but perhaps in knowing him and knowing all his imperfections and all the reasons I might not be able to have him—at least then I could move away from him…I could discover all that would make him unsuitable and I could reject him from my heart.

“George?” his father asked curiously. “Thoughts?”

He cleared his throat quietly into his hand. “I do not. I’ve no preference.”

“Not Mr. Bell? Mr. Dawson? Mr. Hunt? Not even Lord Carmody?”

He froze in recognition staring at his father with something half resembling an alarm forcing his heart to beat hard in his chest. “Have you been…”

“Reading your dance cards.”

He let out a relieved breath. “Gods, I thought you were…”

“Stalking you?” he gave half a chuckle, “No, dear boy. I’ve much too much work to be doing such an inane type of thing. If I had been stalking you, I’d know exactly why you’ve lost your in with society so quickly. I fancy I’d be quite efficient at the matter. Perhaps that’s what I should have been doing the whole time. But no use. I just want you to be happy, George. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“Listen, I’ve work to do. Letters to write and the like. You find your cousin and go for a stroll in the park. Perhaps you’ll find some gentlemen there that catches your eye. Mayhaps you’ll ask them to join you for afternoon tea.”

George rolled his eyes, wondering how in the world he ever managed to get on with a father like this. He drew himself out of the room to the large foyer where he gathered his light-coloured coat and walked out onto the steps where he found his elder cousin standing. Thomas was leaning, really, on the side of the house, a rolled cigarette hanging from his lip and his hat pulled down to cover his eyes though the sun was covered up by low-hanging clouds that seemed ready to threaten snow. His extended family wasn’t used to wealth. They’d all had to come to terms with it when his father had managed to make decent investments and find his way through London’s tougher markets by sheer willpower and wit—more of the former than the latter, unfortunately. Of course, the effect of this sudden dip into the higher reaches of society was that nobody knew quite how to act—that was, except for George who had been young enough to be schooled by a decent and effective governess. He was also the first of his family to ever attend at Eton.

George felt himself prickle at the sight of his cousin. “Thomas, might you be a tad bit more refined in your stance? This is a proper house, not one of those rundown little places you spend your nights.”

“I don’t spend my nights at the gambling hells.”

“Whatever they are.”

He grinned, teeth stained yellow from chewing tobacco. “I go home with the girls, you silly little Git.”

“Yes, you remind me of that sometimes,” he replied, sliding his gloves over his hands. “My father wishes for you to take me for a walk in the park.”

“I’ve the carriage already,” Thomas replied, “though it was not to go to the park.” He grumbled a little bit before he cast an eye shined in mischief over George's form. “You really want to go to the park, little one? We might find you some real fun should you go with me where I really wish to go.”

“Thomas,” he replied shortly, “I would rather dip my head into a vat of tar than go wherever it is that you might wish to go. I’ve already lost my popularity among the ton and I have a sneaking suspicion it’s got quite a bit to do with your actions.”

He drew up in offense, his brows coming together and his mild Beta tone sharpening. “I’ve not done a single thing to hurt your little queenly status, I’ll have you know. I’ve even kept my head with all the damned Alphas you’ve been dancing with. They’re all a bunch of cads, I’ll have you know.”

“Cads who used to dance with me. Now they don’t.”

“Did you really want to be dancing with a bunch of sour sods like that?”

“Mr. Hunt was hardly a sour sod.” He tapped down the steps as the carriage approached, climbing in it when it had come to a full stop. He pulled his hat a little tighter over his head and made sure the tips of his ears were tucked under before he adjusted his scarf around his throat for warmth against the nipping wind. “Come, Thomas. I don’t wish to lose the daylight so quickly and I need to be out of this house.”

“You are such a spoiled little thing,” the Beta replied, climbing in beside him and telling the driver to head on toward the park. “Everything that happens around this place happens just for you. Could I have been in your shoes. Sweetened milk and chocolate every morning, Uncle Henry doting on you with all those gifts like he does.” He grumbled again, shoving his feet upon the wooden bench across from them. “You might as well have trouble finding a mate. At least you’d have something to overcome for once.”

George didn’t reply. He nearly never did. There was no point in entertaining outbursts like this when it came to the rest of his family. He was not as spoiled as they must have thought…at least, he didn’t think he was. After all, he hadn’t a mother and as such, he had acquired through his life with so little physical affection that any touch whatsoever now was a shock and distinctly unnerving…and yet.

It is all I wish for. From someone who might touch me unbidden. I don’t simply want someone to touch me with tenderness—I want them to touch me with the heat of daring and the warmth of passion. I want someone to overwhelm me. I want someone who will make me yearn for them—who will not shy from me and will teach me not to shy from them.

He thought, often, that his situation was rather dismal. Most lovely young Omegas were in such a state, he thought. Except those from the lower classes who sold themselves to survive or were debased enough to entertain themselves in rather lustful ways. He gritted his teeth together, knowing it to be wrong to be selfishly jealous of what he thought might have been a strange sort of freedom. It was all well and good in theory but in the fact of the matter, he was not so naïve to forget that those who sold their bodies in the streets did not do so for pleasure. Still—he wished he could find passion. He wished he could find a person who might touch him freely. Every gentleman who gently placed their hands upon him for dancing could likely smell his excitement—his fluttering heartbeat and his nervousness at such closeness.

They liked that. He knew they did. So why had they left him all alone?

I must be boring. It is expected, I suppose. I do naught but read and sketch like all the others. I studied at Eton but my favourite things are so rather like normal Omegas—perhaps there really is no difference between myself and my contemporaries. I am…undistinguished. Unremarkable. Even, dare I imagine—distasteful?

He frowned at his boots and gathered the heavy wool carriage blanket around his legs as the air was colder than he thought it would be.

When they reached the park, there were a few carriages about and a few gentlemen strolling but none of them cared to look at him. He wandered with Thomas for his walk, pausing at a bench where an unfamiliar Alpha sat, the man clearly more interested in chatting with the Beta than with George and so the Omega kicked at rocks along the path, meandering about until he had come upon a tree not too far away, the sun shining down through a hole in the clouds not far away while a few fat white snowflakes began to sprinkle down around him.

This time of year used to make him excited. Perhaps he had simply outgrown such an emotion. Now, he wasn’t certain what he thought about it. His eyes scanned the treeline before he leaned against the bark of his own tree beside him, taking in a small breath through his nose.

Spruce? His heart leaped and he jumped back, regarding the bark closely and finding a tiny nip of it that had caught a small bit of a gentleman’s wool coat, tearing it and keeping about an inch-worth of fiber. He picked the dark green bit of it from the bark with his fingers, carefully looking about before he brought it to his nose.

Yes! Yes that’s him! He held it cupped in his palm, his heart racing. Sunlight and sparkling wine. The barest hint of that forest filled with spruces and firs. Earth in all its wonder and glory. Alpha though understated. As though he had brushed against this tree while leaning only for a moment.

He quickly pulled off his glove by the fingers and touched his palm to the bark, hoping somehow to feel the vestige of warmth leftover from a glancing encounter. It was cold.

I want to find you, Alpha. I want to know. I want to know after all—could you be mine?

Chapter Text

It was a large gathering. These were the hardest to control. Dream still wasn’t certain how he had finally managed it but it was done now and the Alpha whisper network was working perfectly to keep his will in place. He had never considered himself a puppet-master before this but it seemed that exerting pressure in just the right places was something he was good at when he wished to be. The lights from a thousand candles glimmered above dancers who moved over the floor in seamless motion. The Omegas were loosely clustered, feeling much more free now than they had in previous events this season. They would likely tighten up as the night moved on but before they did, Alphas were keen to take advantage of the easy dancing selections.

Except one.

He was standing along the edge of the cluster, his dark eyes moving from Alpha-to-Alpha, his head gently tilted upward as though he were thrusting out his chin though Dream recognized that motion—he was sniffing. He was testing the noxious Alpha-loaded air for something and surely he would never find it. Not with all the different scents mashed together. It was enough to turn a stomach without the french doors at the side of the ballroom flung wide to allow for a cool, welcome breeze. But nevertheless, he was taking gentle sips of air, as though he were waiting to smell something irresistible.

“Still pining?” came a voice from behind him, drawing his attention to his friend, Sapnap. His voice was low and forceful, always teasing and consistently getting him into trouble with Omegas. “You know, he’s not going to wait around forever.”

“Nobody will bother him,” Dream replied easily, still feeling a trace of uncertainty in his gut.

“He’s got too much money to be off-limits for overly long. Some Alpha will decide they’ve had enough of this game you’re playing and offer for him.”

“I’m not playing a game.”

“Then just dance with him, Dream.”  He made a vague gesture toward the lone Omega, dressed well in a delicate powder blue with the barest froth of lace at the edges of his cravat. He was a vision, his cheeks pinched to a subtle pink and his hands together in front of him, waiting for a dance from a willing partner who would never come.
“He’s right there. He’s ripe for you. He’s waiting for you to make your move.”

“He’s waiting for someone…but not for me.”

“Do I have to tell you the next part?” Sapnap asked, his voice taking on a tone that Dream didn’t particularly like. It was resigned. It was pitying. “He’s not a bird you can keep in a gilded cage, Dream. He’s a flesh and blood Omega. He needs a partner. He needs love…not whatever it is you’ve been fostering.”

Dream wasn’t sure he could tell the man what it was he was fostering. Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t love. If it was love, it was twisted and strange. It was misshapen from all of his hand-wringing anxiety over the matter. He couldn’t get the Omega out of his head and yet he couldn’t muster up the courage to simply walk up to him and talk to him.

“Sapnap,” he started, his voice strong despite his emotions, “I’m a weak man.”

“If you were a weak man, no Alpha would listen to your threats and intimidation. If you were a weak man, they would take advantage of you and spit in your face, and steal your Omega right out from under you. But they don’t. Because they know you’ve a will that is ironclad.”

“If I’ve a will that’s ironclad, why can I not simply go up to him and speak with him? Why does the very thought of being too close to him send a chill through my blood?” He felt useless and he cast an unsure glance to his friend—his only friend who knew of this strange affliction.

“Dream, Alpha…you’ve never in your life had anyone tell you no, have you?”

“If you think I’m afraid of rejection…”

“I do. And I think I know exactly why you’re afraid of such a thing. Come. Drinks. He’ll be alright if you’re not staring at him the whole damn night and you have a drink with me.” Sapnap led him to a quiet parlour not so far away as to be immune from the sound of the party and immediately went to the sideboard to fetch him some brandy. When he’d gotten them both a glass, he leaned against the desk and spoke softly so as not to aide any eavesdroppers. “You’ve been rejected before.”

Dream’s brows furrowed. “I don’t recall.”

“Yes you do. You’ve never been rejected to your face, of course. But you had that little childish affection for a particular estate manager at your country home, didn’t you? You admitted it to me when we were at Cambridge. You’d presented as an Alpha and you were simply wild about this completely unsuitable roughian of an Omega—older than you by a good number of years.”

He felt his face heat with both embarrassment and a hard remembrance. He had been absolutely besotted once before but that was just the fantasy of boyhood. That wasn’t anything serious. It wasn’t as though he could marry the estate manager. In fact, that Omega, far too old for him anyhow, had been, and still was, married to his own father’s valet. Not to mention he had been unfortunate enough to discover that his own mother and that very estate manager were rather more…close than he would ever have guessed. He supposed many households were like that, folks always seemed to be groping for fish in peculiar rivers and having children on the wrong side of the blanket. He’d long ago quit thinking that anyone else’s household was normal—how could they be when his was so tangled and strange?

Dream cleared his throat.
“It wasn't a rejection.”

“Oh yes, he was married, I remember. But still, accepting that something is an impossibility is always difficult for a young boy. Such a thing could have scarred you, surely.”

“I am not scarred,” he grumbled, taking a gulp of his brandy. “Admitting to a childish affection is not scarring in the slightest. Every boy has fantasies.”

“Make this fantasy real, Dream,” Sapnap insisted. “You’ve all this command over the Alphas of the ton and you’re wasting it. Eventually someone will become bored of all of this and will challenge you and then what? You fight them?”

“That's already happened.”

“Which is why they do what they do now. They defer to you despite your lower rank because they don’t wish to be embarrassed by you. You’re strong. That’s your asset. You’re large and you have that look in your eye that suggests you might not care if you accidentally killed them. To look at you, you are your father’s son but to see the way you command them, you might as well be the heir to Asterly.”

He gulped at his brandy, turning toward the window where he could see torches lining the drive, letting out small circles of warm yellow and orange light. “I am far weaker than the line of Asterly.”

“How can you say that?”

“At the very least, Asterly’s heir has ventured where I fear to tread.”

Sapnap gave pause for a moment, puzzled.  “He’s not married.”

“He can at least speak with the girl he loves. Despite his inability to marry her, he has at least become friends with her—close with her. They are constantly together. That he cannot love her romantically does not seem to bother their deep friendship.”

Sapnap peered at him curiously as Dream turned around to face him. “You mean Lady Trenton? Well I’d known of the friendship between Asterly and Trenton but I’d not known it to be anything amorous.”

“He wishes to present. To marry her,” Dream stated plainly.

“Well it would be a fine match indeed. I hope he does.” He lifted his glass in silent solidarity and then sipped it. “Perhaps then you should take his courage to heart. Just…speak with your Omega. Once would be enough. Then you could know for sure.”

“What if, when he smells me, he does not like what he senses?”

“Do I have to beat you to death with my own damned fists? Even if he spurns you, it is not the end of everything. The fact that he is even here and hasn’t chosen the easier route—that is to be married to some officer—is enough to know that he is open and willing to be courted. What would the matter be with you? Not to mention, he will certainly not be the last male…think of all the odd sets that were our parents’ age. There’s bound to be more darling Omega sons. That is…if it is the maleness of him that’s attracted you.”

Dream poured himself another brandy and slowly paced, suddenly restless. “It is something about him. Sap, I cannot describe it. It is in his scent…fleeting and vague as it is. I wish that I could simply press my nose against his throat…to find more of him. It is, in part, his maleness. I would be a liar to claim otherwise. But it is more than just that. His eyes…his lips…his scent. If I were a poetic man, I would be writing sonnets for him.”

“Recite someone else’s sonnets to him,” Sapnap replied. “You’re beginning to bore even me. I’m half the mind to dance with him just to spite you. Who knows, it might give him hope. He’s been souring ever since Alphas stopped coming to him.”

“Nothing could sour him…”

“Oh yes it could—you don’t realize how much an Omega needs to be loved and cherished…even if it is shallow and from a multitude.”

“Please. Do not scold me. I’ve gotten enough of it from my sister.”

“Your sister is right.”

“I’ve spent too long away from him. Forgive me, Sapnap if I do not take your advice…at least right now. I will speak with him…soon. I merely need to wait for the best moment. A moment when I can keep my hands from shaking. Excuse me.”  He took his brandy with him, exiting the parlour and making his way to the ballroom again.

George was now in the center of the Omega cluster which had tightened up around him. He was chatting with the amiable girls surrounding him and was quite safe from the Alphas prowling about the edges. At Dream’s reemergence into the room, the Alpha’s scents and mood seemed to change a little bit as he was noticed, becoming far less predatory as he circled about and made pointed eye-contact with several of the more vulturine Alphas. It was a blatant challenge that most shied from and Dream was not above using his size and reputation to his advantage. It had the unique side-effect of allowing the cluster to relax and loosen as those rapacious Alphas moved away and allowed them to breathe.

The son of a businessman, George Davenport was more or less snubbed by a number of debutantes with noble family ties but he found allies here and there and was not prone to squandering them. Educated well, he had been young when his Father came into their fortune and he was the best result of it. His family was often what left a bitter taste in the mouths of those who wished to befriend him—particularly his chaperone, a less-than-charming Beta fellow who spent more time gambling than looking out for his cousin. If it weren’t for George’s own know-how and Dream’s meddling, it would not be surprising to find the poor Omega could be easily swept away.

Dream set his empty glass down on a serving boy’s tray as he passed and sought to circle a little closer, careful to capture fleeting glimpses of the boy through the crowd as he went to always keep his position in mind. There was a strangeness to the night, he decided, when he walked by the open french doors. A chilliness had seeped into the room and it seemed it would not leave now despite the bodies present and the burning scent of Alpha which permeated the air. He needed this Omega. He needed him and yet he could not touch him.

He was graceful, refined, and perfect. Everything about him was lovely. He glowed with an angel's presence and his eyes, ever forlorn, shined with something undefined in any poet’s heart. George Davenport, without his own knowledge, could destroy Dream with a glance. He could drive a stake through his heart and render him to dust should he only just peer at him with any sort of warmth at all. Should George come to know that he could drive Dream to heights and depths with only his gaze then it would come to pass that perhaps he could utilize all of his Omega fickleness to eliminate him entirely. After all, Dream’s heart had already been broken once as a boy—he could not anticipate the intensity of a shattering now.

You don’t trust him.

How could he? Omegas were callous, cruel little creatures. They didn’t much seem like it at the first but it was apparent as soon as they knew their own power. It was best to formulate a plan before one sought to strike.

And what is the plan?

He had no idea.

You’re a hapless coward. If only everyone knew what Sapnap knew. Then you’d be forced to fight every damned Alpha in this place who wanted a dance with your Omega. Even the idea of his being yours is laughable. What will happen when he finds out that you could not even speak to him for your fear was so great? Your fear of his own inherent power as a man who might tell you ‘no.’ His discovery of your true nature—

Stop.

He swallowed, unsure if his frustration was bleeding badly enough to make anyone around him nervous. Without thinking, he stepped out onto the terrace to find George’s chaperone leaning upon the marble rail, smoking.

“Evening, Alpha,” he greeted, the informality of their first meeting grating on Dream’s nerves. He was dressed in fashion but had a rumpled air about him and he smelled quite drunk.

“One normally waits to be introduced, Beta,” he reminded the man, almost to the point of pitying him for his lacking manners. It wasn’t his fault, Dream supposed, that he was not so versed in the idiosyncrasies of high society. However, it was really no excuse when one had so many years to learn after having come into money.

“Are we introduced?” he asked, his voice mumbling as though his lips and tongue couldn’t quite agree. “Nevermind then. You’re all a bunch of highbrow pumpkins anyhow. I’m only here for the brat.”

Dream’s hackles were rising considerably at the suggestion that George was any way less than perfect. “You are Mr. Davenport’s chaperone, yes?”

“Thomas, you can call me.”

“Right. Thomas. Do you not think you would better serve him if you had not drowned yourself in drink?”

The man’s brows furrowed considerably. “Do you think your opinion is worth something to me, Alpha? Is it that you’re so rich? Do you think I should consider your thoughts more readily than I consider my own?”

“You’re drunk, Beta.”

“You're drunk!”

He gave a great sigh and turned on his heel. It was not so much a detriment to him if George was forced to leave early for the ineptitude of his chaperone. There would be talk, of course, but there was always talk. It would, actually, be beneficial to allow George to go home early as it would give him considerably less to worry about. So naturally he flagged down a passing footman and enlightened the head servants as to the goings-on so that they might take Thomas and at the very least give him a room to recover in or at the very worst send him home with his charge.

The solution was the latter and Dream watched dispassionately from afar as George’s face remained stoic even as his manner became icy toward his companion.

Sapnap arrived at his side again. “That was your doing, I suppose. Gracious, having such a terrible guardian must wear on a man’s nerves.”

Dream agreed. “He’s certainly got the temperament to handle it well.”

“Truly. Though for all we know, he could sound like a fisherman when the coach door is closed.”

“Could you blame him if he did?”

“Absolutely not. Tell me…have you decided when you’ll speak with him?”

“...No.”

He sighed “Of course not. Come on then. Let’s get as drunk as Davenport’s chaperone and lose some money at cards. Perhaps if you wake up tomorrow with a splitting headache, you’ll forget how much of a dunce you've been tonight.”

