Page 9 of First (After the End #1)

THE MATING

Sofia

I don’t consider myself a romantic, but mating ceremonies have always held a special charm to me.

It’s not about the dresses, or the banquets, or the pretty decorations.

What truly warms my heart is the sense of community and cheerfulness that comes from two people and their families joining lives in pursuit of something greater.

Perhaps what I feel for Lennart is not the kind of love usually shared by mates, let alone the bond that exists between an Alpha and their Omega. Still, I hoped that our mating would be a moment for celebration.

The general’s unexpected presence, however, makes it unlikely.

As Lady Larsen escorts me toward the center of the room, where Lennart waits with a small, joyful smile, I try not to look in the general’s direction. I try, but I cannot help peeking, and I’m suddenly grateful for the veil that shrouds my face.

At least the general has the grace to stand on the dais, outside the familial circle, but he brought too many soldiers for such a harmless occasion.

They’re all wearing their thin Kevlar in military blue, attire more appropriate for a battleground than a mating ceremony.

The Larsens, needless to say, don’t seem very at ease.

His right hand, Ivar, remains close. I know they are brothers, but while they are both tall, that’s where the similarities end.

Ivar’s hair is dark and curly. His skin has a natural earthy glow, lips faintly curved upward in amusement.

The general’s mask covers his expression, but given the frown lines between his eyes, I doubt it hides a smile.

Gabriel is, first and foremost, a warrior.

Someone whose body was honed over decades of fighting to survive and to save others.

Ivar is a scholar, leaner and softer. The brawn and the brains, that’s what people call the two brothers.

I wonder if Ivar would be able to defend himself in a fight.

I wonder if Gabriel is foolish enough to start something in a room full of Larsen soldiers. I wonder why the hell they’re here.

What do they want?

“You are so beautiful,” Lennart whispers, shaking me out of my thoughts.

I resist the impulse to tell him that, given my veil, he can’t know what I look like.

But maybe he can see through the gossamer fabric.

Maybe what he likes are the dark blond waves of my hair and the way they drape over my shoulders and down my back.

Maybe it’s the shape-hugging bodice of the dress.

It doesn’t matter why—it’s a compliment, and I should be glad for it.

Lennart is kind. And patient. And handsome, too.

Maybe not in the same way as the general, but still.

And it’s okay if he’s not a fighter, because he’s a fine healer, which is much more important.

At the very least, I owe him my unfettered attention. “Thank you,” I say.

I wonder if he’s as confused as me by the general’s presence, or intimidated.

If so, no one would be able to tell, and I’m proud of him for that.

He has eyes only for me as he lowers himself to his knees, signaling the start of the ritual.

When he takes my hand in his, I order myself to forget about the people around us.

This is the beginning of the rest of our lives, and I should savor it.

I’m gaining a family—with some questionable members, but still.

I will be safe and taken care of for as long as I live.

I might even be able, through House Larsen’s connections, to one day raise my own children, and to gain the financial resources to help make change in the stronghold.

I will be okay.

So I smile and close my fingers around Lennart’s.

The rest of the service goes by quickly.

This specific ceremony is a relatively new development.

It requires little of us except standing and listening to the officiant.

The real mating will happen afterward, at night, with the consummation—and, only in Alpha-Omega pairings, with the Alpha leaving a bite mark on the Omega’s neck.

Before, it all used to happen in front of an audience, during the ceremony.

In families that decide to embrace the tradition, it still does, and I’m relieved that House Larsen is too aristocratic for that, because it worries me.

Sex.

Tonight.

After.

I’m already worried about whether my lack of proper Omega status is going to create any issues in our sexual life.

Can I even become aroused? Is Lennart going to hate me if I can’t?

Am I going to hurt? When I’ve been alone, when I’ve asked my body to please help me out and feel something, it hasn’t exactly been cooperative.

The idea of Lennart and me figuring out the ins and outs of sexual intercourse in front of the general’s icily furious eyes is not exactly—

“Go with your mate,” the officiant says. “The All-father has blessed this union. May it be as fruitful as it is joyous.”

I need to stop getting distracted during my own damn mating.

“It’s done,” Lennart whispers as he rises to his feet, light blue eyes gleaming with victory under the shine of the ceiling lights. The crowd around us breaks into claps and cheers.

“It’s done.” I force myself to smile, then stop when I realize that I don’t need to because the veil is still on.

“I will love you more than anyone else ever could, Sof. I already do. I won’t let anyone harm you, and I will watch over you to make sure you’re happy.”

I swallow. “So will I,” I say, hoping he won’t wonder which specific promise I’m referring to. There is a sour, ashy taste in the back of my throat.

“Let’s go. Maybe I can get a few minutes alone with you before the banquet.” His palm wraps around my elbow, a little chilly. Betas’ body temperatures can run a little lower than Alphas’ and Omegas’, and that’s when it hits me.

Lennart is my mate. I am bound to this man. Forever tethered to him. I feel as though I’m falling from something very, very tall.

“Congratulations.” The voice booms from the other end of the room.

The clamor stops. Everyone, us included, turns toward the dais.

Toward the general, who stands with arms crossed, the picture of arrogance and relaxation.

“I wish a most happy future to both you and your mate, Lennart. And may your union be as fruitful as it is joyous.” He tacks on the customary greeting robotically, like it’s an afterthought.

Like he memorized the phrase two minutes ago, after his brother whispered it in his ear.

Lennart tenses at my side, more with surprise than defensiveness. “Thank you, sir.” He clears his throat, glances at his stone-faced father, and seems to come to a decision. “The mating banquet is about to begin. We would be honored if you joined us.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot.”

Lennart nods, clearly relieved. He bows, then starts to turn around. But he is interrupted when the general adds, “However, I am here to claim my right as general.”

Lennart blinks slowly. I feel a frisson of unease snake through the people surrounding us, a moment of hesitation, but it’s hard to interpret. When I glance at Lord Larsen, his usually stern expression seems to have petrified. Next to him, his mate white-knuckles the folds of her gown.

I turn back to the general, disoriented. What is he talking about?

“I claim the Right of the First Night,” Gabriel declares.

I hear gasps. Steps. People stirring. The discomfort in the room solidifies into something akin to hostility, maybe even outrage, but Lennart remains by my side, looking as confused as I feel. “The right of… Excuse me, sir?”

“Your mate, Lennart,” Gabriel says. There is a faint trace of hilarity in his tone, as if he’s enjoying explaining a very simple concept to a particularly oblivious child.

As if he knows one single thing better than everyone in this room and has every intention to use it to his own advantage.

“Tonight, I will be taking her to my bed.”