Page 17 of First (After the End #1)
THE RETRIEVAL
Sofia
No one stops me as I follow a few feet after Gabriel, halting when he does in front of the commander of Lord Larsen’s personal guard.
“You expect me to hand over an unprotected Omega to you?” Gabriel asks. He is unarmed, wearing the thin shirt and pants that soldiers usually put on for physical training—a stark contrast to the commander’s red armor and multiple weapons. And yet, it’s the guard who takes a cautionary step back.
“She will not be unprotected. As you can see, I have three escorts with me.”
“All of whom are Alphas. None of whom are her mate.”
I wonder why Lennart didn’t come. Maybe he simply didn’t know the correct protocol for the Right of the First Night, but he could have found out.
He belongs to one of the oldest families in the stronghold and has infinite resources at his disposal.
The result is that his absence looks bad.
Like a provocation. Like Lennart is playing with fire—and with my life.
How could he?
House Larsen’s commander must know that the general would never murder a House’s emissary in cold blood. Still, he looks like he’d rather throw himself from the top of the keep than be here. “Sir, I have been personally instructed by Lord Larsen to—”
“I don’t know you. Above all, I don’t trust you.
Tell Lennart Larsen that the law gives very specific instructions on how to resolve the Right of the First Night.
I will hand Sofia Kuznetsov over to him and no one else.
Not his guards. Not his brother. Not his parents.
Not any other representative of House Larsen.
If her father returns from the dead, I might make an exception.
Short of that, Lennart will have to come retrieve her himself, as is custom. ”
“But, sir, I see her.” The guard is making a last-ditch attempt. “She’s right there, behind you. Maybe we could ask her what she prefers?”
Gabriel looks at me over his shoulder, and my cheeks heat.
Even more so when, after staring for too many pounding heartbeats, he orders, “Tell Lennart that I’m not done with his mate yet.
” He turns and walks away, giving his unarmored, unarmed back to the Larsen guards with a confidence and a disregard for danger that…
Well. It definitely matches what I’ve learned about him in the last twenty-four hours.
“Gabriel,” I say when he brushes past me, but he doesn’t bother to stop. I have no choice but to follow him back inside the dining room, and when he still won’t wait for me, I close a hand around his wrist to stop him.
Martia is still there, waiting, looking between us, but I ignore her. If she hates me as much as Gabriel implied, she’s definitely not going to come to my aid and help me…
Help me what? I’m not certain what I want from Gabriel, at the moment. Permission to go home to my mate, right? There is nowhere else I should care to be. Nowhere else I could be. The Larsens are my family now, and I have questions to ask them.
But why does the idea of leaving make me nauseous?
“Gabe,” Martia says, tone bored, “send the girl back. The ball is in the Larsens’ court. Plus, you’ve had your weekly lay, and it won’t…” She stops. Her eyes zero in on me like I’m a piece of furniture she just bumped into. Her eyes widen accusingly at me, even as she says, “No fucking way.”
“What?” I ask.
“He hasn’t touched you, has he?” Martia takes a step closer, nostrils flaring. “Gabe, why does she smell like you marked her as under your protection, but not like you fucked her?”
“Leave us,” he orders.
“Gabriel.” Martia runs a hand through her short hair. “This is serious. What the hell is going on? Are you really going to return her like the most you did with her was play cards? Is it because she’s cold? If you’re having issues getting it up—”
“Get. The fuck. Out.”
A moment later, after several muttered curse words and the least obsequious salute I’ve ever witnessed, we are alone.
Just me and him, and I am more aware of it than ever. So much so, a shiver rolls through my spine.
“At long last,” he says.
“Wh-what?”
“You finally have the grace to look upset and worried by the situation. Is it finally dawning on you? The extent to which you are at my disposal? The fact that I haven’t fucked you yet doesn’t mean that I won’t.”
I take another step back, wrapping my arms around my stomach.
“So lovely to see that your reserve of patience and cheerfulness is not infinite.”
“Why are you keeping me here?”
“Because your mate has not come to retrieve you. No other reason. Why? Are you doubting my word?”
“He sent his men—”
“He did, didn’t he.” He leans back against the table, relaxed. “Does he know?”