Perhaps, Dream thought solemnly.

But probably not.

Chapter Text

The last of his flowers were moldering away, the roses providing a musty bittersweet scent as their petals crisped and fell. He hadn’t allowed the staff to take them away quite yet as they had been lovely when they were alive and even in death they seemed to have a particular charm. Like the birds which twittered away at the hints of first frost, he knew of their glory by the silence in their wake. Letters he’d received were in a stack on his small writing desk. They had all been answered. There was not one he had overlooked. Not a single response had come back from any of the men with which he had previously conversed. It had been as though some sort of avalanche had come to dam a river—it had been so catastrophic and sudden that it was the only thought he could muster.

With nothing left for him to do, he wandered the house, marveling at how cold it could be. Should Weirwood be so cold, he would most certainly have to find a mate then. For how else could he warm himself?

He looked around to make certain that there was no one who could smell him become excited and then allowed for his daydreams.

A big, strong Alpha. An Alpha who could pick him up and lift him with little to no effort at all, who could bring him down and envelope him in strong arms and kiss him tenderly and then ravenously.

He knew how deeply a man could kiss him—he knew more than his father would have thought sensible. He had seen Thomas hidden in the dark spaces of the garden when he thought no one was awake. He had seen his cousin kissing girls he ought not kiss anywhere, much less in the shadows of a decent London garden. But oh how such scenes had given George ideas. Ideas he would hold onto forever—imaginings of being held tightly and pressed down into his mattress. Ideas that caused him to hold his pillows over him as though their weight could be in any fashion comparable to that of his dream Alpha.

What he wouldn’t give for the man’s scent. His true scent, not this evasive, bastardized version he always seemed to find. What he wouldn’t give to finally see the Alpha he pined for. Would he be handsome? Would he be an old doddering toad?

He found the frame of a window which overlooked the street below and he leaned against it, pressing his forehead against the chilly pane. His breath fogged the glass and he whispered softly to himself.

Oh God…please let him be handsome.  Let him be handsome even if he cannot be mine. Such beauty in a scent cannot be without beauty in a face and soul…surely…

He watched the coaches clatter by over the cobblestone for a minute or two until his eyes were caught by the flash of a little blue scarf as the boy who wore it opened the iron gate and walked toward the house. A small courier by the look of him and not one his father normally utilized. Those couriers were grown men with leather cases who walked like they always had somewhere to be—which he supposed a courier always did have somewhere to be—and never had time to really see the world they inhabited. This one was a young boy, perhaps only thirteen or fourteen and he stopped along the walk to pet the cat George had been leaving milk for by the kitchen door each night.

Curious, George wandered toward the stairs which led to the entrance hall and watched as Utley dragged open the thick wooden door to permit the boy to enter.  With a small bow, an envelope was given and the child glanced upward toward him before he rushed off again into the dampness of the London landscape.

“Oh,” Utley murmured, turning about as George made his way down the steps, “it is for you, young Mr. Davenport. A welcome note, to be sure.” His warm smile was difficult to keep from spreading and even George, in his melancholy could not deny it, allowing its infectiousness to overtake him.

“Thank you, Utley. I cannot imagine who—”

The graceful brush of long grass gone to seed…

His breath caught in his throat and the first stirrings of panic began to clutch at his heart. A heavy stone lodged in his throat.

“Mr. Davenport?” Utley tried, coming toward him and placing a steadying hand upon his shoulder.  “Are you alright? A scent you know? It means naught to me but…”

“I…” he tried, staring down at the scrawl that marred the parchment envelope.

G. Davenport

Written in a hand without obvious care—nonchalant as though the man knew already that he had won this particular Omega’s heart. What could he have written?  What could he have possibly wished to convey to someone he had never before met in person? Could he have known that George was desperate for him? Could he have purposefully left his scent to find? Every unlikely scenario flooded him all at once and he could barely contain himself. Every fantasy he had held was crashing over him and he reached up, placing his hand over Utley’s on his shoulder.

“Mr. Davenport, shall I call for help?”

“N-No. I will take myself to my room. I cannot explain. This note has simply caught me rather off guard, you see.” Rather off guard was one way of thinking of it. Like a ship in irons, he felt as though he were facing down a storm wrought by the hand of God himself. By the time he managed to drag himself into his room, his scent was rife with his panic and his whole body was trembling madly. He could scarcely feel his fingers when he peeled away the nondescript wax seal and unfolded the parchment, revealing a script that was practiced and yet careless in its execution of style. Masculine, handsome even…

Dear Mr. Davenport,

 

I have spent hours contemplating how I might convey the most simplistic of emotions but when they are to be conveyed to you, dear sir, I find it unfeasible. There has been a reduction of my form—I am no longer human in your wake but have been gnashed and whittled down into a being with one aim, and that is only to crave. Please do not think less of me for my crudeness. For I fear great pain. I fear great love. I fear you.

He flipped the missive over to find nothing more and was befuddled for many moments at the lack of a name. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing but this scent he had coveted only minutes prior and now that there was a soundless voice attached to it, he could not be satisfied so easily. He pressed the paper to his nose, pulling in the harshness of a fuller scent and reveling in all it could provide him. It had not been purposefully scented—merely a byproduct of having been handled and as such, it was as though it still bore some mask, its appearance to his senses marked by brevity though it lingered far better than traces left.

Haunting. Circling. Sparkles of dew dripping from the freshest sprigs of evergreen, dripped and dribbled only as the heedless deer meander through and flick their ears this way and that. Hoofprints left in loose dirt, cloven and evidenced by still-damp patches of mud in spring. Hawks circling overhead, vying for small game to swoop down and slaughter, their golden eyes seeing all as they glide and turn, waiting for a chance to strike.

I fear great pain. I fear great love. I fear you.

But what was there to fear?  He was small. He was soft. He was...average. There was nothing great about George Davenport. There was nothing large or imposing or in any way intimidating. He held no sway in politics or power of any sort. So then what could he possibly do to a man that would cause him to fear?

He held the note to his chest, his heart beating hard beneath it in a quick staccato.  He could hardly believe this. That the man he had been scenting near to him should write him and that it would be such a short letter. It was plain-speaking which was more than welcome and though the hand was clearly that of an educated fellow, it held a carelessness that was indicative of a man who did not much care what others might have thought.

Oh, I should not pick it apart so…I will create some specter that cannot be recreated in life and I will regret my musings when he cannot match up to them.

Still, it did no good to tell himself off. He was imagining for hours what sort of Alpha could have sent such a note to him. He folded the parchment and kept it in his breast pocket close to his heart for the whole of the day. He daydreamed as he wandered in the garden, his ears nipped from the chilly breeze and the ground crisp with the hint of frost. What he wouldn’t give to smell that scent on frozen mornings in winter, warm in the arms of a man who might press him down into his mattress and spread his legs and—

He let out a loose breath, the steam billowing through the cold air. He suddenly wished he was alone in his bed, stroking himself like he was accustomed to do. Omegas were passionate creatures, he was told. They were prone to acting out when their emotions were high and they were awfully prone to emotions of a sexual nature. He couldn’t deny the claim. Not for himself, anyhow. He felt as though all he could think about sometimes was how much he wished for a man—really this man, whose scent haunted him—to ease between his thighs and do any number of shocking things to him.

He supposed that sometimes it didn’t have to be this man. It could be anyone. He’d fantasized about a lovely female Alpha who might come to him. He’d fantasized about young, virile Beta men who seemed still to be a mystery to him. He’d even, lord help him, fantasized about being held down and taken by force. It seemed that almost no fantasy was off-limits when his body was buzzing to life with wild arousal and he couldn’t help but embrace it for everything it was—even the ones that shocked him in their moral depravity. He liked them. He liked them all.

“What is this weird smell?”

George stiffened considerably, turning around suddenly and nearly stumbling. Thomas had come from the house for some reason or another—perhaps to tell him to come inside for it was probably too cold for him to be wandering about without his hat—and was now close enough to smell him.

“Good lord, what are you doing out here? You’ve got the queerest scent.”

Alarmed, George didn’t reply to him. What could he even say? I’ve been standing out here fantasizing about Alphas between my legs, what the hell do you do in your daydreams? Instead, he let out a distressed little sigh and pushed past the man on his way back to the house.

“Hey! I heard you got a note today.”

George still didn’t answer him, stomping his way toward the veranda.

“Oh George, come on, I didn’t mean to tease you.” He had hoped to catch up, his steps heavy behind him. “Tell me of your suitor. That’s who the letter was from, right? A man who’s got his eye on yah, no doubt. There’s been no excitement here anymore. No flowers comin’ from all the gents. You have to tell me about this one, right?”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he replied curtly, tapping up the stone steps and making his way into the house. Almost immediately, he took off his boots, walking over the cold floors in his socks while the servants took his coat and gloves. When he got to the stairs and was up one, he turned around to face Thomas eye-to-eye. “Might you do me a favour, cousin?”

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes alight with mischief.

“Go to the devil.”

He frowned. “Hey! I thought you liked me. Wouldn’t you like a sympathetic ear? I could give you some advice.”

“I need no advice from a simpleton like you.”

The Beta ran around him up the stairs and turned around to block him from his travel upward. “I’m your chaperone, if you don’t recall, George. If I don’t like something, it doesn’t happen. Now tell me about your letter.”

“Are you suggesting that you’re to blame for all my suitors disappearing? I find that a rather silly little claim if that’s what you mean to say. No Alpha would find you intimidating enough to leave me be.”

I fear you.

He himself seemed to have more power in that regard than he could have ever imagined his cousin to have. The recollection made him swallow thickly. “If you do have anything to do with it, you can be assured my father will—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got nothing to do with any of that nonsense. But I may have a method of fixing it. In fact, I’ve got a friend of sorts who would like to be introduced to you. I spoke of you the other evening and he seemed quite interested.”

“Is there any reason I should be interested in him? If he’s chummy with you, I don’t see one.” He made to move around his cousin but found a hand keeping him where he was, not touching him yet but close enough that he felt a righteous indignation at the attempt. “Cousin, if you do not move from my path, I will make certain you feel my retribution tenfold.”

“Simply listen to me, you little twit,” he replied in a low tone. “Your options are limited. I suggest you take me up on the offer. He’s a decent man and I have a suspicion that it was he who sent you that note. He’s a very discreet fellow so I doubt he’s left a name to it. But if you let me see it…”

“I’ll do no such thing! Stay out of my private affairs—”  He paused. If it was Thomas’s friend…if this man who haunted his dreams each night really was a friend of his cousin—did it matter to him what his moral objections were? Don’t be silly, of course it does. If he’s a rake and a scoundrel just like my cousin then I shouldn’t have anything to do with him. That was, of course, the logical method of thinking for a man in his position but his heart ached and his instincts were simmering with the possibility of finding the Alpha who could sate him after all this time of waiting.

Thomas’s mouth was tight. “George, all I want to do is go back to whatever it was I was doing before I was roped into becoming your chaperone. That means I would like you married as soon as possible. If there’s a chance—”

“Very well.”

He blinked.  “What?”

“Very well. Introduce me to your friend. If I think he’s a bore then nothing will come of it. If he did indeed write this letter to me then I can be assured that he is not a bore and I will consider him further.”

The edges of Thomas’s smile curled much like the edges of paper blackened by a fire and the sight of it was enough to make George slightly uneasy. "Good. I think you’ll find him acceptable. Considering the current state of your prospects, perhaps you should reconsider the stringent nature of your ideal husband.”

“Is this supposed to soften the blow when he is fifty and without hair?  Get out of my way, damn it,” he snapped, suddenly angry at the thought that his beloved Alpha scent might belong to someone he found decidedly unattractive. Thankfully, he did not have to try to stomp his cousin’s toes with his socked feet as the man moved out of his way to the other side of the stairwell. “Thank you,” he provided rather as an afterthought while he made his way up the stairs, his scent musty with a tang of anger.

No doubt that if the Alpha knew Thomas, it was not for any decent manner of meeting. Perhaps agreeing to meet him was a mistake…but it was also perhaps a mistake worth making.

Oh, you little fool. You’ll let yourself be ravaged if only for a touch. The right touch.  The only touch worth having. That which could wake the lurid fantasies which lay in wait within you. You’d do anything for that touch…even marry a man who wishes to use you for your father’s money.  For your body.  For anything at all if only he will touch you where nobody else has before.

He was above many things but he never once thought himself above any Omega who could not withhold themselves from being compromised. He felt their desires. He felt it so strongly, he could hardly imagine any other form of being. How had he felt when he was still a Beta before presentation?  Had he felt such lust?  Such desperation?

He locked himself in his room and immediately began to take off his clothes, shedding them onto the floor with graceless abandon after withdrawing the precious note he’d concealed in his pocket before he pulled and twisted at the sheets, fiddling with his nest. He found his favourite pillow—the one that was the firmer of the bunch—and climbed atop it, holding it tight between his thighs. He held the letter tenderly between his fingers, taking small sips of its scent while he began a steady rocking.

One day I’ll find you, Alpha. One day I’ll know. And if you’re not in any way suitable—I can’t know at all if I’ll care.

Chapter Text

Dream’s father had always kept his study as a sanctuary away from everyone else in the house—especially his children. Whenever they had to speak with him, for any reason at all, they were shuffled into the parlour and scolded in the soft way his father scolded. This time, Dream found himself standing in front of his father’s desk, his eyes on the inkwell. Next to him was his older sister, Amelia, an Omega who was far too clever for her own good and the one who, Dream assumed, would take the brunt of this particular scolding.

“Perhaps you should both sit down.” The Viscount’s voice was calm and appealing and very smooth for an Alpha.

He peered behind him at the chair that was nearby and didn’t feel much like sitting. Amelia found her seat easily, sinking down onto the near settee, comfortable and not a bit nervous. Why should she be? It was not as though she ever got into any trouble at all. She was the favourite, after all. Dream sighed.

“Dream?” his father asked, peering at him from his seat.

“Yes, Father,” he breathed, finally sitting down.  There was too much ire in him.  It was making his joints stiff.

“The first thing I want to happen here is an apology. From you, Amelia. I want you to apologize to your brother for having made things difficult for him.”

Amelia scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

“Amelia.”

The insolent Omega placed her feet up on the settee and cast an incredulous stare toward the Alpha who demanded this of her, her blatant disregard for her father’s wishes something of a novelty in this house. There was no one else on Earth who could be so informal and disrespectful toward the Viscount Humphrey. “You wish for me to tell this boy that I’m sorry for meddling in his affairs when he is the one torturing a poor Omega who was having a very fine season indeed before he began to lose every prospect without a single inkling as to why.  Your son is very quickly becoming the villain of some sordid novella. He has not once spoken to this boy.  Did you think I could just let this happen?  Did you think I could allow him to go on like this!?”

“That’s enough, Amelia.  Whatever your brother has done has nothing to do with you.”

Her sweet Omega scent was beginning to alter, becoming musty and sour with her dissatisfaction in the course of the argument. “Nothing to do with me?  Of course it’s got nothing to do with me!—but you cannot expect me to stand idle while he breaks this boy’s heart without ever growing the courage to speak to him!”  Her green eyes flashed in the firelight, shiny and filled with a vivid anger.  “I cannot watch my brother destroy a boy’s dreams and social prospects for nothing to come of it. I won’t.”

“You will if I send you back to the country.”

“You. Wouldn’t.”

Humphry jutted out his chin, his expression still soft. “I will handle your brother. You needn’t concern yourself.”

“You Alphas,” Amelia replied, her voice wavering while her eyes gathered moisture. “You don’t understand it. Not at all. What Dream is doing should be criminal.”

He could feel a strange twisting in his guts. It wasn’t as though he could honestly tell Amelia that she was wrong—what he’d done was terrible. But was it terrible enough to warrant tears from someone who was not personally harmed? Perhaps it was their compassion—their empathy. Truly…Alphas could never hope to understand the sort of emotional complexity there was to be found within an Omega’s heart.

His father spoke again. “What did the letter say, Amelia?”

“I told you what it said. I wrote as Dream. I called him a coward and I should have called him a downright ratbag.”

“I have not acted that poorly,” he mumbled where he sat, uncertain that such a statement was true.  He may very well have been a ratbag and a coward. He had certainly not been overflowing with courage when it came to speaking to the lovely Mr. Davenport.

Humphrey hummed. “And I suppose you framed it well enough to either make your brother out to be entirely distasteful or, as is more to your strength, you’ve sought to romance him.”

Amelia flashed Dream a reproachful glance. “I didn’t sign it…but yes. To the second. I think he should be at least a little hopeful now that he has some chance. It is more than he had before and more than he will have again unless my dearest little brother will grow a bloody spine.”

“Watch your tongue, Amelia.”

The Omega stood suddenly, her scent sharp and dangerous. “If you do not do something, Father, then you will have to send me into the country. I cannot watch something so hideous happening before my very eyes.”

Humphrey looked toward his second child, Dream’s heart beating harder at the scrutiny.  “Dream? What do you have to say?  This is a rather unusual tact for the pursuit of an Omega mate.  Have you thought as to how you may proceed?”

“I’ve given it thought.”

“The devil he has!”

“Amelia!”

Finally, unable to handle any more of this, the eldest of the line stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her in a petulant display that had Dream’s stomach tying itself in knots. He had never seen his sister so furious with him.  Not since they were pups, anyway.

“Father, I swear to you…I just need a little more time.”

“How much time could you need, Dream?” he asked, his tone imploring even as it was soft.  “Amelia is right. You’re causing him pain. His whole season is revolving around suitors and dancing and having fun finding a decent mate. You’ve taken away all of your competition but you haven’t given him any options—least of all you.”  His hair was graying at the temples and there were crows feet at the corners of his eyes. When had his father gotten so much older?

“Granted, I cannot say I know very much about romancing. Your mother and I…well…we’ve an understanding.”

“Yes…I know.” Knowing had come at a great cost to him. It seemed as though for a long time, he was the only one of his siblings to not know that his mother and father were not deeply in love the way he had imagined they should be.

Humphrey sighed, leaning back in his chair and awkwardly rubbing his chin. “I’ve begun to think that your mother and I’s relationship has given you some tentativeness toward your own romantic future.”

Oh do you think so?  Do you think, perhaps, that finding out that my father and my mother were not as in love as I thought they were would do me harm?  Do you think, perhaps, that discovering that my mother is, in fact, currently engaged in a sordid affair with our estate manager would keep me from the thought that love is not as pure as I hoped?  Do you think that my having developed a little boyish crush upon that very same estate manager before finding them together might cause me to have “some tentativeness” toward my own romantic pursuits?

He couldn’t speak but his eyes lowered to the inkwell again and he swallowed heavily. He didn’t even want to consider his father’s own intimate relations. If he could help it, he would never think of it.

Humphrey moved his hand to his nose, massaging the bridge.  “Listen…Dream. You must know what this does to an Omega. You must know that there are only a few options for him—he will either gain a proposal that has been made in secret so that you may not know of it, or he will fade away into nothing and marry some provincial Alpha in the country. You are my heir. You are from a line of nobility, your wealth is decent, and you will inherit my estate and holdings in time—you have plenty.  If you want him, I’m sure he is to be yours.”

He leveled his tired eyes toward his son. “But if you make no move to court him, then you have done him great harm and cannot provide reparations. I know this is not how I raised my son. I suggest, now that Amelia has broken the veil between you, that you write him another note…this time with your own words…and an apology.”

“Father, I can't—”

“Are you a coward, Dream?”

He paused for a moment, words a breath away.  “…yes.”

Humphrey let loose a long, beleaguered sigh before he slowly nodded. “Well. I suppose that’s that then. Perhaps you’ll take to your mother better in this regard…or perhaps your sister.”

“My sister?” His brows furrowed.

“Yes. Amelia has certainly never shown any fear when it came to getting exactly what she wanted.  Perhaps you will learn more from the Omegas of our family than you can from me. Now…if you’ll excuse me, Dream. I’ve got a few accounts to go over before I settle in for the night.”

