Page 13 of Blood Fist

Corric wasn’t a tough omega. He could still barely hold on to his sword. He had no heritage to claim, and no wealth. There was nothing to endear him to a clan alpha. And a Kaledonea alpha would never even look athim—from his tanned skin to his calloused hands, he would be consideredunsuitableat best and probably left to rot on a street corner at worst.

Ridan splashed him. The icy wave hit him in the face like a slap. Spluttering, he stumbled back only to open his eyes and realize Ridan was right in front of him, eyes narrowed.

“You’d think all the times I tossed you to the ground would have knocked some sense into you,” he growled, baring his small pup fangs. “Didn’t you hear what I just told you?”

Corric shook his head dumbly.

Ridan rolled his eyes. “It isn’t about what they want. It’s about you. Do you want the first weakling alpha to come sniffing around or are you going to make them earn it?” he poked Corric in the chest hard enough to bruise. “Clan or not, know your worth and be sure they pay it.”

He’d never really considered it like that. Back in Kaledonea, an interested alpha would speak to the omega’s pack alpha. It would be organized through them. The omega in question was never consulted.

But in the clans, it was different. The omegas had nothing to prove. It was the alphas. They had to court the omegas, prove to them they were fierce, strong, and capable.

Suddenly, Corric understood why Ridan’s dam accepted teeth as a proposal.

“Maybe your alpha will give you molars,” Corric teased, looking up at Ridan through the wet fringes of his hair.

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “If they know what’s good for ‘em, they’ll bring me the whole head.”

When they returned to the tent, Corric burst through the tent flaps and demanded Sehleh cut his hair. She lookedup at him, surprised, but then stood to get her shears. Settling him in front of the fire, she finger combed his hair back and asked him how short he wanted it.

Corric paused. No one had ever asked him to make a decision about his appearance before. He was always told what to wear and how to wear it. Distantly, he fingered one of his strawberry strands.

They hadn’t asked him before, but they will now. Corric was going to find his way—not as a Clansman, or as a walled omega, but as Corric. His decisions, right or wrong, would be his and his alone.

With more confidence than he felt, “I want it off my neck.”

Sehleh hummed in assent, nimble fingers beginning to cut. Corric watched his hair fall into his lap, feeling lighter with each snip. Sehleh’s scissors were sharp enough to cut through his hair and right into his past. With her sure grip she severed all the ties Corric had to his old life, letting them fall away.

When she finished, Corric looked into the mirror and didn’t recognize the person looking back. He smiled, running his fingers through the shorn strands.

Two years passed from the time Momma Sehleh cut his hair. In that time, Ridan presented and Jonen moved into the unmated alpha tents. Corric presented soon after, holding Ridan’s hand and breathing in his new, yet familiar, sweet scent. They comforted each other and came out the other side with a new understanding of themselves.

Corric grew more confident. He stopped trying to copy Ridan and Jonen and found his own way. Over time, he learned to wield not one, but two swords.And he quickly became one of the best riders in the clan.

He liked the noble creatures. They were quiet, but strong. Their soft lips never failed to make him smile, and after a bad day, he could bury his face in their neck and just breathe. Animals don’t have pheromones like people do, but there was something so calming about the mixture of dirt, hay, andhorsethat he breathed it in.

Most afternoons after training found him leaning on the fence, hand outstretched as he took his fill of peace from their somber eyes and seeking whiskers. One in particular always caught his eye. She was young, just backed, but she was wise beyond her years. A pasture accident when she was a foal cost her an eye, but you could never tell. Her coat was a painted mixture of brown and white.

She seemed to sense his fondness, always coming up to him. Often leaving lush grazing areas just to rest her muzzle on his shoulder and let him stroke her big cheeks.

That’s where Chief Restrina found him. “She’s nicely built,” she commented, resting her arms on the top rail of the fence.

Corric ducked his head. Of course she was. The Stone Blade didn’t breed anything but the best. “I think she’s the best of her year.”

Restrina hummed in agreement.

Despite living with the alpha for the last two and a half years, he never could quite relax around her. She had been nothing but kind in her unique way. She’d fed him from her own stores, clothed him, treated him as if he were her own. Yet he never could settle. Even when he buried his head into the nest and picked out her peppery scent, letting it comfort him. The woman herself was intimidating.

His shoulders stiffened and he released the mare, stroking her forelock into place.

“She’s yours,” Restrina said casually.

Corric whipped around.What?Surely she couldn’t be serious. He watched her face for any sign of a jest.

“B-but,” he spluttered, tongue too big for his mouth. “You just agreed she was the best of her year.”

The chief nodded. “I did.”