“What?”
“The treasure he has on his hands.”
“I don’t understand what you—”
“You are very much an Omega, aren’t you?”
I clench my fists and glance away. “I’m not one at all. I thought we’d agreed on that.”
“Did we? Your presentation stalled, sure. But in every other way, you are so stereotypically Omega, they should write manuals on you.”
“That shows how little you know me,” I huff. “I am not submissive, or timid, or—”
“No, you aren’t. But only imbeciles think that those are Omega traits.
” The way he looks at me clearly implies that neither of us is one, and I feel a sudden surge of embarrassment.
Both Gabriel’s seneschal and his right hand are Omegas.
It’s clear that he doesn’t share Lord Larsen’s views on designation.
“Nice try, Sofia, but we know better, don’t we?
You don’t want to be told what to do. You don’t want to be locked in a room and protected.
What you need is the kind of completeness that comes with an indissoluble bond.
You need a family to take care of and who’ll take care of you.
You need absolute trust, open communication, and unrelenting loyalty.
Is that not true?” When I am unable to form a reply, he continues at a lower register: “You need an Alpha. Someone who needs you just as much. Is that not the truth?”
It’s like he’s beaten me. I feel as though his words carved my chest open and scooped my heart out. All I can do now is find a way to go on living without it. “It doesn’t matter,” I whisper, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “I can’t have it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
No, it isn’t. “How do you even know?”
“Oh, Sofia.” His smile holds no warmth and a lot of pity. “If you focus hard enough, you might be able to piece it together.”
I shake my head, unwilling to go down the road he’s trying to lead me to. “I don’t care. I want to go home.”
It’s not what Gabriel wanted to hear. He pushes away from the table and moves closer, coming to tower over me.
His arms cross over his chest, likely a tell of his rising temper, but my eyes fall on his shoulder and the biceps underneath.
The short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing leaves a large portion of his long arm uncovered, and I reach out before I can think any better of it.
His muscles tense, hard as the bricks that make up the keep’s walls. He doesn’t ask what I’m doing, not with words, but his surprise at me initiating the touch is obvious.
He is warm. He smells…edible. I try to inhale subtly, but it’s obvious that I’m filling my lungs, and I don’t mind him knowing.
“Whoever sutured this wound did a very shitty job,” I say, letting two of my fingers trace the jagged line that travels past his elbow.
I half expect him to free himself. Instead, he scowls down at me and snaps, “She did her best.”
“And her best was severely lacking.”
“Her best was fucking perfect.”
“If you consider a zigzagging line perfect, sure.”
“Considering the situation, she…” He halts. His eyes narrow on my face. “Fuck. Was it you? The apprentice?”
“The one and only.” Despite myself, and the situation, I smile.
Gabriel’s lips part, as if the knowledge that I treated him all those years ago brings him awe and delight. “It was you,” he repeats.
“I guarantee you, my stitching techniques have much improved.” My fingers slip lower, tracing a handful of cleaner white scars that crisscross down his forearm. “Even better than whoever stitched these other ones.”
“I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity to show me very soon. I collect cuts easily and often.”
“Yeah, I…” A flash of disappointment slashes through me. It morphs into a disoriented confusion that I cannot interpret, and I bite my lower lip until it bleeds, hoping to hide it.
“What?” he asks softly.
“I…” I look up to meet his eyes. Swallow.
Think—unbidden, unbound—that it would have been nice to never stop healing him.
To be there every time he was in need of medical attention.
To know that I’d be there for his next cut, his next illness, his next broken bone.
“My mate is already very unhappy at the idea of me continuing to work. I doubt he’ll let me treat you ever again.
” I let my arm fall to my side. My breath is sudden and deep and shuddering.
Something is happening to me, something that has to do with Gabriel’s scent and my prolonged presence here, something I cannot fully understand.
“Love,” Gabriel tells me, little more than a whisper.
His hand finds the side of my face and wraps around it.
“Your mate will pay dearly for ever thinking that he could tell you what to do.” For once, his tone sounds more like a promise than a threat, and the kiss he presses against my forehead feels like the stamp of his seal.