He was summarily dismissed, standing outside the door with his eyes on the opposite wall’s paper, his mouth dry and his hands shaking.  He’d admitted to his own father that he was a coward. Where was there to go from here? His feet felt cold and numb and the world seemed so very far away from him, the hallway endless and the darkness of the evening seeping into his very bones. He’d never been so lost before. And he’d never been told to ask his sister for help.  As though he could take that suggestion as having merit in the slightest. His sister…the girl who’d given up on London society before she’d even experienced it. The girl who’d fallen in love with a dirt and grass stained servant.

She certainly never did shy from taking exactly what she wanted.

Dream trailed his hand down the wallpaper. He very quietly turned down toward the east wing and lifted his hand as though he were going to give a gentle knock upon his mother’s parlour door.  He waited, his ears pricked for sound at the very edge of the frame.

“Do you think Buford’s rather cross about it?”  His mother’s voice was like the chime of a little bell, light and airy and practiced.

Her lover’s was a bit rougher and lilted with his improper Irish pronunciations.  “I cahn’t imagine. I've ne'er seen the man angry. Especially no’ with Amelia.  Dream’s got a bit o’ stubborn in ‘im but 'e’s a good boy at 'eart.  'E’ll do what’s right in th’ end.”

He left, turning back around toward the west wing and seeking on the way to swallow whatever was left of his pride. It must have appeared, to an outsider, as though he were pacing back and forth; but he knew that pacing was a nervous energy that must escape by motion. He wasn’t nervous, he was vexed. Even his own rationalizations rang hollow in his heart but even his swallowed pride couldn’t let them go. Before he raised his hand to knock, he heard Amelia call out to him to just come in already and so he entered, swinging the door open to find his sister’s room warm with a large fire in the hearth.

Amelia was lounging, her one-year-old son laying atop her and clumsily feeding, seemingly more interested in his uncle’s appearance than in his meal.

Dream made a soft sound as he cleared his throat. “Are you finished with your fit?”

She scoffed “And here I thought you’d come to apologize to me.”

“What is it that you think I have to apologize for?”

“How dare you,” she hissed, bringing her hands to her pup, holding the boy and guiding him back to feed as he dribbled milk. “You act as though everything that happens in this world should accommodate you. You’ve tried to manipulate every single Alpha around you as though they were nothing to you and you want me to apologize to you for trying to help you get what you want. Because you’re too stupid to figure out what to do for yourself! You’re like a child who is tired and thus screams in discomfort but has not the brain to know that the cure is sleep.”

He thought he might have heard this before. He thought that Amelia was probably right. Without speaking, he moved to a small end table and moved everything that was on top of it over to another surface, carrying the little thing over to where Amelia sat while she eyed his actions curiously. When he had this in position, he moved to the writing desk in the corner and took a parchment and a pen and inkwell and set it upon the tiny table at Amelia’s side.

“What are you doing?”

“Help me. If you’re so invested in whatever it is I’m doing. Then help me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’ve started this. It is not my hand within the first note. It is yours. If you truly wish me to somehow win his heart, then help me. Please.”

“For God’s sake, Dream. I’m beginning to regret ever having done so. I probably should have simply gone to see him and told him what you’re about. Then he’d know for certain that he deserves…” she trailed off, staring at the blank parchment with her brow furrowed deeply.

“He deserves better than me. I know. I…”  He spoke past the pain in his throat and the tears that gathered in his eyes. “I know what a goddamned coward I am. But Amelia, I can’t. I don’t know why he terrifies me like this. I have never felt such a fear in my life. I cannot explain it. Be it the consequences of speaking to him—losing him somehow, gaining something I don’t know what to do with…I don’t know! I fear something so beyond my understanding and that is whatever he is to me…”

“You fear a broken heart, you stupid Alpha,” Amelia told him plainly, snatching the pen from the parchment.  “Get me a blotter.”

“Thank you, Amelia.” He sighed.

“I believe you mean 'I’m sorry, Amelia.'”

He stood for a moment, watching the tip of the pen as she blotted it and then hovered it over the parchment, waiting. Dropping to his knees before his sister, he found her green eyes. “I’m really sorry, Amelia.”

Satisfied that it was, perhaps, all she was going to get, Amelia began another little note, ignoring Dream’s gaze as she smoothly scrawled over the parchment. Words that Dream could never have conjured himself. “Now, Dream…this is not sustainable. You must talk with him. I don’t care how you do it, if you want it to be some great reveal or some quiet affair—you must speak with him soon. You do not have to reveal that you have sought to keep his other suitors away from him—you merely have to make your wishes known to him. That you want him.”

His throat felt dry. “Y-you cannot simply write that?”

“Dream, I swear to god I will beat you within an inch of your life if you suggest that you wish for me to court your Omega for you through anonymous notes. By that standard, I should forget about you entirely and allow him to come into my bed…with Patrick.”

Even the sound of the Alpha’s name was enough to put a bad taste in Dream’s mouth and the thought of his involvement with Mr. Davenport was more than enough to pull him to his feet with indignant fury. “It is enough that he’s sullied you.”

“Then perhaps you should lay your own damn claim on your Omega and speak to him.” With that, she picked up the little note she had finished and tossed it at him, allowing it to flutter to the floor. “Put your scent on it. Maybe even your name if you’ve got any courage left in you at all. And leave me be. It’s getting late”

Still tingling with ire, he leaned over and picked up the parchment from the floor and held it gingerly, hoping that the ink did not smudge. “Thank you…Amelia.”

“You’re welcome…just…” she sighed, staring into the fire behind the grate while she petted her pup’s head, threading her fingers into delicate blond hair. Her voice was softer, gentler, much more like the Omega she was. “Just do something, Dream. You’re going to break him if you don’t.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t particularly cold but it was getting chilly as he wanderd about the garden in his coat and hat. He would rather have been wandering farther but Thomas had been terribly cryptic about the morning’s plans, suggesting he keep himself to the house grounds and occupy his time alone. He had his hands in his pockets while he watched the low, gray clouds let loose fat white snowflakes. It wasn’t chilly enough for them to stick around so almost as soon as they hit the stone path, they disappeared, once more becoming invisible moisture and providing a dampness to the air. He didn’t feel much like going back to bed, which was strange to him in these colder months, and so he was left with nothing much to do but walk around, read, and make the attempt to figure out how to embroider again—such a thing was beyond his interests, he decided.

A sad-looking plant was withering next to the stone bench he was contemplating sitting upon and he wondered if they might wither together. He knew such thoughts were rather ridiculous. It was only his first season. Perhaps next year everyone would have forgotten about how distasteful he was or how boring he was. Perhaps there would be someone who would find him interesting or at least palatable.

The letter he’d received was hidden still under his pillow and had lost much of its scent from his handling. His emotions over the thing had been such a wild swing between elation and depression, he wasn’t altogether certain what he was supposed to feel now other than a deep and unending indifference about the matter.

In the end, he did not sit upon the bench as he decided that he did not wish for the cold to seep through his clothes and chill his bones. Instead, he wandered back to the house and entered the back door. It was warm in the house but he still found it to be too chilly. It was only that his socks were made of finely knit wool that he was able to go about at all without his shoes. He did so now, wrapping himself up in his housecoat that one of the footmen brought him, and wandering through the cold hallways toward his parlour which would likely have a fire already blazing as their servants were quite used to George’s habits and idiosyncrasies by now. They would know where he would spend most of his time and they would aide him however they could—they liked him, he thought, though he couldn’t imagine why.

“George?” came the voice of his father. He turned about, finding the man peering from the door of his study. “Could you come here for a moment?”

An odd note of apprehension strummed in his mind and for a second, his body didn’t wish to move, sticking on its own to the spot in which he stood. Still, he must go, he reminded his stubborn muscles, and he shuffled wordlessly toward the study door while his father retreated behind the desk.

“I met a young man this morning who’d like to make your acquaintance.”

His stomach began to tighten. He wasn’t sure if he was about to throw up or not.

“He’s a very nice man, very polite…Thomas claimed you’d agreed to meet him.”

He swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I thought I might catch you since I’m fairly certain your pitiful fool of a cousin has installed him in your parlour rather than the receiving room as there was no fire already built in there and it’s rather cold this morning. Your room was most logical for a guest to wait.”

George could barely speak. “I was not summoned…”

“We didn’t wish to disturb you. You were quite lost in thought. Anyhow, if this is unacceptable to you, you are free to wait here while I rid the house of him…have you changed your mind?”

He hadn’t changed his mind. He still wished to meet this man. He still wished to know if anyone in London this year thought of him like his mystery Alpha thought of him. He wished to know if this man was his mystery Alpha. “What does he smell like?” he asked, his heart thudding hard in his chest.

His father’s brows lifted a bit.  “What does he smell like? Graces, dear, I don’t know. Whatever any Beta might smell like is of no interest to me.”

“A Beta?” he blinked in surprise.

“Now George,” he began softly, “Betas can be fine gentlemen. Listen to me: you haven’t got many prospects this year anymore. If you’re looking to be married within this season, you’d best consider him. I’ll not force you, you know I’d never do that. You could remain a spinster the rest of your days and have me care for you. I wouldn't mind it, but I know you crave affection.”

He stared hard at the man.  “Y-you…do?”

“Of course I do. Every Omega craves affection. You’re a touchy bunch…well…come to think of it, you’re not exactly the most touchy of Omegas…but normally, you as a bunch are quite enamoured to touch. I can’t recall you ever having been a very affectionate boy but then again, I didn’t quite have the time to instill it into you. Should your mother have still been around, I suppose that would have been her occupation.”

He was staring into the fireplace, watching the flicker of fire behind the ornate gilded grate that was in front of it. At the thought of anyone touching him, he coiled in on himself, sitting perfectly still with his muscles clenched.

“Talk to this gentleman, George. Meet him and consider what you will do. He is a good option that I can see, and running a household would give you much to think about. Perhaps you would cease your daydreaming and move on to living life the way it is meant to be lived for a boy like you.”

A boy like me…

A pervert, he thought darkly. His father was practically begging him to marry for his own damned good. If he walked into that parlour and the man was in any fashion compatible with him—could please him the way he wanted to be pleased—then he was expected to marry. He wasn’t expected to reject a suitor. He would have his own house and his own wealth and need not worry about much save for the man’s capability to not gamble their fortune away or, dare he even think of it, hit him.  He shivered, pushing the thought away sharply as though even the mere whisper of it could harm him.

“What do you think, George?”

He nodded slightly. “I will meet him.”

“Good. If you think he is suitable, you may allow yourself to be courted.”

“Thank you, Father.”

The Alpha nodded resolutely as though this conversation was more a business matter than a personal one. “Alright, off with you then. Make certain to smile at him or he might think you cold.”

“Very well.” He got up, feeling like his legs were about to crumble out from beneath him. After all, this was likely a man who expected him to say yes. This was likely a man who was very nearly promised by Thomas that he would have an Omega bride at the end of the season.

This was not his Alpha.

He couldn’t feel his fingers when he turned the knob to his parlour, the warm air of the room rushing out when he swung open the door, the intensity of it oppressive. The scent of Beta was prevalent, a blend of old books, wet ink, and beneath it a sweetness as though the undertones were of cardamom. It was nothing like the spring dew and evergreen of his Alpha but it was calming and comforting all the same.

The gentleman stood from the settee, putting down his teacup and saucer on the tray to turn in order to greet him. He gave him a delicate bow mostly with his head and smiled. Thomas was still sitting like the miscreant he was, drinking brandy and refusing George’s eye contact as though he thought the notion of regarding him with respect was silly.

“Mr. Davenport,” the gentleman greeted. His tone was warm and deep and put goosebumps over George’s arms, the roiling in his belly at full intensity now. “Your cousin has spoken highly of you. Will you join me for tea?”

He did not answer but shuffled still in his socks and his housecoat to a chair across from the man, sitting as he was poured a cup and wondering what kind of a strange morning he was having where the visitor of his house was pouring him his tea. He added a little milk and sugar to it and sat quietly, unsure of what he might say.

“I have caught you unaware, I’m sure,” he provided, “I’m Shobrooke. Austin Shobrooke.” He was handsome enough. His hair was a soft brown, the sculpt of his face was pleasing and there was a mischievous air about him though perhaps that was derived from the cunningness of his eyes and the youthful appearance of his smile. He could only have been in his thirties and was as eligible as anyone, George supposed. “Though you may not consider it, I think it a stroke of luck that I’ve ended up in your parlour. I’d seen you at a few of the soirees here in town this season but alas, what is a man to do when you are patrolled so closely by the fox that raids the hen house?”

George sipped at his tea, aware that the man wasn’t growing at all uncomfortable by his silence, completely confident despite the lack of validation.

Interesting.

Shobrooke poured himself another cup. “Your cousin tells me that you spend much time alone with your thoughts. Perhaps you fancy yourself a creative?  I’ve been known for my decent prose. Perhaps you might share with me your fantasies and I shall write them down into a novel for you…should you like that?”

George’s nose twitched. A lurid novel of my perverse thoughts? A Beta should be aghast at the things I fantasize about.  He cleared his throat, leaning forward a bit. “I do not think that society is entirely ready for the things of which an Omega dreams.”

“Oh?” he said softly, “And what are those dreams, if I may ask?”

“If I could not share them with the public, I could not share them with you, Mr. Shobrooke.”

His smile was warm and light and a little bit indulgent. “Perhaps I could convince you one day that those thoughts could most certainly be shared with me. Embraced, even.”

He was again driven to a gulp past an odd lump in his throat.  Embraced? The Beta had a sturdy, acceptable form and for a moment, all George could do was hold onto the thought that he could be “embraced” by the Beta in both sorts of ways—that of the mind and body. He wondered what the man would look like nude and leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair he sat in, contemplating him without even attempting to hide his appraising stare.

Shobrooke seemed to preen within George’s stare. “I must be blunt with you, Mr. Davenport, you are a very handsome Omega. I would give just about anything to hear what’s going on in that mind of yours.”

What was going on in his mind was certainly not something he could tell a stranger he’d only just barely met. He was thinking about how the man’s clever eyes might look upon him should George be naked. The appreciation that was in them now would be spiking with a sweet arousal that would tang in his light Beta scent. He was thinking about how warm the man’s hands would be if he touched upon his bare skin. How giving and soft his lips would be if he kissed him. He imagined clandestine meetings in a chilly garden, the frantic shedding of a flawless cravat so that he might press his nose greedily against George’s throat and draw in his sweetness. He thought about how it might feel to have this handsome Beta kissing the center of his chest, nibbling until he could kiss at the bud of his nipple.

Thomas grunted where he sat, draining his glass. “Well. If George is going to act like a little trollop, I’m going to take a moment to have a smoke.”

He shot a glare to his cousin. “Thomas, do not leave me.”

“I’ll leave the door open to air out your stink, you gross little fop.” He addressed Shobrooke as though the man were an afterthought. “Don’t damage him. I’ve got enough to worry about from my uncle, I don’t need anything else.”

When Thomas was gone, George regarded the man warily, suddenly left to think about all the ways he might be held down right now. Would he protest? Or would this simply manage to become one of his many multifaceted fantasies?  It could not play out just like the ones in his head—for one, he wasn’t in heat and this wasn’t an Alpha.

Shobrooke’s mouth was tight on one side. “An absolute bounder, your cousin. I daresay, he’s left us entirely alone.”

George cleared his throat. “My scent is not an invitation to approach me. I warn you, Beta, I will take issue if you consider it a message.”

“I’ve no intention of getting up from my seat, Mr. Davenport. I consider myself a gentleman. I will not do anything that would serve to upset you. To be frank, I have come here hoping that you might accept a courting gift from me.”

“And what kind of courting gift does a Beta give to an Omega?”

“Your cousin said you were quite fond of riding. I thought I might give you a horse. In fact, I brought her with me just in the off chance you might agree. She’s very sweet if you’d like to meet her.”

He frowned at his socked feet, his brows pinched. “I must admit that is not what I was expecting.”

“Should you wish for something different, you only need to say the word, Mr. Davenport. I’ve no issues with indulging you in anything you may desire.”

“Are you rather certain of that?”

He chuckled a bit. “I am very certain of that. There is nothing I would not do to capture your attention, Omega. You are of an exceptional breed…your cousin excluded of course.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that.  “Ah…he hasn’t put you off? His behaviour is perhaps what has ostracized me…”

“His behaviour means nothing to me. Only yours. What I see before me is an incredible poise and what I smell is a man who…” he paused when George pinned him with a stare, “…who carries a profound passion within. A passion I can only wish to share.”

“Then keep your horse and give me something else.” He suddenly felt wild and deeply reckless.

“Anything.”

He flicked his glance toward the door which lay ajar and then back to Austin. “A kiss. Just one. My first, you see. Give me the gift of knowing.”

He was quiet for a few moments, regarding George curiously. “A very…interesting request. One I, myself, was certainly not expecting.” He rose slowly, almost as though he did not wish to spook him. “You are absolutely certain that this is what you want? A first kiss is quite intimate for a courting gift.”

“If I were to allow uncertainty to stop me every time I felt it, I should die having never done anything at all.”

Austin came to him, careful not to loom as he sank to his knees on the carpet, inching forward until he was close enough. He gently took the teacup and saucer from George’s hands and placed them aside, his hands warm—so warm—when he grasped at George's fingers, holding them to his chest. His voice was nearly a whisper.

“Your fingers are cold…”

George couldn’t speak anymore.  He was only inches from this man’s lips. This man he had only just barely met. This veritable stranger. God, his fantasies could really be real. It was better than a dream for it was real and vibrant and here in front of him right now. Warmth, apprehension, a tingling awareness that spread through every inch of his body that screamed to him that another was close and was even touching him. His hands sparked with energy where they connected with Shobrooke’s and he could feel the man’s breath on his lips as he leaned forward.

“My god, your passion is dulcet…a sweet fresh wine…I could render myself drunk upon you…”

George pressed forward then, preventing the man from speaking further by taking his lips. Austin groaned softly through his nose and George wholeheartedly agreed. He allowed Shobrooke to manipulate him, turning his head with just a simple brush of his jaw by a finger that left fire burning in its wake. Kissing, as he discovered quickly, was an art. His own inexperience served only to excite the Beta more and though it was only but a few seconds long, Shobrooke had, by the end, given George a large amount of sensation that would prove useful in the future—whether for exploration or fantasy…

The soft sound of their lips parting was enough to render him utterly void of thought and at once, he wished for another.  He was a selfish Omega, and very greedy.  But how could he be blamed for wanting more after having been given just a taste? The promise of intimate passion. A Beta’s boldness tempered by an even-keeled awareness.

“Yes…” George whispered only inches still from the man’s lips.  “Yes…you may court me.”

He was smiling, nervousness hinting in his scent. “God…I daresay you have me hooked. If you were to reject me after such a magical touch, I might simply weep.  Thank you…”

George nearly leaned forward again but managed somehow to hold himself back. “I…I would take another but to do so would out me as a terrible coquette…please, Mr. Shobrooke, I admit I am tempted by you. You must go so that I cannot find myself unfit to marry.”

“Of course, anything. I will call upon you…Tomorrow? For a ride in the park?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Of course, darling.”

Darling. He wanted that. He wanted that whispered into his ear every morning while his lover came to press against his back and touched him around his waist and his stomach and his chest. He wanted it more than he wanted anything else save one thing—another kiss.

“I shall see you tomorrow,” Shobrooke sighed, his voice melancholy with the sadness of parting too soon. But, like a gentleman, he stood, letting go of George’s hands and giving him a polite little bow before he left, the room buzzing with the scent of mutual arousal and the silence cut only by George’s harsh breathing.

He couldn’t know how long it was before he was startled by Utley’s voice from the doorway.

“Young master?  You’ve a letter.”

