Page 6 of Blood Fist

Nodding so vigorously his thick curls bounced, he led his pony over to the upturned carriage. With some gentle coaxing, he got the animal to sidestep close to the wreckage. Indicating that Corric should watch him, he lithely jumped up the sides and used them to slide effortlessly onto the pony’s broad back.

“I’ll help you,” he reassured Corric, holding out a hand.

Fisting his skirts in his hand, he attempted the same climb, only to fall back several times. His shoes were slick, designed for glossy palace floors, not climbing about. Jonen never faltered, his smile only increasing in encouragement as he guided Corric. With his help, he could hike a leg up and over the pony, Jonen pulling him into place behind him.

“Hold on to me,” he instructed, using his grip on Corric’s forearm to slide him closer until Corric’s chest was pressed up against Jonen’s back. He had to duck his head to hide his blush from the young alpha.

Corric had never even so much as spoken with an alpha without a chaperone present. And now he was practically hugging one!

Once he got used to balancing on such a precarious position, he found he enjoyed riding. They hurried through the trees, but not so fast as to miss all the surrounding wildlife. There were animals he’d only seen in books. Thick moss hung from the trees like lace, syrupy sap sluggishly dribbling down bark every shade of color.

But none of it was as fascinating as the two boys.

Jonen was the strangest alpha Corric had ever met. He didn’t associate with many people, his father preferring his only omega son to live in near isolation, but even so, he knew he’d never met an alpha like Jonen. Even the young unpresented ones knew what they were, walking around with their chests puffed out. Always looking for a fight, or to prove their dominance.

But Jonen was pleasant. He was not only kind without being pushy, but he seemed happy to take orders from the blonde omega. Not once had he challenged him or tried to put him in his place. In fact, it was the omega who seemed to take the lead on the attack, with Jonen backing him up.

Corric tightened his grip around Jonen’s waist, looking over his shoulder to study the omega from where they trailed behind.

He was dressed similarly to Jonen—loose pants and bare feet. But unlike Jonen, who wore a thin linen shirt, the omega’s chest was bare. His skin was kissed by the sun, a bronze that offset his deep brown eyes and tangled golden hair. He was well muscled too—his back broad, arms well defined. Even while maintaining a conversation with Jonen, and leading a second horse, he sat astride his pony with balance, hips shifting and rolling with each step the animal took.

Jonen said something that made the blonde omega laugh. His laugh was off-putting, loud honking noises that spluttered from his nose as he doubled over. He called something back to Jonen, something that made the alpha scrunch up his nose and stick his tongue out.

“So, you are brothers?” Corric asked, not wanting to speak too loud with his lips so close to the alpha’s ear.

“Not quite.” Jonen smiled fondly. “Close enough. Our mothers grew up together and stayed close even when my mother moved out of the clan to live with myfather. He was a trapper and spent most of his time up in the mountains. It was rough, but the year I was born was the worst. My father lost his life trying to provide for us, leaving my mother alone with a newborn.” He didn’t seem sad as he recounted the story. “When Restrina, Ridan’s mother, heard about it, she left her omega mate to find us. Got to us just in time, too. She brought us home and welcomed us to her hearth.”

Corric imagined that was a hardship. He knew just how scarce food could be.

“You grew up together,” he surmised.

“Yeah, and when I become chief of the Stone Blade, Jonen can be my royal footstool!” Ridan cackled his smile a lopsided slash across his otherwise delicate features.

Jonen reached up to snap off a low hanging branch, throwing it at the back of Ridan’s head. It thumped against him, snagging in his riot of hair. Jonen and Corric giggled as the omega squawked and blindly tried to brush it out.

Corric sat back, trying to piece together what he knew so far. He didn’t know how Clansmen structured their clans, but chief sounded suitably important. The few times he’d worked up the nerve to listen in on his father’s council meetings, he thought he’d heard the title said more than once. Ridan had said he would be chief, and Jonen hadn’t disagreed—which means being an omega held no bearing on position.

Back home, an omega in a position of power was unheard of. It was rare enough an omega was permitted to even work outside the home. But here, Ridan was riding a horse. He was carrying a weapon and speaking to an alpha with disrespect.

He was wearing pants.

It all made Corric’s head hurt. But more than that,it made him curious. These Clansmen were so strange, opposite to everything Corric had been taught. He couldn’t help but want to know more. He wanted to see their village. See if there were other omegas like Ridan.

“Hey, Fancy.” Ridan reined his pony in until he was abreast of Jonen and Corric, close enough that their legs brushed as the horses scrambled over roots.

“My name is Corric.”

Ridan waved him off. “What’s Kaledonea like?”

He blinked at the question. What was Kaledonea like? How could he answer that? It was home. It was the only place Corric had ever known. He’d never even been outside his father’s palace until the day he’d been shoved into that carriage. Looking up at the surrounding forest, he was struck by how different trees looked than their descriptions in the books he’d read. The canopy wasn’t nearly as dense, leaves and branches crossing unevenly to leave gaps for the sun to shine. Like a mottled spotlight across the uneven ground.

Sometimes, when he could escape his endless tutors or whichever servant was tasked with watching him that week, he would find himself in the gardens. The Tylock gardens used to be something impressive. Their magic fed the ground—large blooms of all sorts reaching towards the sky, thick stalks of greenery climbing up the stone walls.

But after his mother stopped going out, it slowly died off. The magic filtered away, sucked dry by people who didn’t notice the wilting flowers or drooping branches. By the time Corric was old enough to remember, it was just desiccated leaves crunching underfoot. Despite the stench of decay and the weeds with prickly leaves, he would wander close to the walls. Sometimes, if the time of day was right, he could hear voices.Nothingreal—he was too far for things like words to filter through.

It was the tone. Sometimes loud and abrasive, harsh enough to feel like a knife to the heart. And other times, lilting. Laughter. It wasn’t something that echoed around his spacious childhood home. When he closed his eyes, he tried to imagine what they were laughing about. An ill-timed joke? Perhaps someone had slipped and fallen, arms flailing as they crashed into the mud.

What’s Kaledonea like?