A letter?

“Oh…Utley, gods, I um…”

“I’ll set it here by the door, sir.”

“Of course.  Thank you.” He stood, his legs again feeling as though they might crumble but now for a very different reason.  When Utley had gone, he came to the small silver plate the letter had been delivered upon and, horrified, found it to be the very same scrawl that had marked that of his Alpha.

Have I reason to feel this guilt?

George lifted the envelope and raised it to his nose, pulling in the evergreen notes and undertones of spring and dew and new beginnings.

Have I reason to think I’ve betrayed a man who has not yet stood before me? Who has not even sent me flowers? Who has not dared to do what this Beta has done?

He felt a tightness in his chest and tears came to his eyes when he set the letter down again, daring not to touch it anymore lest he be tempted to open it. If he did, if he allowed that old longing to come over him, he would just be teased again by the possibility of an Alpha. Of that haunting instinctual need. No. If he did not allow himself to indulge in those fantasies then it would be possible for him to indulge in a new one—one that was no less sordid and passionate only because it was with a man of a more mild temperament. He could be more than happy with a Beta who could worship him in the flesh, who could touch him and ask him his fantasies. Who would…embrace them.

With one last, long look at the careless tilting letters of his name over the parchment, he left the room, allowing the chill of the rest of the house to ease away the tingles leftover from his first kiss.

Chapter Text

Dream had his gloved hands in his pockets, tight in fists as he looked about the park, nodding to ladies as they passed by in their curricles. He had to take them out every so often to tip his hat but mostly, he kept them in his pockets so that he might not have the urge to find something to do with them. He was pacing in short little bursts at the base of one of the taller English Oak trees nearer to the path and he couldn’t help but to keep pulling out his pocket watch and stare at it.

It was getting colder and he felt that the tips of his ears were about to freeze off. He thought that perhaps he misread Amelia’s note but then reminded himself that he was much too early to make that kind of judgment yet. Doubting his own ability to read and tell time was just the sort of thing that he would do. The rest of his siblings were much too sure of themselves for that kind of utter nonsense. Amelia was the worst of them, making every decision on a whim. It seemed, as though she never was at all averse to the consequences of those actions. Adelaide, the first of his younger sisters, was almost as bad as Amelia was. She was in many ways just as much a terror but was softer about her method, seeking the gentler, less obtrusive nastiness Amelia was best known for.

He checked his watch again.  Ten minutes.  Only ten minutes.

He could feel his palms starting to sweat and there was a lump forming in his throat. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? Was George even going to show up at all? What if he had decided to ignore him? What if everything he’d done, everything that Amelia had done for him, ended up being for naught?

Dream’s heart was beating hard in his chest and he wanted to bolt right then but his pride wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t send a letter like he had, inviting an Omega to meet with him alongside a chaperone for a walk in the park—very whimsical and oddly romantic, he had to admit—and then leave him there to walk with no one at all. That would be extremely ungentlemanly.

I’ve been entirely ungentlemanly this whole time, he admitted to himself, nearly stomping his foot into the ground with his frustrations toward his own past inaction. He’d been completely useless as an Alpha and he knew it. But what could he do about it now?

“Dream?”

“Augh!” he shouted, jumping about a foot up in the air in his surprise before he whirled about to find Sapnap standing behind him with his own hands in his pockets. “For god’s sake, man, you’re going to give me a heart attack!”

Sapnap chuckled a bit. “You did seem very much like you were gathering wool there. Must be a hell of a lot of wool for that vexed look on your face. I was just out with my mother when our curricle hit a hole in the path and our wheel broke. Now I guess I’m out for a stroll. Care to come along?”

“No I…”  he blinked, shaking his head as though he was ridding his mind of cobwebs. “I’m supposed to meet someone. Or… at least I think I am.”

“You think you are? You sound like a very bewildered sap. Have you gotten caught in some gambling scheme? You’re looking rather pale. Are you feeling well?”

“Sapnap,” he tried, “I sent a letter to Davenport. I asked him to meet me. Now I fear I’m going to faint simply waiting here. What the devil is wrong with me?” His body had begun to shake and he couldn’t seem to meet his friend’s eyes. “Why can I not just speak to him?”

Sapnap blinked as though in shock and reached out to touch his arm. “You sent him a letter? When?”

“Just yesterday…gods, will you stay with me?  Just until he arrives?”

“I don’t think he’s going to, Dream…  I hate to tell you this but I’ve just seen Davenport. He was with that horrible cousin of his and a Beta. He was out riding on the other side of the park. He certainly didn’t look as though he were searching for someone and in fact, he seemed quite taken with the Beta.”

“What?” Dream felt his breath leave and refuse to come in again, leaving him starving for oxygen.

“Now don’t do anything rash, Dream,” Sapnap told him, putting out his hands and gently touching Dream’s shoulders to comfort him.  “Are you certain he got your note?”

“Y-yes…I…”

“Then there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this and I’m certain you can get to the bottom of it. If I thought it would help, I would tell you who the Beta is but I’m afraid you’re going to do something stupid out of some kind of bravado and nobody really needs that. After all, this is a logical step for Davenport to take, isn’t it?”

“What?” he asked, his voice pitiful even to his own ears.

Sapnap shrugged one shoulder.  “You've left him with little choice.  Who else could come near him but the Betas of questionable quality?”

“Questionable quality?” His vision seemed to be blurring a bit as he blustered, finally taking in huge breathes through his nose as though they might help.

“Perhaps some tea, Dream. Or perhaps a stiff drink. Oak’s?”

“I don’t need a drink.”

“You might after I tell you where I know the Beta from.”  He shook Dream slightly, drawing his gaze.  “I think it’s time to go somewhere other than the park. Your scent is starting to waft and if I know anything about little old Omegas on their daily rides, they’ll be talking all about how you’ve turned into a damned brute overnight. Let’s not give the papers anything to gossip about, hmm?”

“I’ve been stood up,” he whimpered.  “For a Beta?”

“Don’t say it too loudly or else someone of import might hear.”  Sapnap threw an arm around his shoulders and began to walk with him, practically dragging him across the path.

“I must know who he is.”

“I want to have at least one drink before you go and challenge a man to a duel and get yourself arrested and hanged for murder. Though you were never as good a shot as your brother…”

He shrugged off Sapnap’s arm.  “Goddamn. Goddamn all of this! Alright. Oak’s then. I do need a drink. I need a drink or…seven. But you will tell me his name.”

The man walked beside him, his own hands now shoved in his pockets as he hurried to keep pace with Dream’s angry strides. “Of course I will. After I’m sure you won’t do anything about it aside from something level-headed and rational. I will not entertain the notion of you throwing your life away for some Omega who doesn’t even know your name.  Unless…unless he does know your name…but if he did, he wouldn’t have stood you up for…”

“For!?”

“Nevermind that now. A drink, Dream. Remember a drink first.  Then talk.”

He had a drink. He guzzled it like he was guzzling water and then demanded another one on the spot, tucked away inside the pub which smelled like Alpha, booze, and the thick haze of tobacco smoke that stung at the nose. He took the second one slower, hidden in a booth set in a far corner of the pub with Sapnap across from him, perusing the latest pilfered “menu” from one of the many bordellos the gentlemen here frequented.

“Look, Dream, you can get your toes sucked for so little.”

“Don’t tell me,” he groaned, “that you’ve become some sort of Corinthian?”

“Go to brothels? Do I appear so desperate?” the Alpha asked, propping himself up and puffing out his chest. He chuckled after a moment. “Oh Dream, you’re so uptight. Perhaps if you went to a nice, fancy maison, you wouldn’t be so entirely inappropriate in courting your Omega.”

He put his eyes in his hand, leaning his elbow on the table’s surface. “Oh my God. I’ve mucked it up well and good, haven’t I? I know, I know I have.  I knew I was doing it. You even told me I was doing it and you’ve not the audacity to call me out on it. You’re allowed, you know.  I wouldn’t cosh you.”

“I’m not about to tell you what you already know.”

“Then tell me what I don’t know.  Who is the devil?!”

“His name is Shobrooke.  He’s a…well…he’s a…”

Dream still couldn’t pull his hand away from his eyes. “Oh my god don’t tell me he’s some kind of ruffian.”

Sapnap sought to keep his tone fair, most likely, as he hemmed and hawed. “Ruffian would likely be the wrong word. I would say…ehm…he caters to ruffians. He owns one of the gambling hells down in the East End and I’m fairly sure he’s got some of those slums in his pocket as well. It’s a lucrative business if you haven’t a heart.”

“A gambling hell?!”

“Don’t shout, Dream, you’re going to make everyone in here excited. They’ve never known you to be the type to place a bet anywhere but the tracks.” Sapnap patted his shoulder. “Perhaps you could simply go speak with Davenport.”

“Perhaps I go squeeze this Beta's neck until his bloody head pops off his shoulders,” he replied savagely, taking another long gulp of his gin. His only hope was to pickle himself so that by the time he could get up to go, he wouldn’t be able to stand for his legs would be too wobbly. It was likely he wouldn’t be able to get to the man anyway. But perhaps if he was just drunk enough…He flagged down a server and got another drink, casting a dark stare over Sapnap and then succumbing to his fickle thoughts. “Sap?”

“Yes?”

“How much money do you have on you?”

He raised his brows. “I am not going to a gambling hell with you.  I mean, I will, if it is not the place run by the man who may—or may not—be attempting to woo your beloved.” He lifted his new, full glass. “You are on your own for that.”

“I thought we were friends.”

He sighed through his nose.  “Why must you always bring that up? Listen, I’ve made a mistake here in meeting you as children, I’d like to remedy that now—who are you, again?  Oh, pardon, I don’t know you at all, I must be at the wrong table.”

He caught the man’s sleeve as he made to get up, imploring him with just his eyes. He knew it must have seemed pitiful but he had nothing else.

“Oh…to hell with you, Dream.  Fine. I’ll go. But only because I’d hate to see you shot.”

Dream wasn’t in the condition to have the forethought that he might have taken a hack instead of his own carriage which happened to have his family’s crest upon it and so of a matter of course, he was eyed rather intently when he was let out. With three drinks in and it being only early evening, he brushed himself off, straightened his clothes, and walked in as though he were the king himself, vowing not to have another drop of liquor so as not to absolutely lose the ability to think should he become somehow flustered.

He was flustered nearly immediately when all he could see about him were gambling tables and somewhat familiar faces. All the way out here, “happily” married lords in the East End with their shoulders held by women and Omegas who were not their mates and, despite its appearance from the outside, the place was furnished well with a modern décor. He turned to Sapnap, casting another look about the warm room well-lit by the lamps strewn about. “I’d had another idea about this place, you know.”

“Ah, thought it would be teeming with rats?  Well it is, they’re just man-sized,” Sapnap replied, grinning. “I’ll gather your necessary information. You grab me a drink. I’m far more suited to trickery than you are.”

He couldn’t argue with that. For being such a goddamned coward when it came to Omegas, Dream was much too blunt when it came to Alphas. He wasn’t sure what he might do with a Beta. It hadn’t been something he’d expected.  After all, normally the Beta behaviour was like a soft mirror to the Alpha—but a man who was only at the very fringes of society would likely have missed the cues.  A man who owned a gambling hell was not very likely to give a damn what an Alpha thought of him. He’d been fleecing Alpha's and their sons likely for years. All they were to him were men with deep pockets and a wealth of assets to burn at the tables.

Never bet upon anything you aren’t sure to win.

His father’s words were always tickling at the back of his mind.  Of course, Hugh’s words in reply followed aptly. If ye can’t bet yer life at least once and lose, y'aven’t lived a life worth bettin’ on.

There were windows open which let in some chilly air but the crowd inside was enough to warm it up around the fresh air flowing in. A myriad of emotions swept around him in every scent. The spice of arousal, the musk of frustration, the dank coldness of desperation.  He thought about the menu they’d left behind at the club and thought he’d much rather have been at a brothel—the air would have been far sweeter. Then again, he would likely have to kill any man who owned a brothel and was after his Omega. The mere thought that Davenport might have ever been forced to open his legs was putting a deep blackness near his heart.

“Evenin’ sweetheart,” came a voice to his right and he turned to find a saucy-looking Omega staring up at him.  “You lost, darlin’?”

“Pardon,” he told her frankly, “I’ve never been to one of these before.”

She stared at him incredulously and gave him a rude once-over.  “You a bettin’ man, Alpha? Or are you lookin’ for something on the side?” To verify her second meaning, she reached out to the front of his trousers and cupped him, giving him a gentle squeeze that stiffened his back and had him drawing up significantly in shock.

“I beg your pardon, miss! I think perhaps you’ve the wrong idea about me. I’m looking for—”

“Me,” came a voice behind him and he turned suddenly along with the Omega. The Beta was taking off his hat and holding it lightly in his fingers, his hair a little disheveled by the wind and his handsome features immediately the cause of fresh disdain.  “You’re looking for me, aren't you Alpha?”

He drew up again though this time it was not from embarrassment but pride. “That I am, if you’re Shobrooke.”

“I am. Let’s go to my office.”

He followed, reminding himself that he should not allow himself to become comfortable with how much smaller this man was in relation to himself. This Beta was a wily one. He could see it just in the cut of his jaw and the sharp shine in his eyes. “I suppose you know why I’m here,” he remarked as he came through the doorway into a small, quiet room filled with books and ledgers. There was a comfortable looking chair on the far side of the man’s desk and Dream didn’t bother sitting in it until his host had divested himself of his hat and greatcoat and had sat in his own chair. Only then did he sit, stiff and unyielding.

“I know why you’re here.”

“Then you must know—”

“That you’ve lost?”

Dream blinked.

The Beta wasn’t smiling. In fact, he appeared deathly serious.  “Alpha, I won’t pretend to be anything I’m not. I’m a man of considerable wealth and I’m in want for a mate. However that mate should come to me, I don’t care.”

Dream’s brows furrowed. “And how has Mr. Davenport come to you? This suggests that it was not by casual means.”

“He is a repayment of sorts.  His cousin owes me a vast sum.”

“And if I were to pay you that very amount?”

“I’ve already cheapened him by accepting him as currency, would you cheapen him further by validating my action?” He chuckled. “To be honest, Alpha, I don’t give a damn about the money anymore. Rather…I’m more intrigued by him now, having met him. Do you know how passionate he is, Alpha? It’s stunning the way he can work himself up.”

Dream felt a hot wind of hate work itself out through an unsteady breath. “Don’t you dare speak of him like that.”

“Why not? One might say I know him twice as well as you do.  You’ve not even met him. Oh yes, I know all about you. Fortunately his father doesn’t or else you might be the one he would prefer—a title, decent money, and a good bloodline. But you’ve already lost, Alpha. You had your chance—hundreds of them, likely, and you still chose to be a coward.  What was it that you were waiting for, Alpha?  What moment would have made it all perfect?”

His eyes dropped from Shobrooke’s face and settled on the desktop instead, unfocused.  He didn’t have an answer for that.  He had lost, hadn’t he? Sapnap had told him he would lose and some other man would get tired of his games. Of course Sapnap was right. Sapnap was always right.

“Are you going to throttle me?” he asked, snapping Dream back into reality suddenly, drawing his eyes again. “I don’t think it’s all that rare for an Alpha in your position to react violently…though you don’t seem the type.”

“I’m not going to throttle you,” he replied softly. “Though I had thought about it considerably on the way here.”

“I’m glad you understand that fair is fair. You, being who you are, could have probably just walked right up to his door and knocked upon it. I had to weasel my way in. Perhaps working for something really makes one appreciate it all the more. You wouldn’t understand any of that, would you?” Shobrooke’s tone implied a smile but there was none.

He stood up, feeling at least a little better when the Beta seemed to flinch in his seat, his eyes wide and his body tense as if hyper-aware of how much damage an angry Alpha might do to him.  He made to leave, his mind buzzing with everything the man had said but before he opened the door, he turned about, his expression grim. “Don’t get comfortable, Beta. You may very well win…but I won’t make it easy.”

Shobrooke nodded slightly. “As expected.”

Sapnap was waiting for him in the foyer with his coat and his hat and walked out with him, his scent mingled with the emotions of dozens of strangers. It was discomfiting. “Well?” he asked as they emerged into the cool evening air, the moon above them casting the world in a silver light.  “What did the man say? I hope he’s still alive in there.”

“He’s still alive,” Dream told his friend, pulling himself into the coach that was waiting for them.  “The bastard’s got that seedy cousin wrapped around his fingers. Slithered his way into Davenport’s parlour by calling back a debt owed to him.”

“Slippery.”

“He’s a snake alright but…”

“But?”

Dream shook his head. “I don’t know. I suppose perhaps I should be cutting my losses here. What if he is a good mate? What if…what if he’s a better mate than I am?  He’s a devil no doubt but that’s got nothing to do with how he might treat his husband.”

“Doesn’t it?”

He shrugged, unwilling to think that someone might seek to harm such a sweet, handsome man like George Davenport. “I’m going to do something regardless.  I can’t sit aside.”

“What are you going to do? Go to his home?”

“Tomorrow.”

Sapnap nodded approvingly. “It’s about time. You’ll want to send a missive before you arrive, of course. It would be rude just to show up.”

“Of course…” And damnation!  He would have to get Amelia to write it and she would be that very same woman to tell him he was an idiot again. Well bullocks, he thought crossly, he would have to grin and bear it. It was for George, after all.  And there was no better reason to be berated than that. He couldn’t simply roll over and die in his quest for this. It was the eleventh hour and it had tumbled into disaster so quickly—he had to do something. He had to do anything.

He had to tell Davenport, with his own voice, that he was in love with him. Perhaps it wouldn’t change anything at all…but then again…perhaps it would. He could only hope

Chapter Text

There was a fine dusting of sparkling white coming down as he walked outside under the bright light of the moon. It had begun snowing late into the evening, blowing in from clouds off to the west and George couldn’t help himself. He liked the way the moonlight glinted in each and every snowflake, glittering with a strange and eerie sort of magic. He caught a few on his tongue and smiled at the way they pricked over the flesh of his cheeks, catching on his eyelashes. He hugged himself to ward off the cold and when he was finished marveling at the swirling, spinning glitter of snow around him, he retreated into his parlour and pulled a knit blanket around his shoulders and balled up near to the fireplace, dozing a bit before he thought it might be time to find his way to his bedroom.

Just as he thought he might have gained the strength to get up and move, Utley was in the doorway, knocking gently upon the door frame with a letter in his hand.  “A note for you, Mr. Davenport. Shall I put it here with the other one?”

“Hmm…” he sighed, gazing into the coals at the bottom of the fire.  “Does it smell like Alpha, Utley?”

“It does indeed, sir.”

“Perhaps I should throw it in the fire.”

“A gentleman has earned your ire, young sir?”

He wasn’t quite sure if that was near to the truth or not. Was he annoyed by the man? Or was it merely just a sort of apathy? He couldn’t tell which was the case—he wanted to be angry. He wanted the Alpha to know that he was worth seeing. He was worth knowing. He was worth touching.  No letter could touch him. No note could hold him in the dark of the night and tell him with hot breath in his ear that everything was going to be alright and that every fantasy he’d ever dreamed could be real. He deserved nothing less, of course.

George stared at the parchment in Utley’s gloved fingers and wordlessly reached out for it. The man crossed the room and handed it to him gracefully. “Thank you, Utley.”

“You’re welcome, young sir.  Should you need anything more, please ring the bell.”

“Of course.” He wouldn’t ring the bell. He wouldn’t bother anyone else this late at night when he was going to do something shameful he ought not do. He waited until Utley’s soft footsteps were out of earshot and then delicately pressed the parchment to his nose, pulling in the undertones of a wooded glen bathed in sunshine. He snaked his hand beneath his blanket and unfastened his trousers, slipping his fingers beneath until he was cupping his hardening warmth. He couldn’t think about it too deeply or he would be forced to consider the hypocrisy he was exhibiting in the act—he had, previously, told himself that he would not be tempted by the Alpha who sent him notes. But it was late in the evening and he was tired and his fantasies were all that were with him. There was no warm, sensible, and unwavering Beta here to hold him and kiss him and show him how to be dangerous. And there certainly was no Alpha here to do the job himself.

Only his scent…a shy scent. Shy and frightened. He pressed it to his nose a little harder, trying to sense the tones that would betray anxiousness. He could smell them.  He could find them there, hidden beneath the murky evergreens and the glimmering of morning moisture over wide fields of tall meadow grasses. This Alpha was a man beset by a horrible shyness.  An embarrassment. A worry.

Still, his body reacted to the overtones, the blend of masculine power and a pliable humility. George held himself in his fist, stroking with a great finesse he’d developed over the many years he had grappled with his own imagination. He toyed with himself for several minutes, closing his eyes as he lay back against the settee, his neck bared to no one and his hand working beneath his blanket. He brought himself close a few times, sighing and even on the brink of moaning as sweat began to form at his hairline and he felt a lacy flush spread over his face and chest.

When he finally came, he caught it as best as he could in his palm and wiped it off on a spare corner of his blanket, laying boneless on the settee with the parchment still against his nose. He wanted to be held after he came. He wanted strong arms and a loving embrace.  He wanted more of this fucking scent.

George held the letter to his chest, dozing at first and then fully succumbing to a deep slumber with it clutched still in his hand. It was never his intention to spend the night outside of his bed but it happened all the same and when he awoke it was to the morning sun seeping in through the sheer lace curtains of the parlour and Utley building up the fire again.

“Good morning, young sir,” Utley greeted him without looking at him, somehow knowing by sense alone that he was awake. “I see you never made it to your room last night. In just one way, you are much like your father…though I highly doubt you’d had anything to drink.”

He smiled, still warm under the thick wool of his blanket though he could feel it was cold in the room. “You better not let him hear you say such things. He might take offense.”

The Beta flashed a conspiratorial grin toward him. “Oh but I’ve a commiserating ear with me, do I not? I see you did not open either of your gentleman’s letters.” He eyed the one that was peeking out from beneath the wool near George’s chin.

“Hmmph,” was his grunted reply.  “Utley…what do you think of the Beta?”

“He is a gentleman.”

George rolled his eyes. “Is that all you have to say about him? That he is a man who exists and probably does so on the same level as anyone else?”

“That is all I have to say about him,” he affirmed neatly as the fire sprang to life before him. “It is not my place to tell you my opinions of men who come to court you.”

“But I am asking.”

“And I have told you what I think as far as I believe I am permitted.”

He sighed a long and drawn-out sigh. “And this Alpha?”

“I cannot say. I’ve not met him.”

“Hmm…me neither.”  Thoughtfully, he toyed with the seal over the parchment and said nothing more until Utley left him, the fire slowly warming the room.  It wouldn’t be bearable to reveal himself to the air for several minutes—perhaps even an hour—and so he lay there, still smelling this Alpha's scent and wondering if he might not touch himself again.

Perhaps I should simply open it.  Read his words. Hear his voice through his letter. Perhaps he is working up his courage. I did not look at the previous one and this one has come upon its heels—so close! Perhaps this is of some importance. Perhaps he will wish to meet with me. Perhaps he is some rogue libertine and he will wish to meet me in the back garden under the cover of night.  We will wait for a cloudy night to cover the moon and he will take me behind the hedges, press me hard against the wall, and kiss me breathless until I can hardly remember my own name.

He was grinning at himself and his ridiculous imagination, stopping short of sliding his hand over himself again. In fact, he didn’t much care what the letter had in it—it was far greater of a fantasy than whatever reality could possibly be. The man seemed much too shy to do something so bold. The hidden notes in his scent had revealed as such.

But what a fantasy…

The seal pulled off easily and he unfolded the parchment, at first lazily reading the lines yet becoming more agitated with every word. When he was finished with his first reading, he scrambled his eyes to the top and read it again, his mouth forming every word silently. When he was finished with the second reading, he stood, the blanket falling to the floor and his trousers still unfastened. He got himself put together again and just in the nick of time as Utley’s soft knock sounded upon the door frame yet again.

“Young sir—”

“An Alpha?!” he squeaked, his eyes wide. “An Alpha to see me?!”

The familiar low, dulcet, and soothing voice of Austin Shobrooke came to him from behind Utley then, causing his heart to squeeze painfully in his chest. “Mmm, unfortunately not, I’m afraid. Only me.”

Utley moved aside, giving George a curious glance before he retreated, leaving the door open.

“I…” George tried, leaning to look into the hall behind Austin. “I um…”

“You were expecting someone else.” He was smiling pleasantly but there was something off about it. It wasn’t quite like it was before—completely confident even in the face of ambivalence.  It was colder, less controlled. “I understand. I cannot be the only suitor you’ve encountered…ah…you’ve a note.  No doubt from this Alpha you expected. Dear me, I wouldn’t want to be here whenever he arrives. I’ve been in such a sorry situation before and it rarely goes well for me.”

“Mr. Shobrooke…”

“Do you think he might come soon? You see, there is a reason I’ve come to call so early. It is terribly early, isn’t it? Normal debutantes haven’t awoken quite yet, I’m afraid, and I thought I might be waiting around for a little while.” There was a hurried tone to his voice that was setting George on edge, tickling his ear with a hint of warning. “I suppose that note was to tell you—”

“About you,” he breathed. “You and my cousin.”

“Ah.” He was still smiling, the look of it understanding and relenting even.

“You seem to think I have some kind of a monetary value, I suppose.” He shouldn’t say this.  In fact, it shouldn’t have bothered him at all to discover. The note had revealed the nature of the Beta but in what way was this any kind of a surprise? He wasn’t too shocked. But what he was, was disappointed. “I’m curious, Beta…how much? And should I not marry you…would you still hold it against him despite having a fighting chance?”

Shobrooke studied him then, taking a few moments to soak in the scent of peevish Omega and examine the draw of his expression. “Your cousin owed me roughly five thousand pounds.”

“A great amount,” he supplied easily. “Would you forgive some of it for having gotten to kiss me?”

“I would forgive it all if only I had a true chance with you. Should you hold it against me that I’ve done such a thing, I think I still will. Not because I like your cousin, because I don’t. But because I like you. Very much. To have been close to you for only just days and to have kissed you once—it is worth it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Did the Alpha say that he was coming?”

“He did.”

Shobrooke sucked in a swift breath, his odd smile gone completely and a stone coldness left in its wake. “He told me he would make it hard for me.  Alphas have a tendency to make things difficult for us Betas and I will not go so far as to admit to be deserving of such hardship. I have had enough hardship in my life, I don’t need any more. I am already a humble man.”

George sincerely doubted that. “I suppose you’re here because you knew he would tell me.”

He scoffed, “I didn’t think he would be so cowardly as to do so in a note. Though I shouldn’t have put it past him. I thought I goaded him enough that he would do everything in the open. But a tiger cannot change its stripes and this Alpha is gutless to his bones.”

I fear great pain. I fear great love. I fear you.

“I thought him a coward as well,” George replied, looking at the note laying face-up on the settee where he had slept. He could still scent the evergreens and the barest hint of a spider’s web carrying morning dew and shining in the light. “But he fears great things. Big things. Things that are larger than himself. Great pain. Great love. Me.” His eyes found Shobrooke again. “You fear small things. Five thousand pounds is nothing to you. You are worth so much more than any amount my cousin could owe you and it is that amount which has bought me. I am for purchase—an item to you. And yet you come here fearing that you will lose me. As though you ever truly had me at all and I, the marble in your pocket, slipped through a tear in the fabric and rolled away under the bureau. While the Alpha…he knows he has never once held me…because I am far too great to fit in his pocket.”

Shobrooke’s brow was furrowed.  “He stalks you like a lion stalks a gazelle, keeping it from eating until it is too weak to fight. No matter how great you are, you are still his prey!”

“I am not yet too weak. I am not weak at all.” George felt his voice waver as tears came to his eyes in his frustration. “I will never be weak.”

“Will you say it again when he breaks you?”

“I will break him first.”

Austin took a step forward and though it was not menacing, it jolted George’s consciousness to the state of them—alone. Utterly alone. Shobrooke’s voice turned soft and pleading. “I will cherish you. You are not simply an item to me. You are certainly not my adversary. I do not fear you.”

“P-perhaps you should,” he stammered, taking a few steps to the side toward the desk near the fireplace. There was a poker near the side of it and he was keen to use it if he had to.

Ironic: all those fantasies where a man takes advantage of you and this is how it seems like it might play out in reality.

“Reconsider me, please. I beg you. The Alpha will no doubt do something drastic to steal you from me—”

“I cannot be stolen,” he argued, “I don’t belong to you!”  He was still advancing and so George hurried backwards, the last step hindered by a kink in the rug which sent him stumbling the rest of the way into the desk which nearly toppled. It was heavy enough that it managed only to skid a few inches but the lamp which sat upon it teetered and then crashed, splashing a fair amount of oil over the carpet and hearth which lit aflame within seconds.  George hit the floor at the edge of the desk, flames suddenly in his vision.

He had supposed once when he was younger that in cases of extreme duress, he might have been graced with an abundance of time. As if the human mind might actually make time draw out just a little bit longer as the adrenaline hit so as to allow for reaction enough to save itself. That, much like many others of his fantasies, turned out quite different in reality.

Things now seemed to happen far too quickly and it was as though he could not move fast enough.  As if he were frozen in time, trapped in a single space through sheer panic and shock. The flames moved so quickly and the smoke piled upon itself, billowing around him. His arms and legs felt weak, as though he had been sapped of all strength by his sudden fear and though he scrambled to get up, he stumbled and fell. Where was Shobrooke?  Where was the door?  His mind was buzzing so loudly with his panic that he had lost all awareness of space and time.

How do I get out?!

He hadn’t even the strength to scream. He scrambled until he couldn’t scramble anymore, coughing heavily as he did. He had thought the door to be only about twenty paces from where he fell but when he got there, he found only wall and the thick, heavy smoke tumbling over the ceiling and building downward until it was threatening to overtake him and the haziness that already mired him. His eyes were watering from the caustic air and his vision was blurred and trailing. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think straight. All that was around him was roiling blackness and the lick of spreading flame. He held his throat, grasping at his neckcloth.

Consciousness fading. Panic faded. A sweet and enduring calmness washed over him.

There was no thought but there was evergreen and a bright meadow with fluttering butterflies…

Wake up.

Sprigs of fresh spruce tips and clean, crisp water flowing in an open brook through smooth stones.

Wake up.

A strong buck with large antlers reaching for the sky turning to peer over his domain. White clouds casting large shadows over green fields and wildflowers. The song of jaybirds and robins and the tap-tap-tap of a woodpecker.

Wake up, I love you!

Air. Real air.  Rushing and cold and terrible. And pain.

Oh god. Pain.

Chapter Text

What he’d done was not like him at all. His friends perhaps might say that it was entirely like him.  That it was something a man like Dream was born to do. That it was something the Alpha in him was made for. But Dream knew what kind of a man he was and he was not the kind of man who crashed through windows or put himself in harm’s way. He had never before been described as reckless or heroic and he didn’t wish to be called so now. It didn’t feel good.  He didn’t regret it—god no, how could he ever? But if there was one thing in the whole of the world that Dream knew he was not—it was a hero.

He was shaking, his whole body trembling while his breaths came stuttering and jittery through his teeth. There was nothing that could compare to pain like this—save the pain that was in his heart. He wanted to scream. He wanted to die. He hadn’t even noticed it at first—it had been nothing to him with the surge of panic and emotion that compelled him to crash through the parlour window and vehemently lift the burning beams with every ounce of his Alpha strength. The Alpha inside him raged to life with a force unmatched and he had thrown debris, heedless to the flames that licked at him.

He had thought himself too late.  When he pulled the injured Omega from the inferno, he’d thought he had arrived just minutes too late—a crime he would never forgive. He had held his sweet Omega in his arms, weeping and begging. Begging without hearing his own words, babbling without coherence for him to awaken. To open his eyes and know him. Know that he loved him. Know that he was so, so sorry.

Davenport’s first small cough and the sips of breath that were choked and thin had brought Dream’s heart back to his body and the arrival of the doctors had brought his mind back to the present.

The present which now saw him sitting back upon an unknown chair in a house that was opened up across the street from the Davenport’s manor to tend to the wounded. As far as he could tell, he and George were the only wounded. The elder Mr. Davenport was still in his night clothes and dressing gown, leaning against the wall and staring at nothing, black soot on his face and all over the front of him. He didn’t react to anything anyone said to him and Dream could feel for him. It was difficult to feel anything or think anything past the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life. He was shaking. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline, emotion, or just the result of being forced to stay awake through the aftermath of ‘Alpha’ strength. Whatever it was, it wasn’t easy to watch. He had gathered that from the women who stayed far from the room while the kind Beta doctor carefully snipped away the tattered remains of his gloves, peeling away the fabric that was sticking to his skin.

His laboured breathing and the soft snipping of scissors were the only sounds in the room and soon he was nude from the waist up though he couldn’t see the extent of his burns. He could see his hands and his arms, welted and blistering. He could feel the nerves screaming silently against the cold air of this unfamiliar room and he knew the burns snaked up his neck, a line of pain marking beneath his jaw and burning—burning!—just to the side of his chin.

The doctor’s voice was soft and calming as he dipped compresses into a bowl of clean water, wringing them out before administering them to Dream’s arms and chest. “That was a very brave thing you did, Alpha.”

“I-I’m…” he almost couldn’t speak though the coolness of the compresses was a minor relief at least. “I’m not a h-hero.”

“You’re as close as a man can get to one. Believe me, boy, there’s no such thing as saints or heroes.  Only men who risk and some who risk for little reward.”

“It…” he felt tears slide from his eyes and so he closed them, trying to relax as he felt another compress come over his screaming flesh. “It wasn’t for l-little. It was for…”

“You may have saved his life.  I don’t mean to discount that, Alpha. But if I were you, I would not hinge my own worth upon whether or not he lives or dies…his state is grim.”

He gave a slight sob and grimaced against the cold that came over his throat. “I’m no hero…” he murmured upward, his eyes still closed. “I just didn’t think…”

“It doesn’t take thought. It only takes timing, luck, and most of the time stupidity. These three things I’ve found come to Alphas in spades. Last one, then you may rest.” He laid another compress down, this time over Dream’s shoulder. “You will recover, though you’ll scar. How badly, one cannot know. I hope it will be worth it. I hope he will live. If only for your sake. God knows, he might be better off slipping away.”  He got up then, leaving Dream in the room alone with the older Davenport who had not made a single sound and had not once moved.

The only sign when he did move was the sound of a decanter clinking against a glass and it caused Dream to open his eyes despite the weight of his tiredness nearly overtaking him. The man was pouring himself a drink with shaking hands and when he turned around with tears in his eyes and saw Dream staring at him, he clutched the glass to his chest as though it might protect him. “I need…” he started, looking down at the brandy taking a deep breath and then looking up again. “I know I need to thank you, young man, but I cannot bring myself to do it quite yet. Please understand.”

He didn’t reply. He wasn’t certain if he could. He closed his eyes again and then immediately opened them, the memory of walking down the street this morning coming back to him. The gray cloudy sky cut by a blackened smoke and how his footfalls had seemed muffled against the panic in his ears.  Austin Shobrooke’s face, mottled with soot and a burn that had spread across the bridge of his nose and forced one eye shut—the way the man had desperately grasped his lapels and begged him.

“Alpha! I can’t find him! I can’t! I can’t even see him!  Please—do something!”

It was as though the man’s voice had contained the power of an Alpha. There was nothing Dream could do to stop himself. He didn’t think. He could only move. He could only crash through where Shobrooke gestured desperately and rage through the fire until he had found him—trapped beneath a beam that had fallen over his lower legs. He was slumped down against a still-viable wall and he was limp like some discarded doll.  Thought had not come to him until much later. There was no time.  There was only action and panic and a surge of something primal that drove him to scream savagely as he lifted the beam with his gloved hands and throw it aside before he pulled George up in his arms.

He looked at the placid overcast sky through the window until consciousness couldn’t stay any longer and he felt himself lose the battle against closing his eyes. It was as though he merely blinked but the heaviness that was over him was complete. When he woke, he knew time had passed but couldn’t be sure of just how much. The doctor was quietly changing his compresses and there was a warm hand on his forehead.

“Mama…” he mumbled.

“Shhh My baby,” she replied softly, her voice gentle and her scent clear and sweet. “Of all my children I ever thought might rush into fire…you were the first that came to mind. When they told me, I just knew it was you.”

Confusion gnawed through the haze in his mind.

She was smiling down at him, her eyes filled with an affectionate amusement. “You look like you don’t believe me. But I’m your mother. And I know my son. You take after your father, you know. Sometimes he does noble things without necessarily meaning to. That does not make them any less noble, though I know you will argue that point. You see…I will repeat: I know my son.”

The side of his mouth tightened into a wry half-grin. “I guess you’ve got all the answers.”

“I do.” Her smile was wide. “You just never think to ask.”

He sighed, his breath still shaky with his pain. “Th-the Omega…?”

“He’s resting.”

A waterfall of relief rushed through him. He didn’t know how long he was asleep and though there was no possible function he could have to keep Davenport alive, it seemed safer if he was awake somehow. As though George's soul would not be able to feel the strength of his adoration should Dream be sleeping. “I…I didn’t mean for…”

She stared at him, her smile fading. “Dream you don’t think…”

He felt a hot wetness come to the backs of his eyes and he couldn’t speak.

“Oh no. No. No. No.” She shook her head definitively. “I want you to put it out of your mind entirely that somehow you could have done more. You could not have left earlier. You could not have written anything differently. What is done is done. That’s all. This is what’s happened and there is no wondering what could have been different.”

“It hurts, Mama.” he mumbled, and he knew that she could tell he wasn’t talking about the burns.

She sighed, “I know. I know…”  Her gentle hand came to his forehead and his hair and she petted him gently.  “Shhh…darling. Time. Time moves and it heals.”

“If-If he…”  Dies. He couldn’t think of it. Dream would never be able to live with himself if George died. He was to blame for this. All of this. If he had never done what he did—taking away all his suitors and all his options—he would never have been drawn in by the slippery Beta. If he had never confronted the man. If he had done everything differently then this never would have happened. Nobody would have been hurt. He might not have ever made it into Dream’s arms but at the very least, if he had he wouldn’t have been…

He sniffed, trying not to focus on how badly it hurt to breathe, the burns on his flesh stretching with every slight movement.

His mother sat back in her seat, studying him. “I think we ought to go home. Back to the country.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No. The best doctors are here in London.”

She raised her brows and gave a little impertinent sniff.  “I understand you’re badly burned, Dream, but you know all those ointments are a sham. Dr. Benson has said it will take about two weeks for the worst of it—”

“I don’t give a damn about me.”

“Oh.” She nodded suddenly. Her eyes lifted to the doorway just beyond Dream’s eyesight and he found he could not turn his head for the burns on his neck were too painful. He could hear, nevertheless, the low tone of his father.

“I’m of the mind that Dream should stay. In fact, I think that when it is feasible to do so, we should host the Davenport’s with us in our house in town. I do not think we can move the little one for a few days…he’s not stable enough. But as soon as it is possible…he should come with us, along with his father and their staff. We can do much for them and we should.”

His mother looked down at him, a knowing glint in her eye. “Do you see what I mean about his being noble?”

His father came about into Dream’s line of sight. “I’m not doing it to be noble. I’m doing it because I know our son.”

She winked at him.

The Viscount gave a gentle sniff of dismissal. “He’ll want to keep his Omega close. So he can keep an eye on him. He’s in a bad way now so if there’s a chance he’ll recover, he’ll be able to fight for that chance much better with double the amount of staff keeping track of him and, of course, the watchful eye of an Alpha who won’t let anything by.”

“As though an Alpha could stop the hand of death himself,” his mother chided lightly.  “Nevertheless, I agree. Let us hope he survives the night. We can present the idea tomorrow when his father is in a better state of mind to accept. Is all of this suitable to you, Dream? It doesn’t matter, of course, we are making the decision whether you find it suitable or not.”

He made a low sound of approval, opting to keep his thoughts to himself. They wouldn’t be useful anyhow. His parents had always been rather cavalier about everything and he supposed that the possible death of his beloved could not be something that was sacred in the least. But, he had to hand it to them, they had been delicate enough here to remain optimistic.

As it turned out, optimism was somewhat warranted. The man who owned the house they were in, Mr. Carlsbury, let him stay until the morrow in one of the rooms upstairs and though the night was harrowing, he at the very least felt an odd sense of comfort in knowing Davenport was still alive from the distant sounds of his soft cries.

Cold comfort is all you’ll ever have. He’s in pain because of you.  He could die because of what you’ve done. Was this what you wanted, Dream? If you couldn’t have him, nobody else could either? Listen to him. He’s in pain. Your heart is pounding. Your body is thrumming with the urge to get up and hold him and comfort him but what could you do? To even move one inch is agony for you and for him…for him…more than agony. Remember Dr. Benson’s words?

“God knows, he might be better off slipping away.”

It was pitch black in the room and he knew it was past midnight. The only two things filling up his mind was the pain he felt and Davenport’s now agonizing cries.  Despite the delicate partial bath his mother had assisted him with, he could still smell the soot and the fire in his hair and his skin.  The very atmosphere of the house was that of hushed sorrow and he could feel it over him like a veil of gloom. There was instinct singing in his blood.

Get up. Get up. Go. Hold him. Comfort him. Tell him everything will be alright. Tell him you’ll never let him be hurt ever again.

Another ghastly cry warbled, muffled through the walls and his heart pounded harder. The pools of tears soaking into his pillow at his ears and temples were simultaneously warm and cold, constantly refreshing as the weight of his misery pressed him down and kept him awake. He didn’t sleep until about an hour after the tired cries of his Omega faded into an uncomfortable slumber and he was alone with his thoughts again. Still, he was not sure how long he lasted in his dreamless sleep. The sun was just barely gracing the horizon when he was awoken again by less fervent lamentations from the younger Mr. Davenport.

His skin felt tight and though it was still quite painful, it had lessened somewhat. His valet, a Beta named Geoffrey, helped him with his morning routine and he was sufficiently embarrassed by plenty of what the man had to assist with. He and Geoff had never been particularly fond of conversing beyond serious matters and so he was rather surprised when he found the man to be rather emotional when all was said and done and Dream was laying abed again, staring at his platter of breakfast foods without means to pick up his utensils to eat it.  Dream peered curiously over at the Beta, unsure how to ask the man if he might feed him when his scent was so clearly distressed.

“Umm…” he tried, finding himself interrupted.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Humphrey,” he managed. “Please forgive me. I’d not been prepared to see you so…”

Dream blew a tick of his amusement in a soft chuckle.  “I must look a fright.”

“It…it will scar, will it not?”

“Likely.”

“At the very least, it has for the most part avoided your face well…except that small bit which has marred your jaw. Forgive me…I have known you so long and I cannot think of the pain you have endured…”

“Please, Geoffrey. Clear it from your mind and comfort yourself knowing that the worst pain is my pride when I ask you this.”

He perked, ready for any request.

“Might you fill my fork for me?  I fear I won’t be able to use my fingers for a few days at least.”

“Oh! Of course, sir. How silly of me. I’ve not considered your limitations properly. Graces,” he fretted as he worked to do so, mumbling a bit. “I do not mean to come with excuses, sir, but I have spent the night in this house and I have been told that the little one is soon to be expected to move into the manor. I cannot wait for the day, sir, for the manor is much larger. And better suited for young Mr. Davenport's arduous recovery”

Dream was propped up by his many pillows and he stared at the sky outside his window, changing from orange and red to a clear morning blue. His voice was only just above a whisper. “It is terrible, isn’t it?”

Geoffrey’s eyes were moist.  “When they last changed his bandages, he had fainted…I was assisting Dr. Benson…it…he…I do not know how he will survive.  Surely he will be taken by fever or infection. His legs…”

“Dr. Benson knows what he is doing. He’s a forward-thinker.”

He couldn’t listen anymore, he felt sick.

Amelia was always talking about holding “forward-thinking” doctors in high esteem. Dream had often thought she only did so because “forward-thinking” doctors were the type who held better opinions of Omegas. They were not prone to claiming that any of an Omega’s problems were caused by hysterics. They were also not prone to touching Omegas when and where they did not wish to be touched. But when pressed, Amelia had revealed to him at length studies brought to the fore by doctors who adhered to new and rather practical medical advices and advancements—particularly the notion of a peculiar and surly Hungarian named Semmelweis.

Geoff nodded, wiping at a tear which had escaped onto his cheek.  “Dr. Benson is a strange bird, I say…but I hope you are right. I hope that he will save the little one. He is so handsome still. His burns are only to his legs…you would not know it to look at him.  I daresay, if he were to recover, his scars would be hidden entirely.”

“We will hope.”

“If only you could be so lucky, sir.  Perhaps it will not be so bad upon your face…”

“It is only a little. I will survive.”  He ate then, finishing the whole of his breakfast and feeling very much invigorated by it. “Geoffrey? I wish to go to him.”

He started a bit in his shock and then settled quickly. “Oh, of course you would. I will inquire as to his state. They will, perhaps, keep any from the room should they not be properly prepared. Benson made me scrub my hands in a rather vile solution which made me itch and dried my skin. I don’t think you ought to put your hands in something like that until you’re healed.”

“If I don’t make certain, with my own eyes, that he is alive and fighting to stay that way, I think I will surely go mad.”

—————————————

Viscount Buford Humphrey, stood at the doorway for a minute or so, watching over his second child. Dream had insisted upon at least wearing his shirtsleeves and though he was obviously in a hideous amount of pain, he held together rather well, sitting back in one of the wing-backed chairs close by to the unconscious Omega. He was studying the boy’s features as though he were some priceless relic hidden away in some museum and yet—there was something there that was more than this distant appreciation.  There was something deeper he noticed that was hidden behind the pain he could see in Dream’s expression.

Love? Buford wasn’t certain he could really tell what love looked like on another person much less on his own son. He’d seen it, surely, but he hadn’t been overly sure he’d recognize it without knowing beforehand that someone was entirely infatuated.  He’d already known that his wife Beatrice was in love with Hugh.  He’d already known that Cuthbert was in love with him. For that matter, he’d known from the moment his first Daughter was old enough to be looking at boys that she was falling desperately in love with the handsome stable boy. But Dream? He didn’t really know.

Dream had always kept his feelings close to his chest. He’d never let others know what he was feeling unless he was forced.  Emotions in Alphas were a sign of weakness when it came to those who studied at Eton and Cambridge. He, himself, had known that. It simply hadn’t changed anything. He had always been a rather gentle Alpha and he’d hidden away with the plants to focus on his botany and the other sciences. It was calming among the Alpha girls and the Betas—he never had to fight with them for attention or a place to speak and he was fond of their calm demeanor. But Dream was a sportsman. His friends were all Alphas. And they always had an eye to spot weakness.

So Dream closed himself off and made it difficult to spot love if it grew. It wasn’t difficult, however, to note that he was fond of sport…and perhaps making Omegas a part of his sport.  Buford supposed that was what he was really concerned about. If Dream wasn’t truly in love with this Omega, and was merely playing with him for sport…Well, he supposed that what he had in mind would be a suitable punishment for that, and though entirely unfair to the boy, it would at the very least provide for him in a world without much hope left for him at all.

He left his son to watch over the little Omega and wandered to the drawing room where the elder Davenport sat sipping tea with Beatrice. When he arrived, his wife poured him a cup and handed it to him upon its little saucer and he stared at it, vexed by how small it looked in his hands. He swore the tea cups in his own house must have been much larger than these.  Still, he took a sip.

“My Lord,” Davenport greeted, his face flushed and his eyes raw and wet. Buford couldn’t blame this Alpha for showing emotion—his one and only child was teetering on the edge. If it had been Dream… He didn’t want to think about that.

“Mr. Davenport. It’s only been a couple nights and I realize this could be overly soon, but I suggest we move your boy to our home here in town. We’d have a much easier time looking after him and I’m certain Mr. Carlsbury would be quite happy to have his house back.”

He blinked. “W-why? What could…why would you offer?  Is…is there something I can do for you, my Lord?”

Buford sat, setting the disappointing tea down upon the platter. “Well, to be quite honest, yes. But I don’t think we should discuss it now. We should, perhaps, wait until your son shows more promise. There is no point in counting the chicks before they’ve hatched.”

“I find myself asking for forgiveness often,” Davenport told him, blinking tiredly, “but forgive me, my Lord…I would very much like to count my chicks. If I am to have nothing left, I’ll have a dream of chicks. You cannot possibly know how much I love my son. He is my source of pride and joy. My only child. I…I had such high hopes for him. That he should one day marry a decent fellow…find his own happiness…one day bear my grandchildren. Now I…Well I suppose I’ll have to admit to myself that all I can hope for is whatever future he might have now…I cannot sit here and listen anymore to doctors telling me that he might not have one. I cannot bear it.”

Buford took in a steeling breath and shared a commiserating look with his wife who sipped her tea to keep herself from weeping. It was a tactic she oft utilized at home and, to Buford at least, it had the extra effect on him of being able to take charge in tough situations such as this. He nodded, clasping his hands behind his back and getting right down to it. “Should your son make a decent recovery, Mr. Davenport, I would like to arrange a marriage for him if you’re at all agreeable to the notion.”

His glazed eyes seemed to sharpen for a moment and he drew his gaze over Buford then, fully seeing him as though for the first time.  “W-What?”

Buford cleared his throat awkwardly. “A marriage, Mr. Davenport. I thought that since he will certainly not have a wealth of prospects after an event such as this, we might as well take care of that little trifle. Of course, it’s a trifle to me—it is a great deal more for everyone else involved, I daresay. I should like your son to marry mine. Since Dream did happen to dive into a burning parlour to rescue him, I can’t imagine your little one would object mightily.”

“N-No…I don’t think he would.”

“I will not allow my son to settle him in an out-of-the-way manor house and go off frolicking either.” He frowned. “He will adhere to a contract and I intend to make it reasonable…with your input, of course. I know you don’t know him but Dream is a very rational and respectful Alpha. He’s got a good head on his shoulders and he knows how to run an estate profitably.”

“He is your heir?”

“He is. Eventually, he will be Viscount. Rest assured your son will have the best of care.  Dream’s got a good constitution, a handsome face, and a very…” He glanced at his wife who looked back at him with a curious expression. “A very strict set of morals.”

Beatrice raised her brows as if to add, God knows where those came from.

“You make a compelling argument in his favour, my Lord. I admit…I had heard my son was being courted by a Beta gentleman but no doubt the man will abandon him now. Should I say yes to your proposal, will I have to expect that your son will fight you on your decision? It is rare to arrange something for a man in whom I'm sure has many prospects, and he will likely push against your meddling.”

Buford allowed himself a smile.  “No. He will not fight it.”

“You are so confident.”

“I’ve reason to be.” He didn’t want to tell the man that he was fairly certain that Dream was already in love with his son. That was something he wished would come out between the two of them before it was ever discussed outside their family. With this, Davenport nodded and agreed with the plan, the evening then spent going over the boring particulars of a contract that might be drawn up by their solicitors.  They had drafted a set of notes on a spare parchment and Buford kept it safe in his pocket, intending to present it to Dream as soon as was prudent. After all, the Alpha would be marrying this Omega.

Or else.

Chapter Text

George no longer held in any sort of regard to the concept of time. It could have been hours. It could have been days. It could have been weeks. Months. Years. He slipped between dreamless formlessness and the amorphous stinging, biting pain that plagued him with every waking moment. Or was it not while awake? Was it while dreaming? Did it follow him even into that deep darkness? How could he know? He was aware of very little beyond that horrible pain which radiated upward from his legs and seemed to occupy more of him than he could imagine. The whole of him sometimes seemed as though it were on fire but he knew that could not be possible.

There was no fire. Not anymore.  There was warmth, there was laudanum, there was darkness, pain and—

It remained. That which had come to him at the moment most dire.  The memory of evergreen.

“Alpha.”

It woke him. It was as though it were inside him and outside of him at the same time and when he wished to open his eyes, they rolled backwards without his consent, as though seeking to avoid confrontation with the dim lamplight beside him. It was, for the most part, dark. Night? He couldn’t tell. Sometimes when one was in a sick room, one was subjected to much darkness even during the day.

Pain radiated upwards, burning over him and immediately causing his heart to pound in his chest. He blinked, his eyes rolling again until he could control them enough to focus on that soft glowing light.

Evergreen. The glint of a golden eye. The gentle swoop of feathers as prey is caught and lifted into the wild blue. Moisture spraying from spruce tips as the beat of wings disturbs the air above and all in nature is good and right—even death.

“Alpha?” He heard it this time—a half whisper which came from his own lips. It shocked him a little that he had a voice—that he was not simply a wandering spirit and that he could hear himself. That he could feel the blankets around him and not just the pain that had defined his form for a time immeasurable. He swallowed, feeling the dryness in his throat.

A man was with him. He was in his shirtsleeves, his cravat missing and in his eyes a terrible vacant sadness that sent a chill straight to George’s bones. Upon his face, over his jaw, was a dark patch—a scar—that widened as it trailed down his throat and disappeared beneath the fabric of his shirt and his gaze was dull over George’s face when he found him to be awake.

A regal stag peering over his shoulder, flicking his ears lazily about before turning down toward a stream of cool, clear water for a drink. The call of wilderness.  Vast. Open. Green and lush.

George slowly licked his lips, finding his tongue holding barely enough saliva to do the job. He could conjure only the slightest wisp of his voice.

“It’s you…”

The dullness in the man’s eyes shattered and the vacant nature of his sadness gave way to a refined despair. “Yes…” he murmured softly, “it’s me.”

It was all George could manage for now and he tried to move his hand where it lay by his side, sliding it across the bed until his delicate bare wrist was facing upward and his hand was limp toward the Alpha. His unspoken gesture was rewarded when the man reached out, his hand—scarred very much the same as his throat—gently grasping at George’s fingers, holding him with reverence and, dare he think it, hope. There was a sparkle of it…there had to be. George could smell it. Even beyond the sourness of his own pain, he could smell it and it tingled in his nose.

Sun shining through dark clouds, glinting over the snow at the peak of a mighty and shy mountain which glances from the heavens as though she wonders every so often what mortal men might think of her.

He felt his eyes roll back again and the darkness swept over him, engulfing him in nothingness and leaving only an image in its wake. Again he could not know how long he slept. Perhaps it was only for a night. Or perhaps it was only for the rest of the night. When he woke again, it could not have been very long. He deduced this only by one simple reasoning.

The Alpha was still here. He was still in his shirtsleeves. His cravat was still missing. He still gently held George’s fingers in his hand.  There was daylight peeking through closed curtains, casting a light about the room while George fought himself to wake through the haze of laudanum. His breaths felt heavy and his body felt weak. So, so weak.

He turned his head toward his companion who had fallen asleep some time ago, his back and neck bent so that he could prop up his face upon the arm which did not hold George’s hand. He was handsome despite the ugly dark colour of the scar over the bottom of his jaw which appeared as though it may still be an angry and healing injury.

Burns.

His pain was still great but it surely had lessened no small amount and now he found himself wondering what in the hell had happened to him that he would be subjected to this unfortunate state—and alone in a dark room with an Alpha.

My legs...I remember the smoke. I remember the haze that came around me and the bleakness. I remember a terrible weight.

He couldn’t drag himself upward quite yet and so he merely lay there, experimenting with his toes to see if he might be able to wiggle them just slightly but he could not be certain that he was doing it at all. He could not even bring himself upwards to sit so that he might find out if he even had his feet left or if they had desperately amputated them like they did to those poor soldiers who had fought battles so assiduously. Those men who were so egregiously wounded that the only solution was to cut off the offending limb.

My god, have they cut off my legs? Do I feel only a false imagining of my own toes? Am I to survive this? And if I do survive this, will I have wished that I had not?

He peered over at the Alpha again, wondering how the devil he was supposed to think of him. He hadn’t a name in any of his correspondence. But he was definitely George’s Alpha. He was the man who had sent him those letters. He was the Alpha whose scent had been so damnably vexing—that he had chased it around ballrooms and against the trees in Hyde Park. The scent that had always been floating about but had never made itself fully known nor the man it belonged to. But here he was. Here he was and he was handsome! He was unguarded as he slept, his face unmarred by the ugliness of despair which had come over him prior and with his countenance in repose, he was very much to George’s particular taste.

You’re in pain. You’re not allowed to think about what he might look like beneath his clothes. You’re not allowed to imagine things like that—not when he’s right next to you and there’s no possible way to escape. Not when there’s such a burning in your legs…even if it is rather muted just now. Not when your life has changed so much…when it might just be so short…

He sniffed softly, a moisture pooling in his eyes.

It might be so short, it won’t make a difference either way.

He tightened his hold just slightly on the Alpha’s fingers, not enough to squeeze but enough to feel the warmth of them—the human contact just enough for him to feel truly as though he were not alone. He would like to be touched by this Alpha. Just a little more. Perhaps a hug. Perhaps a kiss. Perhaps the whole of his body tucked up against him sharing warmth in the middle of a winter day when a nap seemed like just the thing to help ward away the cold. He would have liked a lot of things with this Alpha. But those hopes were probably nothing more than just useless wishes now. He wasn’t worth a marriage now. He wasn’t worth much of anything now. He couldn’t even feel his own toes.

The Alpha woke slowly, his thumb barely moving to swipe over George’s fingers, sending a shimmer of something through them and up his arm to his heart where it caused him to suck in a breath. He was big. It was difficult to know how tall he was but George was certain that the man was impressively built, his shoulders broad, his jaw strong, and his arms thick and well-toned. His eyes fluttered open to reveal their dark green colour, a pensiveness coming to his expression and wiping away the clear openness that had been apparent in sleep.

George whispered at him, his throat still dry. “Good morning, Alpha.”

The stranger leaned forward suddenly and then clearly winced at the pain it caused him before he ignored it and reached out his free hand to gently touch the backs of his fingers over George’s forehead as though to check for a fever.

George watched him as he gave himself a small, curt nod and then sat back again, a subtle fear behind his gaze when he looked back down toward the Omega.

“Thirsty…”

“I’ll fetch you water.”

“Wait.” He pinched down on the man’s fingers to keep him from moving. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the Alpha who sent me the letters.”

He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Do you still fear great pain?”

“I am in great pain…though not as great as yours.”

“Do you still fear great love?”

“I am in great love. Far greater than any man who has ever loved before.”

“...Do you still…fear me?”

“Yes. You hold my whole heart, Omega. Should you choose, you may kill me with a word.”

He smiled, letting out an amused breath before he paused to study the man who had claimed such a ridiculous thing with such clear conviction. “You came. That morning. You came and you…”  The memory of evergreen in the warped darkness came to him. “You came to me in the fire. You pulled me out…didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. When I heard that you…” he blinked away apparent tears that had accumulated in his eyes.  “When I heard that you had not escaped, I broke through the window and I found you.”

“...Do I still have my legs? I cannot feel my feet.”

“Yes. You have them. And though you may find it difficult to feel them, the doctor has found that you do have a modicum of sensation. He’s done some experiments while you slept. You were responsive.”

George cleared his throat, finding it difficult to speak with how dry his throat was still. “He tickled my feet, didn’t he? I have horribly ticklish feet.”

“I’ll fetch you water now.”

“Wait.” Panic struck him at the thought that the Alpha might leave and not come back. He had spent so long without him and now that he had him here, he could not imagine letting him go so easily. “I’m not ready to be alone.”

“O-Of course. I’ll ring the bell then.”

“Will you come back after and hold my hand like you are now?”

He paused for a moment and then nodded slowly. “Yes. I promise.” Only then was he allowed to get up, moving to the bell to ring it before he came back immediately and sat, gingerly adjusting himself so that his burns might not pain him so terribly. Of course, it was at this moment, when he offered his hand to George again that he clearly understood why the Alpha had woken at the softest pressure upon his fingers.

“Oh…I…I’m sorry…I didn’t know…” he stumbled in his whispers, very gently letting the Alpha place his badly burned fingers against George’s.

“They are not so terrible. I did not lose any of my fingers and the doctor has told me that over time, it is likely that where they are used—my palms and the like, will appear as normal…though the rest of them may be different forever.”

“I’m sorry,” George repeated.

The Alpha frowned in his confusion. “You owe me nothing. An apology is the last of things anyone should expect from you. Please…place it out of your mind.”

He swallowed, coughing a bit as an unfamiliar servant arrived in the room and the Alpha asked him for water and a tea tray. When the staff was gone and they were again alone, he gazed upon the Alpha with a tiredness coming to him again, teasing him with the promise of rest while the burning in his legs increased. “Tell me your name.”

“Humphrey. My father is a Viscount.”

“And your given name?”

He hesitated for only a second, as though weighing whether or not he really could admit to who he was. “Clay. But my family calls me Dream.”

“What do you want me to call you?”

“It would be prudent—”

“You can call me George. That’s my name.” He sighed, wishing this fatigue would simply leave him be.

Dream gave a small sniff. “Dream, then. I would…I would like that.”

He smiled, pleased, before the door opened and the tea tray was brought with a pitcher of water and a glass next to the teapot. Dream concentrated hard to move his hands so that he might pour the water into the glass and both he and the footman tried to move George as gently as they could so that he could be sitting among the many soft, comfortable pillows that lay at the head of the bed so that he might drink. He found his arms to be heavy-feeling and weak but he could hold his own glass and he did so even as he trembled.

“Are you feeling hungry?” Dream asked him, pouring his own tea. “There are some cakes here though you may wish for something more substantial.”

He rested his hand over his stomach. “I could eat, I think…”

“That’s good. I-” He set his tea down on its saucer where it sat on the tray and rubbed at his forehead. “I wanted to tell you…how…well gods…I don’t know how to say it.”

George finished about half his glass of water and focused on the way the man was gently pulling at his own hair, his hands trembling perhaps with nervousness and pain. “This is, perhaps, a terrible question to ask an Alpha who has done what you have done…but, there was a man. A Beta…”

“Shobrooke,” Dream replied, his voice stiffer than it had been thus far. “He also tried to find you but the smoke and the flame were too much. He did escape but…”

George nodded. “Has he come to see me?”

“No.”

“You didn’t let him?”

“I would have let him had he come. But he hasn’t. I can’t lie to you and tell you that I’d like to see him even if that’s what you deserve from him. I…I would rather that…”

“I think I know what you’d rather.”

He stared down at George’s feet. “I suppose it doesn’t matter what I’d rather. It doesn’t matter what any of us really want. What’s done is done.”

There was a finality in his voice along with that deep and resounding sadness that had placed a chill in George’s bones before and placed it there even harder at the resonance of his words. He wanted to go back to the simplicity of waking. He wanted to open his eyes and discover this man again and the gentleness of his touch. Impulsively, he reached out, leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes when he felt those warm fingers come under his again and very softly hold him.

He was alone. But he wasn’t alone. Alone with this Alpha.  With Dream. Handsome, noble, honest—Dream.  

Finally.

Chapter Text

George Davenport was quite stubborn, as Dream came to learn. He hasn't been prone to emotional outbursts like how many other Omegas would have been if they were in his position and he seemed to take things in stride as they happened. He lingered a bit on great tragedies but even as they bothered him, he could not bring himself to complain too much. Every so often, Dream would catch him looking down at his lower legs and his ankles which were often exposed so that the doctor might see them and make sure they were healing as well as they could. His face painted a complex portrait of deep thoughts which would likely never come to his lips. He clearly found the state of himself to be far beyond reality—as though those parts of his body were now unfamiliar.

Dream sought to be with him at every moment but at times was instructed to leave for the sake of privacy. When he was away, he felt a tugging and nagging urge to find him again, as though to leave him was a great discomfort—which, if you were to ask him, it most certainly was. He wasn’t all that certain how George felt about him but he had the idea that he was at least fond of him. His hint came in the way George’s scent warmed and tickled at his senses like melted caramel to be drizzled over party confections. It was so far removed from Hugh’s scent of sweet tobacco that he nearly found it dizzying in its sweetness. Still—it was addicting. He couldn’t help but think that scent, sourced directly from George’s soft throat, would be the end of him.

The Omega, being less talkative than what he thought usual, would often simply sit with him in shared silence, his hand laying upon Dream’s and his fingers softly grazing the skin of Dream’s palm or sometimes the pads of his fingers. As a natural progression of things, the Alpha’s wounds healed in the weeks that George was confined to bed and he slowly began to regain full use of his hands though feeling was not quite the same as of yet and was accompanied by a dull tingling whenever he touched anything at all.

He was sitting with George one morning, reading the paper to him as the light from the window wasn’t at all very accessible from where George sat in bed. When the doctor arrived with his bag and announced that this was the day that George would finally stand up. Not only would he stand, the doctor professed, he would walk, albeit with plenty of support.

“And you, Alpha, might make do to serve as his crutches for now. Get up, come on now, and throw those covers off. Mr. Davenport, you’re going to get yourself on your feet today and you’re going to do it with the Honourable Mr. Humphrey as your guide.”

Dream stood, feeling a gentle tug on his fingers as George tightened his hold. “George? Is something the matter?”

“Yes…I-I don’t feel like I can stand.”

His heart ached and he felt a band of emotion begin to tighten in his belly. “Well of course you can stand. I’ll be holding you. Around your back. I’ll stoop to give you the whole of my arm.”

George’s eyes were filled with apprehension and a wetness that was threatening Dream’s very sanity. “I…you will not let me fall, will you?”

I have failed you a hundred times before. I will not fail you now. I cannot. Not if I seek to live my life in service of you. And I will. By God, I will.

“No, of course not, do not think it. I will hold you up. There is nothing to fear. I won’t let you fall.”

The doctor snapped, “Of course he won’t! He’s a good young gentleman. One of the best, I’m sure. Raised right, went to school, knows how to take care of a young debutante like the rest of them. Now, Mr. Davenport,” he smiled warmly, “let him dance with you.”

The humour didn’t seem to strike at George in any manner that counted and so he merely appeared quite annoyed, pulling the duvet away from his legs with attitude so that he might drag himself to the edge of the bed. Dream was able to help him a little, trying to avoid looking at the way his nightclothes and his dressing gown hiked up with his movements, the hem rising on his legs until the edge reached the end of his scarring and began to reveal smooth, pale flesh. Eventually, both his feet were on the floor, the bottoms of them undamaged but the tops of them and his ankles very gnarled by scar tissue and discoloured. They were not yet finished healing and there was quite a bit of skin that was raw and angry which reached nearly up to his knees.

“Are you ready, George?” Dream asked him in a soft, low tone.

“I would much rather be listening to you read me the news.”

“Can I place my arm around you?”

In the sunlight which filtered in through the window, George’s cheeks turned a dusty pink and he nodded without words. The action naturally placed Dream’s face very close to the Omega, letting him covertly gain a very, very close whiff of his scent which could have sent him over the moon and stars. He was glad that he had taken that first sip of him before he had helped him to his feet for he really might have dropped him.

Warm sunshine. Lilacs. Ripe fruit of the Earth. The eye of the day. Life. Shining, glowing in gold which forms the silver of the moon. A glint over freshly laid snow which makes a man squint his eyes for its brilliance. Pure, light.

“Dream?” he murmured, shifting a bit and bringing Dream back to himself.

He blinked, realizing suddenly that his nose was almost touching George’s neck. He cleared his throat, turning away only to feel the brush of George’s cheek across the very tip of his nose. He was so soft. He was so pliant and forgiving. God, he didn’t deserve such a sweet thing in his arms. Dream adjusted himself and tamed the wildness that was in his throat enough to speak. “Alright. Are you ready? I’m ready…”

“I suppose I must be.” When Dream urged him to his feet, taking most of his weight against his arm and steadying him with the other hand, he gave out a little yelp of pain. “Oh no! Put me down! Put me down!”

He set him down again and felt him shaking and smelled the sharp tang of his pain. “Is it your ankles? There must be something to steady them…”

The doctor tsked. “We cannot brace them until the skin is healed completely. If you do, you run the risk of cutting off the healing of his blood.”

George sniffed, wiping at the moisture in his eyes. “They feel so weak…I feel that they might just break. As though my bones have been made brittle by the heat…”

Dream very quietly shushed him, turning his head to touch the side of his lips against his dark hair. “You’re alright. Everything is alright. I’m right here.”

He calmed a bit at those words. “I…I’d like to try again. Only for a moment.”

Dr. Benson grunted. “I will need to test you far further than a moment, Mr. Davenport.”

Dream puffed an assertive breath out his nose, sending a sharp glare at the Doctor “You will test him no more than what he is ready for.”

“Do you trust me, Alpha? I should assume that you do or at the very least you did since your own wounds have nearly healed completely and it is only due to my direction. My contemporaries might have had you flushing your wounds with turpentine for how much they know. His bones are strong. It is only that he has not used those muscles and they have not been able to have a massage to keep them healthy. He will build them, and to build them he must test them. Everyday. Sometimes more than once.” Dr. Benson had his shoulders squared and he was rigid—it was not the first time he had ever challenged an Alpha seeking to protect their Omega.

Dream felt himself prickle with annoyance. “He cannot be expected to do things that will hurt him greatly.”

“Oh yes, he can. If it means that he will be able to walk again, he will do much that will hurt him.  Now stand him up again!”

He pressed his face against George’s hair, unwilling to force him.

George relaxed a bit. “It’s alright, Dream…I will try.”

“Alright...If you’re certain.” He held him again, slowly helping him as he trembled and shook to his feet, feeling the bite of the Omega’s fingernails in the tingling skin of his arm. He kept his face close to George’s hair until he had him completely upright on his unsteady feet.

“It hurts.”

“I’ll let you down…”

“No!” Dr. Benson snapped. “Do not let him down. I want him to take three steps. That is all I want. And then you can pick him up and set him back on the bed. Three steps only.”

“He can’t!” Dream argued.

Still, even as he said it, George dragged one foot forward, wobbling as he took Dream with him. He made low whining noises from the back of his throat but managed two more steps, nearly collapsing after the third. When Dream lifted him into his arms, he was shaking and breathing heavily, his head against the Alpha’s chest and shoulder until he was laying back in the bed.

“Dream…” he groaned. 

“Yes, I’m here.” He tucked George in again, careful with the duvet over his legs. He reached out when he saw George’s hand come out for him and he gripped his fingers.

“You’ll help me won’t you? Everyday?”

“I haven’t left you yet, have I?”

“You don’t have other things to do…do you?”

“There is nothing in this world more important than the work I do here. For you.”

Tears welled up in George’s eyes spilling over his cheeks and Dream knew that it was everything in combination that had brought them on. He was not prone to emotional outbursts—that was true. But he held it inside and it was bound to overflow as these things were to do. 

“I am hardly worth enough to warrant such devotion…”

“You sell yourself short. You forget…I did pine for you, after all.” He wanted to tell him then.  He wanted to tell him everything. That he had kept the other Alphas from him. That he had been the evil behind the plot which had made him desperate enough to seek a Beta’s companionship. He wanted to come clean right there. But he feared, still. He feared George telling him to leave. Telling him that he never wanted to see him again. He feared that George’s anger would leave him alone.

Still, after everything, after all of this affection he’s shown me in holding my hand and allowing himself to be alone with me. Still I am a coward.

George sighed. “If you are here with me, I will find the strength.”

It was those words that kept Dream silent about his role in the Omega’s plight. He couldn’t reveal everything he’d done. Not now. Not yet. Not when he was the source of a man’s courage in the face of pain and struggle. Perhaps he was inflating his own importance…perhaps it really wasn’t all that deep at all. But he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to tell George everything. He didn’t want anything to keep him from finding his way back to his Omega.

Weeks progressed and with much work and frustration, it was found that George could stand and could now even walk in small steps with the help of small wooden crutches. Specifically made for him which gave him support at his elbows and two grips for his hands. He resented them, that much was obvious, but they provided him a modicum of freedom, even though his movement was still slow and stilted. For some time, he dragged his feet, his ankles near useless, but with time and effort he was able again to articulate them, though not very well.

“Oh dash all of this,” he grumbled one morning as he reached for his crutches and accidentally tipped them to the floor.

Dream leaned over and picked them up, holding them steady for George so he could move himself properly to the edge of the bed and get a proper hold on them. “Worry not, one day it will be second nature.” He tried to give George a reassuring smile. They had been together every single day for weeks now and Dream was beginning to hope that the Omega might have begun to think of him more fondly. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t already been a little fond of him, but there was an odd schooling to his scent when Dream was present, as though he was poorly hiding something. He didn’t want George to feel indebted to him. Only warm. Only friendly. Perhaps more than friendly.

Romantic.

He immediately chastised himself.  I don’t deserve romance. I don’t deserve the way he looks at me.

Slowly but surely, George made his way to breakfast, allowing Dream to make up his plate for him from the sideboard. By this time, Dream was well-versed in everything George liked. He liked his eggs poached, his toast golden with no black to it, and he preferred blackberry jelly over any other kind of spread. He liked bacon rather than sausage and absolutely hated any sort of fish. When breakfast was finished, they worked their way toward the parlour where they usually spent their time.

Voices floated from the door and when they entered, they found the elder Davenport and Dream’s father sitting across from one another, their expressions appearing very expectant.

“My,” George mentioned as he worked to walk by himself into the room. “Aren’t we looking a bit somber?”

“George,” Henry tried, keeping his tone light. “A little while ago, Lord Humphrey and I had a very important discussion. Why don’t you sit?”

He paused, staring at his father while the tone of his scent altered a bit. “I think I’d like to stand.”

Dream stood next to him, staring at his own father, wondering what in the world all of this was. It was almost as though these two had been waiting for them. Waiting to ambush them somehow.

Buford peered at him somewhat dispassionately. “Dream. Sit.”

He knew better than to defy his father and so with one glance to George, he sat in the nearest chair, waiting for them to deliver whatever news it was that they had been withholding. “Father? What’s this about so early in the morning?”

Buford leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. It was a position he normally took when he expected everything to turn out exactly the way he imagined it would. This was, more often, the case. “Mr. Davenport and I have come to a decision. For the both of us, it will turn out rather beneficial but I do acknowledge that it is more in the interest of us as fathers rather than you as individuals. I, being a Lord, am accustomed to bending things to my will by force but certain things have a tendency to…spring back if they are not carefully pressured.”

“You’re applying pressure here but to what end?” Dream asked, suddenly wary.

Davenport was next to speak, his back straight and his posture slightly forward as though he expected this all to go poorly. The opposite of his father. “George…Darling…I know you’re going to hate this…but you really have no choice here.”

George’s scent was further souring and it was putting Dream quite on edge. “And what is it in particular that you think I’m going to hate, father? To be rather honest, I’ve been feeling quite testy for the past few months and here you are waiting for me behind dark corners with cryptic words and solemn expressions. I daresay you are treading over very thin ice with my patience!” 

Dream was certain that he had not yet seen this side of George Davenport. A formidable opponent he would have been had his legs not slowed him down.

“Well, George, his Lordship has suggested that you and his son be joined in marriage. I’ve agreed. It is all written up—all the contracts. The only thing left to do is marry the two of you… I’m sorry, George, but this is the best option for you and under the circumstances, it is the only one that I find acceptable. You need someone to care for you and a good husband is—”

He didn’t get to finish. As he was speaking, George had turned around awkwardly, wobbling with his feet and his crutches toward the door while Dream stood as though to help him. When George made it out of the room, that was when Davenport quit talking, staring after him helplessly.

Dream cast a frown toward his father. “Must you meddle like this, father?”

“I apologize,” he replied, not the least bit sorry, “I was under the impression that you very much would like to marry this Omega.”

“Not when you are forcing my hand.”

“And what would have happened had I not forced your hand? Anything at all?”

He felt his mouth twitch at the side. “And what would you do if I refused?”

“You won’t refuse. You are his only option save for that Beta I heard of…hardly a viable substitute for a wealthy Alpha in line for a title.” He was still leaning back, giving Dream a bit of a lazy grin. “You’re in over your head, Dream. Let it all fall together around you. This is what you wanted, is it not?”

“Not like this.”

“Just accept it, Dream. What’s done is done. You may be angry at me all you like but in the end, your only concern should be your Omega. And he is your Omega…so you’d best come about and speak to him. I’ll not be giving you a choice. You’ve done this to yourself.”

He breathed in long and heavy before he sighed and relented. “Very well.”  

Davenport visibly relaxed, his eyes closing and his scent suddenly filled with the fragrance of complete relief. “I’ll go speak to him…”

“Oh. Alpha,” Davenport started, giving him pause, “I should feel confident in my hope from seeing your devotion to him for the past few weeks but please…soothe my anxieties. I must know, do you love him?”

“I do.”

He nodded, satisfied. “Then I’ve nothing to fear…and neither should you.”

No, Dream thought morosely, such a thing only means that I have more to fear than anyone else in this house. I risk my heart in this venture and worse—I risk his. He left, then, and followed the scent of his Omega until he found that he had entered one of the secondary parlours.

He was startled upon entry. “George!”

The Omega was laying upon his back, his fingers laced over his stomach and his crutches on the floor at either side of him. He appeared as though he were simply waiting patiently for Dream to come upon him, seemingly unbothered at the fact that he was lying flat upon the cold floor. “There you are. I thought perhaps they might chat with you overly long. I think I stood longer than my accursed limbs would allow and couldn’t quite make it to this settee in time.”

Dream’s heart was beating hard in his sudden panic. “Did you fall?! Are you hurt?!” He came to him quickly, kneeling on the floor beside him.

“I did fall and it was uncomfortable but I am unharmed mostly. I pinched my finger between the floor and my crutch and I would appreciate it very much if you might—”

Dream, unthinking, reached down and took his hand in his own, gently kissing his fingers with reverence. “Let me help you get up.”

“I really do detest this. I’m some hideous invalid and it’s just now that I think I’m beginning to feel the true weight of it. My father arranging a marriage for me…it seems almost humiliating. But, when I think about it at least…” His eyes met Dream’s, earnest and searching. “At least it is not so bad. I searched for you, Alpha. I knew your scent. I knew you would not let me down.” He frowned, blinking a bit. “I did doubt you though…I hope you can forgive me for that.”

“Forgive you? My god, George…” he swallowed past a growing lump. “I could never begrudge you anything. I was a coward to not approach you before Shobrooke did…”  He eased his arm behind George’s back and picked up his crutches with his other hand, hoisting him up onto the settee and sitting himself down beside him. “Are you terribly upset by the decisions made by our fathers? I will resist if you find it truly awful.”

“No! I do not find it truly awful. The concept of it, yes…I suppose I find terrible. But the reality…having you for a mate. It cannot be so bad. Though I wish for things. I hate to be one who makes demands but I truly will not marry you without them in the contract.”

A strange wariness filled Dream’s chest. “What are they, sweeting? I think I have relented to just about anything.”

“It must seem strange,” George told him, refusing to meet his gaze, his eyes on the floor, cheeks burning in the white morning light. “But I am a man who enjoys certain types of touch and affection and…intimacy. I think if we are to be married…I do not wish to have my own room. I wish to share your bed. Every night. Even without a heat. I should like to always have you near to me as I sleep.”

Dream took a moment to examine George, taking in his sincerity.

“I hope that is acceptable to you, Alpha and not a burden.” There was a spice in his scent as though he were just ever-so-slightly aroused by his own demand.

“Yes I…I think that is acceptable. I could never be burdened by you, George.”

“You say so now…but you hardly know me.”

“I already know everything I need to have fallen completely and madly in love with you. There is nothing that could keep me from your side save one thing.”

George pinned him with a stare. “Which is?”

“You. Should you ever choose to cast me away…I will go. But without your word, I will stay with you always, George.” He slid from the edge of the settee and came to one knee, reaching for George’s face and skimming a thumb over his soft cheek. “Will you marry me?”

He nodded bashfully, a gentle smile coming to his plush lips. “Yes, Dream. I think I will.”

Chapter Text

George had been so terribly bold.  He recalled how dusky pink Dream’s cheeks had been after he had informed the solicitors of George’s wishes for their marriage contract. Everyone seemed very enamoured of the alterations—of the Omega’s commitment to his Alpha and the ideal of their marriage bed. He was embarrassed to know that everyone who’d seen that contract would know of his hidden, perverse nature but on the whole, everyone was quite taken by the notion that he should seek affection and his father, especially, seemed pleased by it. The only person who didn’t seem entirely taken by the idea was his cousin.

He was peering into the glass over his vanity on his wedding day with white roses in a crown on his head when he saw Thomas arrive behind him through the door. The flowers added an attractive mild fragrance to his own scent and Thomas tried the air for a moment in appreciation before he approached and met George’s eyes through the glass.

“Morning, cousin.”

George gazed at him coolly. “I haven’t seen you for a while, Thomas. I hope things are well.”

“Well enough,” he grumbled.

“I’m surprised to find you here. I thought perhaps you might have become bitter toward me. Your attempt to pay your debt with my future didn’t quite pan out, did it?”  He examined his cousin’s reflection, hoping to find even a hint of shame. He saw none. “Too bad, isn’t it? I suppose you’ll have to use that crafty Beta brain of yours to come up with some other plan.”

“I didn’t come here to get my nose rubbed in it,” he snapped.

“Then why did you come? Surely you must have determined that if you came and you spoke to me like this, you would be told off.”  He saw Utley in the mirror making for the door. “Utley? Will you stay for a moment?”

“Of course sir,” he supplied readily, standing near the door and leveling an impatient stare toward Thomas who clearly squirmed under the scrutiny.

“What? Keeping the old man about to make certain of something, George? Are you afraid of me?”

“Should I be?” he asked, outwardly calm. He was hiding the gentle stirrings of fear that could have marred his scent. He was, actually, afraid of his cousin. Debt could do things to a person. All things to do with money changed a man for the worse, he thought. “Are you here for revenge?”

“Revenge!?” he appeared almost insulted. “Should I have wished for revenge then I have already gained it. Just look at yourself.”

Utley cleared his throat. “That’s quite enough.”

Thomas spat, “Servants do not tell me what to do!”

“He will tell you what I permit him to tell you. He doesn’t work for you, Thomas, and he has all rights to tell you to go to the devil if he wishes.” He felt a gentle tremble begin inside him. “You used me. I can only hope that in some way, the fates will see fit to give you exactly what you deserve.”

Thomas’s expression hardened into a cold disdain. “You’ve always been a little prick, George.”

“I never wish to see you again, Thomas. Whoever decided to invite you to my wedding was sorely mistaken in doing so.”

“And I suppose you think everything is going to be quite nice now with your new Alpha husband,” he sneered, approaching the back of George’s seat. “You think he’s going to be satisfied with you?…how you are?”

Trust a Beta to really get to the heart of one’s insecurities, he thought sourly.

“You think he’s going to come home to you every night? That he’s going to share your bed? What happens when he goes out with his friends and you’re home alone without him? What happens when you stay up the whole of the night, staring at the ceiling, hoping he’ll come back to you? What then? It’s in the contract but what is his true incentive? Money? He already has his own. Weirwood? He doesn’t need your land. What stops him, George? Do you really think he’ll keep his word? When he sees how limited you really are. When he discovers all the dirty, filthy things about you and grows weary of your needs, depraved as they are.”

“Get out!” he yelled, fighting the urge to charge at him. “Utley? Would you please escort Thomas off the grounds? Make certain he does not cross paths with too many people. I would not want them put off by his stink and his attire.”

“One day, George, you’re going to look at yourself and realize that nobody could ever love you, nobody can ever live up to your nasty little fantasies. Not even yourself.” He shoved Utley’s hand off of his arm and stormed from the room, followed quickly by the butler whose steps were light and silent.

He let out a breath, disturbed to find it quaking and uncertain. He couldn’t let any of this stop him. What would Thomas have him do?

Nothing. There is nothing Thomas can have now—not from me. He knows it, that is why he lashes out at me. He’s exhausted all of his resources and now the devil will have his due when it comes to that scheming Beta. He will get what he deserves one way or another.

He reached for his crutches which were leaning against his vanity and used them to ease his way up. His knees felt slightly weak but it was only the excitement, he thought. How he ever might gain the strength to stand before the vicar for so very long, he wasn’t sure. His method was not a graceful one, but he managed to make it to where his father was sitting, out of the way in a brightly-lit parlour.

He stood as George entered. “Oh, George. You are as beautiful as a portrait… I thought Utley would be bringing you?”

“He’s escorting Thomas off the grounds.”

“Ah. I see, well…since we happened to get you two to your wedding day so quickly—you can see this plan has been in the works for a while—I didn’t think to invite anyone else from our side of the family as they are so…”

“Provincial?”

He gave another sigh. “That was another thought…I admit, it is very difficult for me to reconcile with the notion that we are not so far removed from them. Anyhow the church is very nice…and the coach is ready to bring you. Are you warm enough My Dear?”

“If there is a blanket in the coach I will be.”

“I made certain of it. I told them that the sanctuary must be quite warm for you as well. Though you likely should be well…”

“Have you been counting days?” he asked. “That’s well and good, I haven’t. I suppose I must have gone through a cycle when I was recovering…I don’t recall it.”

His father nodded, his eyes staring off at nothing. “For the best, admittedly. Come along now. I’d hate to dally and have no time for the service. We’ve got to make it official before someone comes to their senses whether it be his Lordship or I.”

George rolled his eyes. He couldn’t imagine a scenario on Earth that would make the Alpha lord change his mind—that was, unless he found that his son was already philandering. That, he supposed, would make the gentle Viscount reconsider. With his father’s aid, he managed to climb into the carriage and pull his blanket over his lap, comfortable and delighted to find a foot-warmer filled with hot coals on the floor. He had found that though much of his legs and ankles did not retain any feeling—his toes were rather susceptible to getting cold—an element he did not care for in the least. It didn’t matter much when it came to this day, he found, for he spent very little time in the cold outside and plenty of time inside where fires had been stoked to a steady roar for his personal comfort.

He tried to ignore the crowd that had come to watch him get married when he hobbled next to his father up the carpeted aisle, nearly tripping on a wrinkled bit as he had to practically drag his feet to propel forward. Whenever he paused to gather his bearings, he was aware that everyone was looking at him—staring at him and probably pitying him more and more with every passing second. He despised it. By the time he was to the steps that led up to where Dream stood, he was winded and trembling and his heart dropped.

I’m never going to be able to climb these.

“Oh drat…” he muttered, aware suddenly that surely those who sat in the front-most pews would hear.

A low, gruff Irish lilt sounded behind him. “Oi, for the luv o’ god. What sort o’ fool thought o’ this?” There was a shuffle and George turned his head to find a very masculine Omega at his side who appeared to be dressed well despite the ruggedness of his face. “I’m gonna lift ye.  Jus’ hold yer sticks there.” Before he was even finished with saying it, he had easily lifted George up in gentle arms, his strength a thing of wonder for such a small man, and climbed the steps, settling him down upon a long velvet-upholstered bench that was stationed before the vicar. “There.  Takes care o’ that.”

“Thank you…” he tried as the man bowed lightly and took his crutches from him, stepping off to the side to stand close by. When George turned his attention to Dream, he was shocked to find him sitting at the other end of the velvet bench, close to him—close enough to reach out for his trembling hands. “Dream…”

Before he could think of anything else, the vicar began and after that, everything seemed to blur together. All he could think about was how many eyes were over him and above that, the fact that Dream was looking at him too.  His eyes were a gentle green. His scent was all around, filling George’s mind with images of a landscape blanketed by pine forest. Nervousness seemed to melt away into the shadows and soon he found that there was silence around him, the vicar had quit talking.

Dream’s mouth was ticked upward in bemusement. He whispered softly.  “You’re supposed to say 'I do’ here.”

“Oh!” He chirped. “I do!”

Dream’s expression was warm and his scent began to fill with a heavy contentment as his eyes smiled.  Dream’s own “I do” echoed and reverberated through George’s chest and he felt his heart fluttering at the thought that this really was the moment. He was bound to this Alpha. For better or for worse, this was the Alpha who would have him.

Who would touch him. Tonight.

He felt a wave of warmth come over him and flash over his skin, causing him to suck in a hard breath. His whisper was quiet but he knew the vicar was aware of him even as he spoke. “Oh dear…”

Dream’s small smile faded as his eyes flashed in recognition and he glanced meaningfully toward the crowd before he gave a pointed look to the vicar who nodded with understanding. It was about time this all got wrapped up.  

It was unfortunate that he wouldn’t be able to make it to the reception, he thought glumly.  Though it happened to plenty of Omegas, he had been keen to meet particular elements of Dream’s family and was rather peevish at the idea that he might miss them completely. In particular, he was most curious about the man’s mother who was sitting in the front row, her shrewd eyes taking in every inch of the scene before her and her gaze narrowing upon him in particular.

She knows. Can she smell it? Is it so obvious already? It’s not yet hit me strongly but I can feel it coming. It won’t be overly quick in arriving but this one will be violent. I know that already. Is it the way I hold myself? Is it my face? Can she read me so easily?

The slap of the Bible together was enough to jostle him from his thoughts and he nearly jumped when he felt Dream’s thumb on his jaw, the touch unexpected.

“May I kiss you, George?”

“In front of everyone?”

Dream sniffed a laugh. “That is normally how it’s done.”

“Yes.”  He allowed himself to be drawn forward and leaned in, Dream’s breath over his lips causing his whole body to tighten suddenly before the simple brush of his mouth sent his mind into a wonderland.  

Evermore. Everlasting.  Evergreen.

The kiss was much different than Shobrooke’s. A thousand bits of passion leaped upwards at every moment they touched and a symphony seemed to play in George’s mind. He couldn’t even think to let the man go. Not when the scent of him was so inviting with images of vivid greens and fresh blues and the soaring wings of swans rushing around him. He wasn’t in a church. He was in the wild. The great, vast wilderness that sang with hundreds of birds and roared with a myriad of rivers. It was not a gentle promise not like the Beta’s. It was a violent one. It was the promise of something so terribly powerful that George thought he might fear it but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to fear. There was no fear left. If the fire had stolen one thing it had stolen this. There was nothing left to lose.

Dream pulled away after a moment, his breath coming harder.  “George…” he murmured softly.  “I think we ought to get you home.  Let Hugh take you.”

“Hugh?” he asked, breathless. He noted, somewhat alarmed, that Dream’s eyes were no longer sweet but severe the gentle green naught but thin rings around pupils blown.

The Irishman came to him then, holding out his crutches and aiding him in standing. “Can’ ye stand, lad? If yer legs won’ hold, I’ll jus’ carry ye.”

He tried to bring himself up but toppled over back onto the velvet. “Please Mr. Hugh…”

“Winwood.”

“Mr. Winwood…”  he gave a shaky sigh again. “I think I need…”

“Say no more.” He lifted him as though he weighed nothing at all and took him to the side of the platform to one of the service exits, wandering through side hallways until he had emerged out into the gentle falling snow where the coach sat waiting, steam rising from the horses. It was incredible how easily this man held him and aided him inside the coach, pulling himself in and yanking the door shut. He rubbed his hands together and then quickly covered them both with the wool blanket as neither of them were wearing their coats. “Agh, I can’t stand churches. A lot o’ bad memories.”

He was breathing heavy, leaning against the backrest of the coach’s bench and marveling at how familiar Hugh seemed to be. As though he’d known him for much longer than a mere few minutes. There was an energy to him that transcended logic. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’ be sorry. Ye can’t help it. Comes on fast when yer young.”

He smiled. “I meant your memories.”

“Oh!” His laugh was infectious, as most Omega laughs were, and George felt it bubble up inside him. They shared a bit of it, tapering off into giggles before Hugh spoke again. “Ye’ve a good mate. 'E’s a very good lad. I’ve known 'im his whole life.”

He nodded a bit in the dim of the coach while the horses began their journey back to the manor. “He’s been very kind.”

“'He's more than jus’ kind. 'He's loyal. That’s important in a mate.”

“Forgive me but, who are you?”

“Hugh Winwood,” he put out his hand brusquely, his grin lopsided but charming. “I’m the estate manager for Lord Humphrey.  His eldest married my son.”

George shook his hand but popped a brow severely. “A Lord’s eldest married his estate manager’s son?”

“Can’t help who ye love, can ye?” His grin was even wider. “I also have to brag a bit that Patrick's a mite easy on the eyes. How could any Omega let 'im be? He’s a handsome blighter and he knows it.”

George was laughing again. He couldn’t help it. Hugh chatted with him a bit more before they reached the house, telling him a few lighthearted tales of Dream’s youth. When he opened up the coach door and carried him into the house, he was barking orders left and right, servants scurrying like mad to heed him and readying the room.

“Well,” George breathed as Hugh set him down on his feet and his crutches. “You are a force to be certain, sir.”

“Practice. Ye’ll be a force too when ye get te my age. Is there anything I can get ye?” He walked with him slowly to the room he would share with Dream on the main level, watching him carefully as they made their way.

“No. I don’t think so, I will just wait here for Dream”

“'It's gonna be jus’ a bit. 'He's got te take care o’ the guests and make certain all business is taken care of afore he comes to ye. After all, he won’t be leavin’ yer side for a good week or so. He’ll take care o’ you.”

“Hugh?”

“Aye?”

He felt a squeeze in his gut as another flash of heat coursed through his body and sweat began to form on his brow. “Should I be worried about anything?” He pulled himself into the room and peered over the wide expanse of the bed, noting the restraints that were attached to the headboard. A throb of anxiety struck him.

Hugh followed his gaze and sniffed. “Ye’ve not got yer ma anymore, do ye?”

“No.”

“And there ain’t been a soul to tell ye what to expect.” He waited through a bit of George’s silence and watched when he sank into the chair near the fireplace. “Ye’re gonna be fine, don’t worry about it. Nature knows what she does and she don’t do anything ye ain’t prepared for.”

“What if…”  he gulped, his face hot as the first dribble of slick wets his drawers. “What if I’ve given it a lot of thought already? What if I…forgive me, we’ve only just met…I’m embarrassing myself.”

“Are ye sayin’ ye’ve got expectations? That ye might find ye’re disappointed?” He smiled and shook his head a bit with his amusement. “Omegas…lord help us. If ye want 'im te do somemat to ye—jus’ ask. And if he says 'nay’ to ye, I’ll beat the devil out of him”

A measure of relief found him with Hugh’s sincerity and he again turned his gaze toward the restraints on the bed. Most Omegas hated being tied down and George was certainly included in their number. He didn’t think himself maddened when he was in heat merely choosing to think himself a tad more lewd than normal, though perhaps he was a bit ravenous. He was not out of his mind, surely, but his father had insisted he be held down for his own safety. Now, theoretically, he would not require those. His Alpha should take care of all of that. “Do you think I should wait for him on the bed?”

Hugh gave a casual shake of his head. “Ye’ve got yer wits. There won’t be an Alpha close to ye save for ye mate. I think ye might jus’ take some water and sit right where ye are. I’ll get that. Is there anythin’ else I might be able to help you with?  I’m afraid I ain’t the best at advice I only had an Alpha son and I’ve never been a right fancy little fop like yerself.”

“Hah.” He smiled and then felt it wash away from him as he caught the familiar scent of his Alpha. His mate. It was faint, as though he were smelling it over miles and miles. Slick dampened his bottom even more and he made to stand, mindless that he couldn’t. “Oh!” he tried, as his ankles failed him and he tumbled back into the seat.

“Whoa there, boy, don’t lose yer mind o'er him so quick. He’s likely te let that sort o’ thing go to his head.” He moved to George’s side and drew his attention, bringing a grounding hand to his shoulder. It helped. It most especially helped when the scent was suddenly fierce and strong and he found Dream was standing in the doorway, his cravat already loosened and his hair mussed up. “Well it’s about time, ye sod.  Here’s a boy who’s droolin’ over ye and ye’ve got the audacity te show up after he's already got his fancy trousers all wet. A damned fool, you are!” He cackled a bit, leaving George’s side and giving Dream a good-natured slap on the back before he left through the door, pulling it almost shut before he peeked back in and gave George a good wink. “Give the lad a hard time, boy. He’ll ne'er cross ye if he thinks ye might call him out.”

Dream’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes almost a deep black, ringed by green. He was motionless for a few moments, appearing almost stupefied by George where he sat, breathing heavy in the chair near the hearth.

“Dream?” he asked softly.

He swallowed hard. “Yes, George?”

“I’m nervous… I’m not accustomed to touch. My father was never overly affectionate in that regard and I’m not at all a man who’s known much of it at all. I think it’s why I crave it so terribly and yet…I am anxious of having it. I want you to touch me.  I’ve thought about a great number of rather filthy things you might do to me.”

Dream’s eyes widened a bit with interest and a little amount of shock. He cleared his throat, pulling at his loosened cravat until it swept from his throat and fluttered toward the floor.  “George, what are you saying?”

He felt apprehension begin to well up and he tried to hide everything he was about to confess. It would spill out soon, he knew, but it didn’t have to spill out now. Not when Dream could still get away from him. Not when he could turn around and reject him before consummation. “I hardly know. I need to be out of these clothes. Straight away.” The time would come for him to ask for difficult things. But for now it would be enough to have the most simple of them. He wanted to be taken. He wanted to be filled. He wanted to know what it felt like to be held in an Alpha’s arms and to take a man between his thighs. He wanted heat. He wanted possession. He wanted to feel a heartbeat beneath his hands and have breathless moments of passionate pleasured ecstasy. He wanted to know what Omegas felt when they were panting and crying out with mindless emotion.

Dream came to him, looming over him while his big hands reached downward and one finger slid beneath George’s cravat, the smallest touch over his throat sending shocks through his muscles until his belly spasmed with need.

“Please…Alpha…” He couldn’t get up. It was vexing.  Absolutely infuriating. He was stuck and he couldn’t help himself any longer. His hand was suddenly between his legs, cupping himself through his trousers. “If you do not take me to the bed, I swear to you I’ll do myself right here and you won’t have any damned say in it.” He’d barely finished the sentence before he was swept up and carried, laid out like some kind of ritual sacrifice over the mattress before Dream began to quickly undress him. Halfway through the loops of his corset and Dream seemed to be overcome by something that must have been akin to shame and he stiffened, standing up straight with his hands rigid at his side.

“George…if you do not disrobe yourself, I fear I might tear your fine formals.”

“For the love of it all, Alpha, tear them off! I’ll get a new.”

“Are-are you certain?”

“Dream!”

And with that, the sound of buttons popping and ripped fabric filled his ears and he let loose a gentle sigh of relief as the cool air met his heated flesh.